It was two years ago this February that our horse, Queue, broke through the ice and fell into the pond. Cathy and I were so lucky about many things that day.

We have had horses on our property for 17 years, and never has a horse gone onto the frozen pond. I suppose they know the pond is there from summertime, and know not to go onto it if it freezes. Until two winters ago….

The weather was very cold that year, and the pond froze over in late January and stayed that way. In early February, one of our three year olds, Queue, who we foaled and raised here, was returning from six months of training at another farm. We were in a hurry to get him home, as there was a minor snowstorm coming.

Sure enough, it snowed about six inches the night of Queue’s return. Enough to make it pretty, but not enough to cause any problems. The next morning, after feeding the horses, we put them out in their pasture and returned to the house.  

A few hours passed, and we decided to go for a walk and enjoy the snow. Up the driveway we went, turned right onto the road, and then turned right again onto Swains Road, which borders our property. As we were walking along, Cathy said “Huh, what’s that out on the pond?” I looked, and at the same time we both realized it wasn’t something on the pond, but a horse’s head appearing above the ice. Oh my God….

We both raced down the road, into the field, and crossed the dike by the pond. Queue had wandered fifteen or twenty feet onto the pond and broke through the ice. Only his head and neck were above the water. He was alert, and wasn’t panicking, but he was frothing.

I tossed my cell phone to Cath and told her to call for help. She called a neighbor and the vet. In the meantime, I ran to the barn where I found a halter and long lead line. Next, I went into the tool shed, and amazingly, the sledge hammer was exactly where it was suppose to be. I grabbed it and ran back to the pond.

At the pond, I worked my way onto the ice. I got out to Queue, put the halter on, and walked the lead back to Cathy. Then, I went back on the ice with the sledge, and started pounding on the ice to break it up. The ice was two inches thick but adrenalin does amazing things. WHACK! Crack…..WHACK! Crack….WHACK! Ice breaking…. Slowly I made progress and worked back to shore. Unfortunately, the closer I got to shore, the thicker the ice became.

Suddenly, either I slipped, or the ice broke under me, and I plunged into the water. I remember thinking, as the water closed over my head, “whatever you do, don’t let go of the damned sledge hammer…”. A bit of a counterintuitive thought, but I knew without the sledge, we were in serious trouble. I was able to stand up and the water wasn’t quite chest high. I pulled myself out, and continued to pound on the ice with the sledge.

About this time, our neighbor, Kevin arrived (Thanks Kevin!). After another five or ten minutes of breaking the ice, we were able to get Queue to walk out of the pond. He was shivering violently and frothing. We went back to the barn, where we put him in a stall and took his horse blankets off. My fingers were starting to not work so well at this point. As we got the blankets off, Cathy and Kevin started drying him with towels, and I ran to the house to get more towels and blankets, and to change into dry clothes. At the house, I couldn’t get my fingers to untie my boots, so I grabbed a knife, and sliced the laces. I got the boots off and finally was able to change into dry clothes. I found more towels and blankets, and ran back to the barn.

Cathy and Kevin had Queue mostly dried off. We finished that up, and then put dry horse blankets on him, and started walking him around. We were concerned about shock setting in, or that he would colic, and wanted to get him moving. We also started giving him some hay to eat. About this time the vet showed up (Thank you Old Waterloo – You folks are great!). Queue had quit shivering and seemed to be doing OK. The vet said give him more hay, as that would also warm him. The vet took his temperature, and it was several degrees below normal, but not bad.

It turned out that Cathy and I had done everything about as well as we could, under the circumstances, except we should have given him more hay earlier. Queue appeared to be out of danger. The vet told us what to do as we continued to monitor him, and then left. Kevin left as well.

We watched him that afternoon and evening. He was drinking water, and eating, and his temperature was almost back to normal. That night, as we sat in the family room by a fire, Cathy turned to me and said “Well, I guess we’re real horse people now”.

                                                                                

                                                                         Addendum 

One of the things we learned from our vet that day is that The Little Fork, Va Volunteer Fire Department also has a Large Animal Rescue Team that is equipped to do all sorts of large animal rescue. In fact, they are are currently the only volunteer unit in Virginia that specializes in technical rescues of horses and cows. If we’d known that at the time, we would have called them, but they are about a half hour away. If we had waited, I’m not sure Queue would have made it, but it’s certainly good to know for the future. Their numbers are: 540.937.7717 and 540.727.7900.

This coming Saturday a new brewery, Wort Hog, will open here in downtown Warrenton. I’m looking forward to it. What amazes me though, is that this is the seventh brewery within a half hour of our home – and we live in the middle of no where! There’s Old Bust Head in Vint Hill, and Backroom Brewery near Front Royal. Sperryville (population 342) has two – Hopkins Ordinary, and Pen Druid. Culpeper also has two – Beer Hound and Far Gohn.  

