You Can Lead a Mule to a Teet, but You Can't Make Her Drink (Part Three)

Start at the beginning.

On Sunday, I awoke with a renewed heart. I had a feeling something was different.

Knowing that my trainer and family could take care of the first feeding, I put a pan on the stove and started frying up a couple eggs for breakfast. Then the phone rang.

"The Barn" flashed on my caller ID screen.

"This is Jenny."

"Hi, Jenny, this is your trainer."

"How are things going?" I just knew she was calling with good news.

Well..." *pause*

Wait, don't pause! A pause is never a good thing, unless your standing in front of 45 million viewers awaiting your fate on "American Idol."

"We had a tiny problem last night," she continued as I tried to focus on my frying eggs. "The mare pulled out the feeding tube. We tried all of the feed stores down here, but they're closed for Mother's Day. Would you be able to pick up a bottle on the way down today? We can't feed her until you get here."

"Absolutely," I said, relieved that her news was not the end I'd been dreading. "I'll be down in about an hour."

Personal observation: One of the things I'm most thankful for when it comes to my trainer is that she and her family do not overreact to situations. Yes, I could've rushed out of the house and gotten there sooner, but then I'd go hungry and be less effective all day. After all this time, I knew an extra 30 minutes wasn't going to kill the baby.

After a quick breakfast, I went to the feed store for a bottle and headed down to the barn. When I arrived, we began the ritual of milking the mare. Then I poured the milk in the bottle and snapped on the nipple.

I held out the bottle for Madge. She was curious about this new object, but she wasn't really sure of it's purpose. Gently, I pushed it into her mouth, but it was difficult to get the milk out without her help. I grabbed my knife from my belt and cut the opening in the nipple so that is was wide enough to let milk out with a squeeze of the bottle. Now I could drip it onto her lips in hope that she'd be drawn to the taste. Unfortunately, she wasn't. To make matters more difficult, she wanted to lick the milk from the bottle rather than suck on the nipple.

Determined to get some food into her tiny stomach, I pushed the bottle into the side of her mouth and squeezed the milk down her throat so she was forced to drink it. She wasn't too thrilled with our efforts. As she struggled against us, I held the bottle in her mouth. She chewed on the nipple in vein. We could actually hear her back teeth grinding as she chewed—they had already broken through the gums.

"Momma, I think you cooked her too long," my trainer said laughingly to the mare.

After about 40 minutes of continuous struggle, we convinced Madge to drink most of the milk in the bottle. It was time for a rest—for everyone involved—so we headed up to the house for lunch.

A few hours later, we came down for another attempt. While she still wasn't wholly amenable to the bottle, this time she was making an attempt to suck on the nipple. Still, we had to hold her in the corner to keep the bottle in her mouth. After 20 minutes, she'd drank the bottle and we called it good.

Later that evening, my trainer and I went down for the next feeding. We hadn't fed her as much that day because we hoped that a hungry stomach might lead to a success story. My trainer's dad hadn't made it down to the stall yet, so I milked the mare and filled the bottle. I reached for her halter and then stopped.

"You know, she doesn't really like to have this forced into her mouth, so she spends more energy fighting us than drinking. I think she's got the idea by now. What if I just hold out the bottle this time and see if she'll come to it?" I asked my trainer.

"That's a good idea. Go ahead and try it."

With fingers crossed behind my back, I squeezed the bottle to get the milk flowing and held it up to her mouth. After a short investigation, she took the bottle and began to suck down the milk. My trainer's mom had arrived by this point and we all stood in awe as Madge eagerly sucked the entire bottle full of milk.

That evening I went home with renewed hope that Madge would soon find the buffet. I fell asleep with my fingers crossed.

Photo: Madge begins to figure out that nipple = milk = yummy = full tummy!

You Can Lead a Mule to a Teet, but You Can't Make Her Drink (Part Two)

On Saturday morning, I dragged myself out of bed. Since I hadn't received a call from the barn, I was most certain that Madge hadn't begun nursing on her own. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw my trainer's dad milking the mare when I arrived.

Dang.

I quickly entered the stall to help. Again, we tried to coax Madge to the teet, but she would have nothing to do with it as long as we were helping her out. "I can do it myself!" she'd stomp and walked away. "Just leave me alone!" And so, we did.

I'd like to say that the day was a success, that she suddenly figured out the way of the world and took her first drink, but it wasn't. I'd like to say I remained optimistic, but I struggled at times to keep my chin up. A bright spot came when my trainer's mom reported that she'd just received an e-mail from a friend who said that she once had a donkey that went eight days before latching on to the mare. The donkey grew up with no other physical or mental issues. There was hope!

In fact, there was a second bright spot in our tiresome day. Despite our previous concerns about her intelligence level, we began to observe that Madge is a vary capable mule. At my trainer's suggestion, we backed up our commands with the cues she'd be expected to follow throughout her life. By the end of the day, she was beginning to recognize that "cluck" means forward and "back" means backup. She also caught on to the concept of moving away from pressure. As an added bonus, she was already halter trained because of the feeding tube.

