In, um, probably Cryoburn, Miles remembers a quote he once memorized. It turns out to be from "Descent of the Goddess Ishtar into the Lower World," and runs thus:
"I will break the door, I will wrench the lock,
I will smash the door-posts, I will force the doors.
I will bring up the dead to eat the living.
And the dead will outnumber the living."
The full text can be found at www.sacred-texts.com.
Lois McMaster Bujold tends to seed her stories with tons of quotes, Biblical, Shakespearean, and miscellaneous. Noticing and identifying them is an ongoing scavenger hunt for me, and I thought I'd better write them down so I'd know which "Hey, I know that one!" moments are new and which aren't.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
The Crippled Calf
I have a lot of chores in the morning. It takes a long time to get all the animals taken care of, and they all bawl at the tops of their voices while they wait. The loudest voice is Corbie's, and when I finally get to her pen, she dogs my steps until I set her pan of corn down. Then she goes for it, and it's impossible to get it away from her before she finishes the corn.
When Corbie first arrived, two weeks before the end of last year, we had only the faintest of hopes that she would ever act like this. She'd had a stroke three weeks before; her hindquarters were paralyzed, and the cornea of her eye on the weak side had burst during a session of flailing flat on her side. It was crusted and oozing, and she was beginning to develop bedsores on the weak left side. The farmer told us about the therapy he'd been doing, dropped off a bale of prairie hay and a bucket of cracked corn, and left.
The first thing Dad did, once the calf was settled in, was get online and order a hip-clamp, like the one the farmer had been using. It arrived in about three days, but it was Saturday again before we set it up. In the meantime, I massaged Corbie's legs and tried to flex them. It didn't seem very effective. With the clamp hanging from a rafter, though, we could do so much more. I would clamp it onto her hipbones, then Dad and Owen would hook the other end of the cable to the Suburban's bumper. Dad would pull away until the slack was taken up, then crank the cable shorter with the come-along. Corbie would rise slowly to her feet, staggering around until her hindquarters were high enough for her forelegs to plant in one place. The staggering was good exercise, but only for her forelegs; we were focused on her hindquarters, especially on that weak left. We flexed it; we moved it forward, and cheered when she shifted it back; we coaxed and nudged her to walk. For a week, we did this three times a day: once after Dad got home from work, once more before dinner, and again after dinner. Corbie's progress was slow, but visible. Sometimes she even made little moaning noises at us, though she never outright mooed. Then Mom and Doug got back from Colorado, and Dad and Doug set up a new rig for the hip-clamp. They ran a cable from the pole-barn to the big tree, and hung the come-along pulley from it. Now Corbie could walk in lines, rather than circles at the end of the cable. Almost more important, Owen and I could raise her during the day, without help from Dad and the Suburban. Corbie's progress increased. She began to put more weight on that weak leg; sometimes she even walked on it. We cheered. By January tenth, Corbie was struggling to her feet before we clipped the come-along to the clamp, and we were hooking her up and then going off to chore, letting her stand without nudging or interference. At the end of a session, I would get her up against a post or a bale, then release the clamp while she was still on her feet. She would plunge a few steps, before she left my support behind and fell down. Things were looking good.
On January fourteenth, disaster struck. Her hips swelled, making it impossible to clamp her hips and raise her. Dad gave up all hope. I resorted to exercising her by trying to shove her to her feet; sometimes she gained them, but walking did not go well. Then, two days later, she got up, and began staggering about the pole barn. She wasn't walking well, but she was walking, and she refused to go down. Worried about leaving her on her feet unsupervised, I recruited Doug to force her down somewhere sheltered, out of the weather. She did not appreciate the concern, and when she stood again next day, I did not try again. She was up, she was about, who was I to complain? By the eighteenth she was walking more confidently; the process was wobbly and uncertain, but she did not fall. On the nineteenth, as snow fell, I put in a good sturdy fence along the road.
Since that time, Corbie has escaped her pen at least four times. She has slipped on ice and mud and gotten up again immediately. Her sores have healed; the swelling on her hips disappeared. She went through a wild period, when she ran from petting and touch--I think she felt she had to make up for the time when anyone could touch her. I know she enjoyed the running part. When it rains, she kicks up her heels and pretends to be wild. We eventually put a water tub in, once the weather became sufficiently mild that it wouldn't freeze solid, and she began to moo at us pretty shortly afterward. She comes to me for petting when she feels like it, and yesterday some neighbors seduced her into coming to the fence to visit. They sealed the relationship by coming to the front door and asking if they could feed her. Corbie was pretty enthusiastic about that.