This doesn’t count the others located just a bit further away in Gainesville, Manassas, Fredericksburg, Stafford, or the several that are up in Loudon County. In fact, if I do a Google search for breweries within an hour of us, there are over 25, and that doesn’t include the ones in DC, or the near DC  ‘burbs. How is this even possible?!

Back to our local breweries… What I particularly like, is that every one is a bit different from the others and they aren’t in direct competition. Hopkins Ordinary is a nano brewery in the basement of a B&B. Pen Druid is capturing local wild yeasts to use in the brewing process and is doing some amazing sours and barrel aged beers. Backroom is located on a herb farm, and incorporates herbs into some of their brews. Beer Hound and Far Gohn are located within walking distance of each other, and you can drift back and forth between the two. Old Bust Head is large, and typically has the largest number of beers on tap – it also has food trucks on weekends.

And Wort Hog? It’s more than just a brewery. It’s a brewpub, with a full menu. The reviews from the “soft opening” this past weekend were pretty good. Will they hold up? I sure hope so.

The next time you come for a visit, as always, we will visit some of the local wineries. We still have our favorites, including Linden, Delaplane and Glen Manor, and there are more good ones every year. But don’t be surprised if on day two, our tours include visits to some local brewers – there are a number to choose from, and ALL are good.

           Top was our first dog.  Last week was the 20th anniversary of his death in 1997.  Some of you knew him, back in the day.  This was what we read, when we spread his ashes on one of our favorite hikes.

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           Top was a little over 17 years old when he died on January 2nd, 1997. He spent a little over 16 years traveling around the world with us, and lived in Germany, Georgia, Ohio, and Virginia. He visited, among other places, Austria, Switzerland, France, and Italy in Europe, and had multiple trips to Alabama, Illinois, and West Virginia here in the States. He understood two languages (German and English) and we used German throughout his life if we really wanted to make a point with him. 

            He loved the outdoors and liked to go on hikes. A year before he died, he was in good enough shape to do an eight mile hike with us, and in October of ‘96, he was still able to go two miles on a hike in West Virginia.

            He also loved to chase other animals. Deer, rabbits, birds, chickens, bees and flies (yes flies – he use to be able to catch German flies!) – it didn’t matter – if they were within his field of vision, he was after them. At one time or another, he brought to ground all of the above, and to this day he is still known as “Deerslayer” in some circles. He also liked to keep our neighborhood free of cats, although later in life he became friends with Vincent, our neighbor’s cat.

            He could be mischievous and gave us plenty of tales to tell later – stealing half a ham; eating a jar of jelly beans; opening the front door to let himself out; breaking through a screen window to wander the neighborhood; killing one of Uncle Eugene’s chickens; rolling in horse manure at the stable; eating the topping off of a cherry danish – after these or other similar incidents, no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. How could you stay mad at your little buddy?

           Top was a good dog and a good friend. We will miss him, but already we are less sad when we think of him, and that is how he would have liked it. He was a dog that touched many lives around the world and brought joy to many people. His antics and actions have given us enough stories to fill a book and we will remember these and think of the good times we had together. He protected us over the years (or thought he was protecting us!) and tried to keep us safe from harm in many ways. He was our companion and was with us for most of our journeys through life, both literally and figuratively. 

            One of Top’s favorite hikes was to Tibbet’s Knob and that is why we brought him here. He liked this place and we hope that in the future he will once again chase the deer and the rabbits here, will bark at the hawks, and get into other dog-type mischief. We also hope that when we or our friends come here, we will take a short pause, remember the good times with him, and raise a toast to Top, The Deerslayer, our best friend.
 
 

 It was 2:42AM when I heard the noise. The bump; the boom; the whatever. I got out of bed and looked out the window. Nothing. As I tried to go back to sleep, I heard the sound of an engine whining, which stopped.

Then I distinctly hear a voice:

      “Ahhhhh! I’m hurt! Help Me!…….Help me”!

 What!? And again:

     “I’m hurt! Help me”!

I jump out of bed and look out the window. Holy shit! There’s a fire at the neighbor’s house. I throw on my clothes and run downstairs. Quickly, I dial 911.

      “Yes sir, what is the address of your emergency?” I give them my address, but then say, “but it’s not my house. It’s across the street on Swains Road”.  “Thank you sir. That’s already been called in. And what is your name?” I give them my name and hang up.

I throw on my coat, grab a flashlight and shovel and run out the door. I race through the woods on that side of the house, and I can see the fire quite plainly now. I get to Swains Road and there’s a car engulfed in flames at the bottom of the driveway across the street. 

 I call out: “Hello? Anyone there”? And then I see him moaning, sitting in the middle of the road. “Are you OK”?

      “I think I broke my fucking arm. You try and help someone, and this is what it gets you. Aaarrggggh, I think I broke my fucking arm”.

