Hydeaway Farm

Blogs for April

April 24, 2010: My Friend Skye

Well well, nothing much to say except that I had a most wonderful experience with my friend Skye and Monty Roberts's Join-Up.

I read the book and looked it up and thought, maybe we should try this. At any rate it couldn't do any harm. I took Skye out for a marvellous ride through my favourite places with their rather queer names - the Secret Way in the Shuddering Woods, Galloping Stretch (well-named), the Border Highway between Ethelmoor and Silvermoor. The Woods are my favourite place in the world; with a good quick horse between my knees, Galloping Stretch comes in a very close second.

We returned and off-saddled - for once I had brought a saddle - and I gave her a grooming before putting her in the ring or round pen and taking off her bridle. She stood and looked at me and yawned hugely, looking tremendously bored. I waited for her to scratch her eye on her knee - she seems perfectly unable to concentrate before completing this procedure - and then tried to make it clear that I wanted her to go away, now. She is pretty un-chaseable so I had to wave my arms and click my tongue a bit before she got the idea and trotted off. I followed and she put back her ears and I began to think, Oh no, I've done it all wrong and she's never going to forgive me for chasing her away.

Achilles turned up unnoticed somewhere near this point while Skye trotted around and stood watching over the poles, only a metre or two away. I decided it was time to ask her if she wanted to come back, so I stopped arm-waving and tried to relax my body-language, releasing eye contact, relaxing my shoulders, looking away and half turning away. She slowed to a gentle walk and dropped her head as if relaxed. Then I noticed Achy had put his head over the fence and my heart sank; how was Skye ever going to come to me with an equine friend standing right there?

And now a moment of magic. Skye slowed and stopped beside Achilles, but, I saw out of the corner of my eye as I stood with my back to her, she wasn't looking at him. She stood for a heartbeat and then - she turned and came towards me, briskly and surely, her ears pricked forward, her deep eyes shining. I think it is safe to say it was a good Join-Up. She crossed the ring and came to stand right behind me and blew down my neck with warm grassy breath. I turned and rubbed her neck and said, "Thank you so much, dear heart."

Magic rang in the air in a golden tinkle that made my heart sing out with joy.

Her deep eyes were laughing as I hugged her and told her that in all the world there are very few friends like her and she just smiled. Either she loves me, or I did it perfectly right, or she really hates Achilles. I doubt I did it perfectly right and I very much doubt she hates Achilles. Can it be, then, that she came to me because she loves me?

I thought about this question for a while. I suppose it could be vain to say, "Of course she loves me." But judging by all the things she does for me, how hards she always tries, her honey nicker in the morning saying so clearly "Hello my friend", her deep shining eyes, the tenderness with which she rests her chin on my shoulder when I hug her, and by that warm moist breath on the back of my neck when she left her horse friend to come stand with me... by all those clues, and by an inner knowing that I suppose I was sure of for a long, long time, I can come to the conclusion that my friend Skye is loving as well as beloved.

And how could I ever believe otherwise with those shining eyes? I am ashamed. The last traces of disappointment from the show have left me for good. Oh, for a blue ribbon, for a grubby note, how far riders can go; with whips and spurs, and sometimes with gentle hands and gentle heels, and sometimes with love, and sometimes with cruelty; how hard we humans will work and work for a bit of paper and a bit of ribbon, what crimes we will commit for it. I am guilty. I am by nature competitive and I extremely enjoy competitions. But thank heaven I have come to realise that friendship is absolutely without price.

I love you too, Skye.

April 23, 2010: We Did It

I'm not dead... just busy! The show was superb and Skye was a marvel. To give you the full story Kevin arrived with his horsebox at half past six that morning. Everyone ran around organising things, carrying out perfectly polished tack (Rain Megan Hyde, if you put that sparkling clean saddle on that filthy table, I will ASSASSINATE you!), making last-minute checks on the list (Hoof pick... check. Riding boots... check. Spare reins... check...) and going to fetch Skye (How in the world did you get your nice white socks so filthy?!). A quick brush-over and thankfully the muck came off her socks pretty easily. Kevin brought a red check blanket with a few holes in it, but nobody knew where the holes had come from, and I was a bit nervous about Skye's reaction to the blanket. She was actually fine. Rain and I marched up and down with her for a while, showing off to the workers and making sure she was comfortable with it. The first while she laid her ears back and wondered what was going on but after a while had a lick-and-chew and settled down. She loaded like a dream and was quite relaxed in the box. She was comfortable and picked a bit at the haynet and took the carrots I offered to her (carrots are her favourite) and by the time we left she looked fine, taking the box in her stride, brave dear mare.

