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My Terrorist NoseJanuary 28, 2006 So I went out to the barn to give the horses their bedtime hay and make up morning grain. First I removed grain buckets from stalls and though they were licked pretty well clean Rhodry amused himself by licking them cleaner. The hayloft is split by the main aisle, and yesterday I tossed down the last two bales from the right-hand side. There was just enough left of them to feed bedtime hay but I figured I'd toss down a few bales so I wouldn't have to do it in the a.m., when their equine highnesses would be impatiently awaiting their portions. The ladder customarily leans against the right wall -- Ronnie the barn cat's bowl is at the top of it, because she can climb ladders and the dogs can't. The ladder is wood, sturdy, steady, and rather heavy. I maneuvered it away from the wall, turned it around, and started to walk it toward the left wall. Over my head it collided with the protruding part of the conveyor belt (contraption used to run hay bales from truck to loft -- these haven't changed a whit since I was a teenager). It swayed, I lost my grip on it, it whacked me on the head on its way to the floor. Yeow. Supposedly retinas rarely detach because of a blow to the head, but it does hapen; I was relieved to realize that neither eye had been changed by the impact. However, blood was falling in big drops to Howie's stall door, against which I was now leaning, and the floor beneath it. My first bloody nose in about 40 years: duh, what's the prescribed first aid? Are you supposed to lean forward or tilt your head back? Would tilting my head back make the blood drip into my throat and make me choke? Cold water helps stop bleeding, I recalled. I went to the lavatory and splashed cold water on my nose. After dropping a few more watery gobbets into the sink, my nose stopped bleeding. My nostrils felt sort of air-conditioned but otherwise OK. I didn't look too closely in the mirror. Back in the main aisle I carefully lifted the ladder off the floor and maneuvered it into place. So -- should I be climbing a ladder that had just given me a bloody nose, when no one in the world knew where I was or what I was doing? Maybe I should put on a helmet? Is this a good reason to carry a cell phone? (People have told me that I'm nuts to go trail-riding alone without one. I hate cell phones. If humans were meant to have lifelong umbilical cords, they wouldn't be cut at birth.) I made it up to the loft without incident. Ronnie the cat joined me. I tossed down eight bales, taking care not to fall over the edge or knock the ladder down. Descended the ladder, also without incident. Started stacking the hay against the wall, wondering if it was a good idea to be hefting 60-pound bales of hay when I might have a concussion. (Will you shut up? You had a nosebleed, not a brain hemorrhage.) Finished stacking hay. Carefully moved ladder back to its original position. Swept up the loose hay that now lightly carpeted the planked floor. I looked up. Ronnie was still up in the left-hand loft, now sans ladder. Oh dear. Am I morally obligated to put up the ladder and rescue her? I'm tempted, then I remind myself that Ronnie is a cat. I notice also that there's a way from left loft to right, along a pretty wide crossbeam. Piece of cake -- for a cat. I tell Ronnie that if she's still there in the morning, I'll rescue her. If she had a cell phone, would she be calling the fire department? Doubt it. P.S. 1/29 a.m.: Ronnie got down by herself.
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