So the paralyzed calf has become a healthy young heifer. When the grass comes in, we'll put her out to pasture with the sheep. She'll deal with them well enough, I think; she gets along with the baby goats, when they come and try to steal her corn every morning. I don't think she's serious when she tries to trample them in a wild mood, and at any rate the sheep will get out of her way. She'll go to slaughter eventually, but in the meantime I think she'll be happy here.
When Corbie first arrived, two weeks before the end of last year, we had only the faintest of hopes that she would ever act like this. She'd had a stroke three weeks before; her hindquarters were paralyzed, and the cornea of her eye on the weak side had burst during a session of flailing flat on her side. It was crusted and oozing, and she was beginning to develop bedsores on the weak left side. The farmer told us about the therapy he'd been doing, dropped off a bale of prairie hay and a bucket of cracked corn, and left.
The first thing Dad did, once the calf was settled in, was get online and order a hip-clamp, like the one the farmer had been using. It arrived in about three days, but it was Saturday again before we set it up. In the meantime, I massaged Corbie's legs and tried to flex them. It didn't seem very effective. With the clamp hanging from a rafter, though, we could do so much more. I would clamp it onto her hipbones, then Dad and Owen would hook the other end of the cable to the Suburban's bumper. Dad would pull away until the slack was taken up, then crank the cable shorter with the come-along. Corbie would rise slowly to her feet, staggering around until her hindquarters were high enough for her forelegs to plant in one place. The staggering was good exercise, but only for her forelegs; we were focused on her hindquarters, especially on that weak left. We flexed it; we moved it forward, and cheered when she shifted it back; we coaxed and nudged her to walk. For a week, we did this three times a day: once after Dad got home from work, once more before dinner, and again after dinner. Corbie's progress was slow, but visible. Sometimes she even made little moaning noises at us, though she never outright mooed. Then Mom and Doug got back from Colorado, and Dad and Doug set up a new rig for the hip-clamp. They ran a cable from the pole-barn to the big tree, and hung the come-along pulley from it. Now Corbie could walk in lines, rather than circles at the end of the cable. Almost more important, Owen and I could raise her during the day, without help from Dad and the Suburban. Corbie's progress increased. She began to put more weight on that weak leg; sometimes she even walked on it. We cheered. By January tenth, Corbie was struggling to her feet before we clipped the come-along to the clamp, and we were hooking her up and then going off to chore, letting her stand without nudging or interference. At the end of a session, I would get her up against a post or a bale, then release the clamp while she was still on her feet. She would plunge a few steps, before she left my support behind and fell down. Things were looking good.
On January fourteenth, disaster struck. Her hips swelled, making it impossible to clamp her hips and raise her. Dad gave up all hope. I resorted to exercising her by trying to shove her to her feet; sometimes she gained them, but walking did not go well. Then, two days later, she got up, and began staggering about the pole barn. She wasn't walking well, but she was walking, and she refused to go down. Worried about leaving her on her feet unsupervised, I recruited Doug to force her down somewhere sheltered, out of the weather. She did not appreciate the concern, and when she stood again next day, I did not try again. She was up, she was about, who was I to complain? By the eighteenth she was walking more confidently; the process was wobbly and uncertain, but she did not fall. On the nineteenth, as snow fell, I put in a good sturdy fence along the road.
Since that time, Corbie has escaped her pen at least four times. She has slipped on ice and mud and gotten up again immediately. Her sores have healed; the swelling on her hips disappeared. She went through a wild period, when she ran from petting and touch--I think she felt she had to make up for the time when anyone could touch her. I know she enjoyed the running part. When it rains, she kicks up her heels and pretends to be wild. We eventually put a water tub in, once the weather became sufficiently mild that it wouldn't freeze solid, and she began to moo at us pretty shortly afterward. She comes to me for petting when she feels like it, and yesterday some neighbors seduced her into coming to the fence to visit. They sealed the relationship by coming to the front door and asking if they could feed her. Corbie was pretty enthusiastic about that.
So the paralyzed calf has become a healthy young heifer. When the grass comes in, we'll put her out to pasture with the sheep. She'll deal with them well enough, I think; she gets along with the baby goats, when they come and try to steal her corn every morning. I don't think she's serious when she tries to trample them in a wild mood, and at any rate the sheep will get out of her way. She'll go to slaughter eventually, but in the meantime I think she'll be happy here.
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