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Help for those scratchy hooves

2009 December 3
by Rachel Turiel

treasures

Dan regularly comes home with gifts for the heir to the testosterone throne. From the mountains he brings Col flicker feathers and rose quartz. From the jobsite he brings Col old drill bits or a single gleaming, gold roofing screw.

These items are immediately classified as special, which means Col defends them against grabby hands, sleeps with them clutched in his clammy grip, and then several days later loses them. (He’s currently sleeping with a 4-point elk antler Dan brought him; each morning I say a little prayer that Col hasn’t impaled himself during the night).

Today Rose was the recipient of a treat from her Daddy. From the local feed store (where we get grain for our chickens, straw for the garden and seed for our backyard birds), Rose got her own 1/3 oz jar of hoof salve.

Rose, despite her stained and unwashed mother, is a spa girl. She loves anything that smacks of pampering, even if it’s her mother squirting breastmilk in her conjunctivitis-streaked eyes. “Now dis side too” she tells me, blinking her healthy green eye.

She greets a dinosaur vitamin on her tongue like she’s receiving Holy Communion. She’s the first to line up for sunscreen, closing her eyes serenely as if receiving a luxurious facial with hemp oil pressed by the Dalai Lama’s bare toes.

While Col snaps rubber bands across the house, Rose sneaks q-tips out of the bathroom, humming a happy little jingle while dabbing the dry puff at her tender skin. She’s really not safe alone in the bathroom and she knows it, reminding me to “put dat toofpaste up high so I don’t eat it.”

Someday Rose will search for her Mama’s makeup and find the cupboard is bare. But for now, the girl has her hoof salve, classified: extra special.

hoof salve 003 After digging her pudgy 2-year old fingers into the jar and painting her cheeks with the sweet-smelling ointment, she removes her socks to rub it onto her hooves, er toes.

hoof salve 004

hoof salve 008

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3 Responses leave one →
  1. rebecca permalink
    December 4, 2009

    “even if it’s her mother squirting breastmilk in her conjunctivitis-streaked eyes”

    ahahahaha! i love your true life tales (and i can totally picture this with my own little ones). for anyone who may gawk at the idea, please read this article from mothering magazine: http://www.mothering.com/your-walking-medicine-chest

    see you at la leche league you lactivist. :o)

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