Unless you have been living under a rock, or are Donald J. Trump,
you have probably heard that California is burning.
(A couple of things to note: the areas in Southern California
that went up are not forests. Mostly they are densely populated areas. The wild
lands -most of which is federally owned and controlled- are covered with scrub
and desert-like plants. Again, not forest.
Unless you can figure out a way to log a tumbleweed, in
which case, I would like to meet with you, these aren’t big moneymakers.)
Anyway.
In general, I’m not a fearful person. Okay, I am afraid of
heights and I don’t like scary movies and snakes give me the willies. I manage my anxiety by avoiding them. Easy.
Fire is different. Fire terrifies me. It’s also inevitable. At least in drought-stricken,
climate changed California.
Since I’ve lived in in
the Golden State, there have been numerous huge conflagrations. I’m lucky
enough that most have not affected me personally.
Some have. Over the last 15 years, I’ve had to evacuate my
horses from large commercial boarding stables at least ten times.
I’ve discovered that the
Southern California horse community is amazing .When fire threatens, people
with rigs, big and small, help out. The horses get moved. Day and middle of the
night.
When the worst happens, and horses die, the entire community joins together and mourns.
I’ve helped evacuate horses (mine and others), when the
flames were across the street, and the helicopters were just above our heads.
I’ve also done it before evacuation orders were given, but the fire was moving fast.
The latter is definitely better.
Then you have time to label every halter with the
horse’s name and barn using duct tape and a Sharpie. This is important because sometimes in the
chaos, horses are separated from their barns.
With time you can gather buckets
for feed and water. You can grab meds. Sometimes you even have time to load up
saddles and bridles.
That’s when you have time.
When you don’t, horses get stuffed onto
any available trailer and sent to wherever there is room. In big Los Angeles
area fires, that can be as far away as Antelope Valley or the Del Mar
Fairgrounds near San Diego. A single trip can take hours.
You don’t always have hours.
During this last event, people and horses fell into both catagories, depending on their location. The bottom line is, when hell is
breaking out, the job is simply to keep the livestock breathing.
Everything else is secondary. You can buy new tack, blankets and tack trunks.
One of the mantras we hear in California is to have an
evacuation plan. Mostly people think about preparedness in terms of
earthquakes. For me, it’s all about the fires.
I believe that if you have animals -and this means you too, folks
with chickens, pigs, goats, and guinea pigs- you have to have a way to get them
to safety. You don’t get to expect anyone else to do this for you.
This seems like common sense.
Apparently it’s not. A surprising number of people, think
someone is going to materialize out of the ether and pick up and care for their
pets.
Sometimes that happens, but how dare you take the risk.
Seriously, how dare you?
In the last few days I have heard people whine, and whine,
and whine: I don’t have a trailer. What am I supposed to? Where am I going to
put the chickens? The pony doesn’t load.
I don’t know if the goats will lead. I don’t know who to call.
So I’m going to spell out what to do. By the way, this works in flood
zones too.
When there are fires in your area, and they are reasonably close , (or floods are predicted), get the animal crates out
and set them up. If you have chickens or uncooperative cats, rabbits or whatever, put them inside. Gather enough
food for a couple of days and put near the animals.
If you have horses or other large livestock (sheep, goats,
pigs, alpacas, etc), contact someone with a trailer and tell them you might
need them soon. If you don’t know anyone, call your local animal control – they
have lists of evacuators. Do this sooner than later. You should have a list of numbers in your
phone long before the fire. Like now.
After you’ve contacted someone, but before you need them: pull together water buckets, pails with
grain, medications and supplements. Put it next to the chicken crates. Put the animals
in a stall with halters on. Write your name and phone number with a sharpie on
the halter AND your horse’s hooves. Make sure there is a lead rope.
If your
horse hasn’t shipped recently or is a bad loader, get Ace and put it in a syringe outside
the stall. If push comes to shove that horse has to get on the trailer
in less than 5 minutes, or it’s going to be left behind. Yours is not the only
horse this person is trying to help. No one has time to dick around.
Have everything else already in your car so you can follow
the trailer when it leaves. The hauler will not feed and settle your horse
in a stall when it gets to its temporary home. Taking care of your animals is your
job. Remember when you leave an evacuation area after that trailer, it is unlikely
that you are going to be allowed back.
That means, before shit gets real, pull together a ‘bug out’
bag for yourself. A couple of days clothing, pills, and anything you don’t want
to lose. Put it in your car/truck. I also loaded my photograph albums, and
paintings of my horses. And my computer. That was it. It all went into my
truck. Just in case.
When the smoke started billowing up over the next hill over,
I caught my canaries (who usually live in a roomy flight zone) and stuffed them
in a parakeet cage. The cat went into a crate. They were plopped by the front
door.
They weren’t happy, but they would have been really pissed
if they burned.
If push came to shove, I didn’t have to think. Everything
was set. Did I forget stuff? I’m sure, but would we have all survived? Yes.
I was really, really, lucky this time. The amazing
firefighters hit the fire hard and knocked it down in three hours.
When it was over, I unpacked the truck, unhitched the
trailer, let the cat loose and moved the canaries back to their aviary.
Then I took a deep breath and poured myself a glass of
bourbon.
Was it all a pain in the ass? Yes. Would I do it again?
Absolutely.
