Moxibustion

moxa

Our latest therapy for Rodney is moxibustion, a traditional Chinese medical practice of burning dried mugwort. I had moxa sticks around the house, having tried it with Previous Horse and Mathilda. Neither they nor I was impressed. However, Internet surfing informed my medical advisor that moxa can be used on scar tissue. He dug up an old stick. Rodney LOVED it.

Does it work? Who knows. I’ve been doing energy balancing and massage with horses for years and am still undecided on the effectiveness. Clearly the horses enjoy it. I’ve seen licking, chewing, yawning, eyerolling, deep sighs, farting, horse mego, even a sharp kick with two different horses from bilateral balancing across the hips. When I was working on the earth meridians for one of the Saddlebreds (Sam), the horse pitched a fit. He made it clear that I had started on the wrong side. I switched. He calmed down. I have a witness.

Does it have an effect past the short-term gain of relaxation? I like to think so. If nothing else, it fulfills the first principle of medical ethics: Do No Harm. Plus, doing something nice for a horse has its own benefit. The moxa sure smells nice.

lighter smallerI have found that I get more distinct response from Rodney if the moxa stick is a blowin’ and a goin’. In a 45 minute session, I need to re-rev 2-3 times. A lighter is the easiest way to do this. Can we pause to ponder that? One of the defining characteristic of Homo sapiens, the ability to make fire, in my hand for the price of a candy bar. Tell me this isn’t a modern miracle.

Hissy Fits

It’s dark. It’s late. I’m lying in bed. Awake. My mind begins to ponder life’s inscrutable mysteries. What if something terrible happens and I’m a widow and I have to lie in this bed alone for the rest of my life? What if they never get the Fujiyama reactor under control and nuclear armageddon oozes over the world from the waters of the Pacific Ocean? What if the government shutdown leads to the end of civilization as we know it and we are reduced to shooting our neighbors and eating rats? When I seek solace in the arms of my beloved, his standard half-awake response is, “Oh, shut up and go back to sleep.”

So.

A few days ago, we were mildly late for morning chores. Rodney was in a state, ‘Where have you been?’ Pause to trot back and forth in stall. ‘You weren’t here! Breakfast is late!’ Spin and hop. ‘There is no food! There will never be food again!’

My husband is right. These fits look silly from the outside.

Rodney's Saga insomnia

Barn Jeans

Current barn jeans
Current barn jeans

A while back, I came close to flashing the postmaster.

Our land is surrounded by field and forest. The neighbors are close enough that I call for help in a crisis but screened enough that I can do the occasional Lady Godiva to the clothesline. Therefore, not all of my barn clothes are fit for public consumption. I had one pair of jeans that had gone through the seat in a comprehensive manner. The rest of the pants, particularly the pockets, still worked so I kept wearing them.

Barn shoes while I'm at it.
Current barn shoes

One day I realized I needed to get to the post office that morning. Pick up a package? Mail the water bill? Don’t remember. History does not record. What I do remember is jumping out of the truck, taking one step, and thinking, ‘Huh? Oops!’.

It was bad. The wardrobe malfunction – is it a malfunction if you knew it when you put on the clothes? Wardrobe mismatch maybe? – was severe enough that I would need to go home and try again if I didn’t have a solution. I untucked my shirt. Not long enough. I unearthed a ratty jacket. Despite being well into warm weather, I wrapped the jacket around my waist and sauntered forth.

I think I threw those jeans away shortly after. I’ve already scared my UPS driver enough, but that’s a story for another day.

Process notes
This post started out as a comment. Cur Tales wrote a post about wearing “clothing that’s seen better days.” I gave a short comment. (BTW, her response is worth reading.) Then I realized this would make a cute post. I didn’t have any other ideas and it was at least barn-related. I was pretty sure that I had mentioned the story on Facebook at the time. To save myself the trouble of retelling, I went back through my personal Facebook timeline. Not too hard, I don’t post all that often. Plus the post would have been in the time period after joining Facebook but before the daily blog, a period of about year and a half. I searched. I crashed my iPad several times. I searched more. I finally gave up. As a result, I spent far longer searching than it took to type the above. There’s a life lesson lurking in there somewhere.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Gratuitous Cat Picture

SSF Barn Cat
SSF Barn Cat

Where’d It Go?

Since Rodney appears to get anxious when I lead him toward the ring, we have been breaking the process into (microscopically) small steps. In the current exercise, we walk over to the mounting block, wearing our bridle like a big horse. He stands next to it. I sit on it. We wait until he takes a deep breath and decides the sky is not falling – today. Then we go home. If Husband is around to pick up the pieces, I will stand up on the mounting block, lean over Rodney’s back, put weight in him, wave my hands, all the things you do to (re)acclimate a horse to the idea of a predator landing on his back. While doing this, I wear my helmet. Mind you, I am still light years from actually getting ON the horse. However, when the time comes, I want the sensory stimuli to be the same for all involved.

helmetFor the last year, my helmet has lived in my lesson bag. Several times recently, I have looked in the bag and wondered, ‘Where on earth is my helmet? Oh, it’s at the barn. How weird.’