Three legs and a wiffle ball bat.

My hands are shaking. Why? Expectations. Who am I writing for? For myself mostly. But also for my friends and family, who often request  of me,  "You've got to write about your experiences at work! Your stories are hilarious!"  

In all honesty I have always  longed to write, but let's face it, I’m not a good writer. My grammar is terrible, my spelling even worse. If this was just you and me, standing in my kitchen and I was telling you a story, I could make it great. Filled with laughter and seriousness, hand gestures and funny noises. I may even get up a run around the room as I act out some parts. You would laugh, I would laugh and it would be great fun. I want to share my stories with more than just the occasional friend in my kitchen. But stories are so much more than words. How do I  convey the actions too, that when put together with the words, give you an image.  I want to share my stories with the world. I hope my written words can put you there into story with me, seeing it, feeling it and maybe even loving it as much as I did. 

My first story dates back to 2005, the year I first started working  as an Animal Control Officer. 

 As an animal control officer I run a lot of “Check the Welfare” type calls. These are the calls where a person reports to us that they have seen something they think is suspicious or perhaps even inhumane, in the way their neighbor is caring for their animals. Sometimes these calls are legitimate and other times unfounded. The situation will go something like this: The neighbor reporting is over reacting, nosy and hates the animal owner (because really his dog barks all night, which is not the complaint he is actually making) and therefore reports some crazy complaint to us, so that we will go over and make the animal owners life a little harder. OR the neighbor reporting is 100% right and the animals owner, who is nuts, is not providing the animals with proper care and now the animals are suffering. To someone is bat shit crazy, the reporting party or the animal owner. It’s up to me to determine the truth. Sometimes this job has nothing to do with the welfare of animals, but everything to do with being a mediator between two people who have nothing better to do than snoop and do everything in their power to make misery for others. 

Mediation and patience can make all the difference. 

The call brings me around to a farm that is home to a number of backyard ponies.  My first glance around reveals nothing unusual. The horses seem well cared for. There is water in the trough and the horses are happily munching clover in the pasture. But then my eye catches on a short, squat little palomino pony who seems to have a, well, rather unusual accoutrement attached to his back leg. I can't quite put my finger on it, but from a distance it appears that the fellow has a prosthetic leg. How unusual, I thought. In my experience, horses with severe leg injuries are humanely euthanized as a matter of course. To recuperate a horse with a severe leg injury can be a monumental task. To successfully attach a prosthetic leg would be nothing short of a miracle. This was truly a work a veterinary genius! How could I not have read about this case in the veterinary literature? 
Eager to examine the prosthesis up close, I gently whistled to get the pony's attention. Up goes his head, ears pricked and nostrils flaring slightly as he sized me up, trying to work out who I was and whether I had a carrot to offer him for the trouble of crossing the pasture to greet me.  Curiosity getting the better of him, he leaves his grazing and starts ambling towards me. I patiently await his approach, all the while admiring the ease with which he uses the prosthesis. Amazing work of veterinary surgery, I muse, as the pony draws nearer. I'm getting a better look now. The prosthesis appears to be orange in color. Obviously an attempt to match the color of the animal's coat! A thoughtful touch. And fascinating! Finally the little guy  halts in front of me. I ease up next to him, gently laying my hand on his back and, stooping low I run my hand across his rump, over his flank and then down along the prosthetic leg.  For a moment my mind couldn't quite grasp what I was seeing. It looks like..., but no, it can't be... A wiffle ball bat? An orange, plastic whiffle ball bat. The type that children play ball with! This miracle of veterinary science was actually made by Mattel! 
There is nothing quite so amazing than to see a pony that can live with three legs and a wiffle ball bat.The bat was carefully lined with cotton and crafted fit over the stump of the leg. This was no profound feat of veterinary surgery, but merely the creative genius of the imaginative owner of Prince. Prince, whose mother rolled over on him, breaking his leg when he was just days old. Prince, a pony so beloved by his owner, that she was willing to go thru extraordinary lengths to give a three legged colt a chance at life. 

It’s been 8 years since I first met the three legged pony named Prince. Last month I went back to the property where the he lives. 

Prince 2014

I half expected the owners to no longer live there, remember me or perhaps the pony had died. Let’s face it Prince has already astonished everyone who had known him. Exceeding everyone expectations of survival and the ability to thrive in his situation. I pulled up the drive way and there he was. Sporting a shiny new prosthetic limb! I literally gasped. He was alive, and looked fantastic and was still standing on all 3 I mean 4 feet. I spent a while talking to the owner, reminiscing, sharing stories that have lead me full circle back to her door. I walked into the field and prince followed me around, no dramatic running or beams of light shining down on me and him. But a quiet moment shared by two. For me a moment of inspiration. 

wiffle ball bat

Prince 2006

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