My Bid For The Darwin Award

Life with pigeon fever is never dull, especially for a careless caretaker. During my first few misguided attempts to dose Argus orally with the "horrible red stuff," the antibiotic Rifampin, I was christened with a face-ful of red goo, some of which ran into my eyes and mouth. I wore gloves, but ignored the red that escaped past my hands and ran down the sleeves of my jacket.

Knowing that I am especially sensitive to antibiotics, I always administer them carefully when I have to handle them with my horses. This time, I was not careful enough. Still, it was a surprise to me when I woke up Sunday morning with swollen eyes and a puffy face. By Sunday evening, my face, neck and scalp were itchy. By Monday, I had aged a few years, the swelling around my eyes creating strange wrinkles that were giving me a preview of myself at 50.

On Tuesday morning, I peered into the mirror. Either I'd gotten a really great tan over the weekend, or I was turning into an Ooompa Loompa! My face was a strange shade of orange, and my skin felt like fine sandpaper. Finally, I sought medical advice, and learned that one of the most common side-effects in the human use of this drug is --- you guessed it --- orange-tinted skin. I felt like a fool as I looked back on all of my accidental exposure.

Needles, syringes, more needles, mixing up paste to give orally. It's a dance of attaching needles to syringes, filling them, and holding needle covers in your mouth while you carefully push the needle into the horse, trying all the while to keep these powerful drugs away from your body. I have a new appreciation for veterinarians and the care in which they must handle these substances in their jobs, every day.

We've gotten the routine down pat now, me in gloves, long sleeves held tightly closed, and protective goggles, taking care to keep my mouth closed while I shoot red stuff down Argus' throat. I look like some sort of mad scientist. Argus is an angel about it, at times even seems to enjoy the sweet liquid, and he stands quietly while I gently slip the syringe into the left side of mouth, rub his forehead, then tilt his head back, and plunge it down his throat. I hold his nose up high so that he is forced to swallow it instead of spitting it out all over me. Afterward, he gratefully accepts a cookie or an apple slice. My attempt to make it all up to him.

This morning, when I handwalked Argus, my normally lethargic friend surprised me by spooking at a worker in the nearby vineyard. I felt joyous as I held on tight to the leadrope. Having enough energy and awareness to be scared of things is good!

Argus continues to have swelling at the injections sites on his neck, and the subcutaneous (under the skin) injection sites along his shoulder. We are going to try to get through a few more days of the injectable Naxcel ("liquid gold" as one reader put it), and then reconsider if he can continue to tolerate this drug. He has loud rumbling sounds coming from his colon, and he grunts painfully when he poops, all signs of GI disturbance (I'm giving lots of probiotics, which helps). Dr. Miller, bless his heart, calls me daily to discuss Argus and counsel me on what to do next.

Yesterday, Argus had a new and very promising swelling on the left side of his chest. It looked like an external abscess trying to form. This morning, it was still there; by the lunchtime feeding, it was half gone. I felt let down.

Overall, I think we're making slow progress. Argus is still alive, after all, which is success itself. We have a long, long road ahead, but I am hopeful.

Here is a slide show that one of Argus' fans and supporters made and sent to me. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. Thank you again for all your support. I tell Argus everyday that the world is pulling for him, and he looks at me with his brown eyes, and I know that he understands. Odie, Half Pint, and Caleb stand patiently in the pasture next to Argus' paddock, helping Argus while away the time with playful nips and tales of wild gelding parties under the full moon. They make me smile, and I know they make Argus smile, too. The love of the herd for their ailing mate is a healing thing, too.

LIGHT A CANDLE FOR ARGUS