After a long day of feeding, I started the long drive home. I was tired, but hopeful that the next day would bring about a new change, and it did—just not the one we were hoping for.

Photo: Madge makes a friend, despite the disfiguring tape that holds her feeding tube in place.

You Can Lead a Mule to a Teet, but You Can't Make Her Drink (Part One)

Last Friday, May 8, my trainer called me at 7:45 a.m. to let me know that after more than a year of waiting, (I made the deal before the breeding took place) my foal had finally arrived. "It's a girl!" she cried into the phone. We'd been crossing our fingers that the baby would be a mare. Heck, we even outfitted the pregnant mother with a pink halter. Never underestimate the power of suggestion!

Thankful that my boss is flexible, hopped in the car and high-tailed it down to the barn, about 20 minutes away. I had a hunch this might be the weekend the birth would take place, so I'd finished that week's newsletter early, just in case.

When I arrived at the barn, the mare was on her feet and I could see Madge's tall, dark legs on the other side. There were, however, two other feet—human feet, one on either side of her. Upon closer inspection, I realized that they belonged to my trainer's dad. As I came closer, it became apparent that he was doing all he could to get little Madge to latch on to the nipple while the mare stood calmly above. I'd like to say that she latched on then and there, but she didn't. Finally it came time for him to leave for work, so we decided to give Madge a break.

It was obvious she was hungry. She suckled all over that mare—mostly between her front legs. This little filly simply wasn't born with a map to the buffet! Oddly enough, my trainer mentioned that she'd already drank water from the bucket. "Could this have bypassed her suckling response?" my trainer questioned aloud. We'd just have to wait and see.

In the meantime, I asked if I could go in to clean the stall. I knew that we ultimately didn't want too overwhelm the baby, so this would be the perfect chance to get near her. I climbed over the wall so we didn't chance an open-door escape. Knowing that I might frighten the little one with the pitch fork, I started slowly clearing hay from the stall. As I worked it became apparent that Madge was not a timid gal. She came right over for a gentle scratch behind the ears while Mom stood over us, protectively. By the time I was finished cleaning the stall, I was tossing hay and lightly brushing her with the plastic fork. She took it all in stride.

It was then time for me to head back to work, so I said my good-byes and headed out the door. For the next four hours, I waited for news that Madge had latched on to start feeding, but word never came. I knew that if she didn't start eating by noon, the vet was going to be called out. It was now 2:15 p.m. and I still hadn't received any promising news, so I high-tailed it back to the barn again.

When I arrived, I saw that my husband's truck was there. Not knowing when the baby would arrive, I'd planned on giving him a lesson in trailer pulling that day. Instead, he'd been enlisted to continue the task of getting Madge to take her first meal of healthy colostrum.

Personal observation: I have to admit, knowing that he was experiencing this bonding time with the baby made my heart beam. Travis is your typical horse husband—he goes along for the ride, but it's not really his first choice of activities. He'd much rather be playing baseball. Still, he comes along for the occasional lesson, has shown in one show (in which he won In-hand Novice Champion—thanks, Max!), and loves Maxine dearly.

Travis guided Madge with a gentle hand, but she would have none of it. She was starting to show a key component in her personality—"Don't help me, I can do it myself!" After a good college try, Travis came out of the stall so Madge could rest.

Around 3:00 p.m., the vet pulled up. We use a fabulous local vet who has a down-to-earth personality and years of valuable experience. My trainer quickly shared her concern that this might be a dummy foal, a term I'd never heard before this weekend. After a thorough examination, the vet gave us the diagnosis... she was definitely not a dummy foal, she was just a little slow at picking this up. I asked if this was in any way linked to her intelligence (or lack there of) and he answered, with a twinkle in his eye, "Well, let's just say it can only get better from here."

Once we had that cleared up, he inserted a stomach tube down Madge's nose. This would allow us to feed her. Because the tube entered her nose rather than her mouth, she would still be able to nurse if she ever figured it out—our ultimate goal.

Madge was now a sorry sight. In addition to the tube in her nose, she now sported vet wrap around her face and neck, and was fitted with a halter to hide the rest of the tube so that the mare would be less able to pull it out. So much for a day of pretty baby photos.

After milking a pint from the mare, the vet poured the warm liquid into Madge's feeding tube. He instructed us we should do the same every two hours until 10:00 p.m. "At 10:00 the kitchen closes," he added. "She won't learn to eat on her own if she's not hungry." It was a relief to hear that we wouldn't have to discuss who would be stuck with overnight duty.

For the rest of the day, we continued our unsuccessful quest to latch Madge onto the mare's teet. I went home at 8:30 that night, tired and sore from kneeling down to help Madge and milk the mare. We crossed our fingers that she'd figure it out by morning.

Photo: Madge receives dinner in bed.