He’s near the burning car, and something is exploding in the car. “Buddy – can you walk? We need to get you moved away from the car. Is anyone else in the car”?

     “Aaargggh…I think I broke my fucking arm. No, I’m alone. Can you help me up? I can’t use this side”.

 I help him up, and we walk down the road about 20 yards. Suddenly, a police car arrives. The officer gets out, quickly assesses what’s going on, and comes over to us.

    “Hey. What’s going on”?

    “I think I broke my fucking arm”.

    “Lean against my car, an ambulance is on the way. What happened here”?

    “You try and help someone, and this is what happens. After I dropped him off, I was backing down the drive and hit those rocks. See them over there? The guy is homeless, and I was just giving him a ride home. I don’t really even know him. I think I broke my fucking arm”. 

About this time, the fire department shows up. I ask the officer if I can leave.  He needs to do something with the fire department, so he asks if I’ll stay and watch the guy for a minute. Sure.

 The fire department is dousing the flames, and gets it under control pretty quickly.  

 The guy with the fucking broken arm says to me: “is there anything left”?

     “What”?

    “Is there anything left of the car”?

    “Uh, not much. The frame, and it looks like one of the tires”.

    This gets a laugh. “One of the tires!? No kidding. That’s pretty good”!

We establish that his phone, along with all of his insurance information has burned up in the car.

The cop and a paramedic show up. The paramedic asks how the guy is doing.

     “I think I broke my fucking arm. Maybe in two places”.

I ask the cop if he still needs me. He says no, asks me where I live, and thanks me for the help.

I get home, and go up to bed. Carmen has left her bed, and is hiding under ours. Cathy hasn’t moved a muscle. I coax Carmen out, and put her back in bed. I take my clothes off and get back in bed myself. I look at the clock – it’s 3:27AM. Slowly, I drift off to sleep.

I’ve been thinking of Uncle Mick, who passed away last week. He was 90, and led a full life. He developed issues when he was 85, but until then, he was amazing. The Germans have a word for it – einmalig – One of a kind….

He was the youngest of the Hall family, and born in Southern Illinois. 3 older sisters, and 3 older brothers, plus a younger brother that died as a child; all are gone now. Gone, but not forgotten. The life they lived, particularly when younger, was much different from today. They were dirt poor, and grew up in the 20s, and then the depression of the 30s. It made them who they became as adults.

It’s impossible for me to think of Uncle Mick, without thinking of my dad at the same time. Dad was two years older, and basically, except for 4 years during WWII, they were together their whole lives. They complemented each other and fed off of each other. Laurel and Hardy, Simon and Garfunkel, Abbott and Costello, Mick and Keith….. They had nothing on Uncle Mick and Dad, or the stories they told.

We use to hear the stories at the kitchen table on Saturday mornings. The coffee pot was endless, as were the stories. You didn’t necessarily have to listen, but you had to be able to talk to be a Hall. Aunts and Uncles gathered around the table, telling stories of their youth, or the war, or later in life….Uncle Mick and Dad as kids discovering that Santa Claus was really Grandma…..Dad losing his jacket on a railroad car…..Dad joining the Army, and Uncle Mick joining the Navy….Dad wounded in Sicily…Uncle Mick on the beach at Normandy….parties in North Carolina….parties in New York….seeing their nephew Pooch during furloughs….getting hungover together after the war ended…..Mick and Dad buying a car together after the war….dad giving Mick advise about the bed springs at Aunt Ellen’s house (they were married two weeks apart and both went to Southern Illinois for their honeymoons)….the two buying a houseboat together…..

Eventually, both had kids, and we became a part of some of the stories. I remember them sitting together at our High School Football games, but they always sat in the visitor section, where they’d cheer for OHS….Uncle Mick cutting my hair for years (he learned it in the Navy)…..dinners out….drinks out….going to Naplate for chicken….Uncle Mick with some get rich quick scheme…..

I moved away to West Point, and then the Army. We’d get back on breaks, or later, on leave, and Saturday Mornings were always there at home, drinking coffee. Uncle Mick and Aunt Marge stopping by – What was new in the Army? What was happening in Germany? Had I taught those Russians a lesson yet?……Later, I was out of the army and working in industry. One of my projects was the Pentagon Renovation Program. When I was home, Uncle Mick inevitably asked me “Have you straightened things out at the Pentagon yet?” Always with a laugh, always with a smile…

After dad had his stroke, he recovered, but not all the way. I asked Uncle Mick to make sure he checked in on mom and dad, and that they were OK. He did so religiously, and continuously. He probably already was going to, but it was nice to know….

And now, he’s gone. The last of that generation for our family. Uncle Mick and I had a special relationship, one that I can’t quite explain to others, but I will never forget it. He was an amazing man, the best friend and brother to my own father. I will mourn him, but more than that, I will remember him, and honor him for the rest of my life.