It was about an hour-long drive to the show and she travelled well. I sat in the back watching her the whole way and she had no problem with anything except a few trucks, which made her looked up and pin down her ears. Dad drove so carefully, if there had been an egg balanced on the shelf it would not have broken.

Arrival at the showgrounds. Doesn't she look lovely?

She was a little tense for the first few moments after unloading and looked around at the other horses. Then she lowered her head and tried to graze but took a terrible dislike to the grass and spat it out.

Moments after we arrived the loudspeaker - she had no problem with the loudspeaker or the music - began to bellow. "Class one, the fancy dress, will start in ten minutes!"

The fancy dress was Rain's baby but she had disappeared to get dressed leaving Kevin, Dad, Kevin's girlfriend (yuck) Letisha and I to figure out the extremely decorated bridle. Skye sighed hugely, reminding me of her behaviour the first time I tried to plait her mane, and went to sleep. Rain cropped up and we stormed off to the ring.

Rainy tied fourth with another girl on a petite piebald. She positively sparkled, Skye positively sparkled, I positively glowered, these arenas are not made for walking in.

I think Skye was incredibly bored with the fancy dress.

Skye fell asleep in the line-up and was rewarded with a carrot, which woke her up and made her nicker loudly; carrots are her best.

The fancy dress was class one and our entry was class five so we had a long break in between, spent relaxing (or trying to relax) and watching Grethe compete on Mama Thembu, who shot around the course like a rabbit on steroids, which could be the breed standard for Welsh ponies; jump extremely well, run extremely fast. Skye yawned and dozed and ate some hay; there was some grass at the ringside so we spent a lot of time there, letting Skye graze. She stood out amongst the bays and blacks, relaxed and quiet, listening with half an ear to my running commentary. We watched each of the classes and how the horses reacted to the different jumps. A fleabitten grey called Happy Feet tried to join us but she was being ridden and reluctantly abandoned the grass; I closely watched the other horses, who were passing close by, but Skye paid no attention to them and showed neither friendliness nor aggression to any of the horses apart from pricking her ears once at Happy Feet.

Class four came and Kevin started wandering around looking for us, meanwhile we had come back to the box and were busy getting ready. Mom clucked and fluttered and told me to tuck my shirt in and wipe my boots. Dad watched and tried to joke. Rain disappeared to help Grethe with Mama. I groomed Skye to perfection and combed out her mane and tail and saddled her up. She looked glorious.

Tacking up. I bridle Skye while Kevin fiddles with the saddle (how Mom got him in the picture is a mystery) and Letisha is the one on the right.

She warmed up beautifully. We trotted around in the arena and she was a bit uncomfortable with the other horses coming past at one stage, and to tell the truth I was just waiting to get kicked or trampled on, but she relaxed and worked confidently, coming onto the bit and giving me the confidence I needed. She stepped out well and arched her neck and said with her whole body, Fear not. And I trust her, so I relaxed.

We trotted a bit and cantered a bit and popped over a few jumps; she was uncertain of the big wings on the sides but since we only jumped a small cross at first and worked up to the bigger ones, she forgot about them. We were number three and I was a little nervous but as number two had their round and we circled the ring at a brisk walk, I decided to trust Skye and hope for the best. She shied at our bell but soon realised it was all right and off we cantered to the first jump. I looked down, Skye looked down, Skye stopped. My heart jumped a bit but I took her round again and drove her into it but she decided she was not going to be pummelled into anything and remembered that I had looked down, so she stopped again. This time I took a moment to breathe deep and pushed her at the jump again, looked up, let her alone and gave her some rein and she jumped!

My beautiful Skye

"That's my girl, thank you, thank you!" I gasped, letting go of a rein for a heartbeat to touch her solid, well-muscled neck. In that sliver of time I knew that Skye was jumping with her heart. Many many horses jumped that day, many many fine horses, but I still doubt that any of those fine horses jumped for a friend and with as much heart as Skye did. She approached the second jump, rose, flew, cleared. We cantered around the tenth jump and straight into the third; a mutter of thanks and a touch of my heels to urge her into the fourth. The fifth obstacle was a combination and I was a bit nervous of it. I sat tight and pushed her into 5a and made the mistake of looking at 5b to judge the distance and she shied, lost speed... stopped. The bell went.

"Unfortunate elimantion for Firn Hyde and Skye," said the loudspeaker. I turned her away and jumped her over the second jump again to get our nerve back and because it was a lovely jump and I love jumping. We trotted out of the arena and I was a bit stunned, hardly able to believe that we hadn't made it round the course.

I had a lot to think about on the way home. Kevin withdrew us from the second class, and I think he was right, because the second class was higher and we were jumping against the clock and we were already a bit wound up about it all. I watched Skye travelling and I thought and thought and thought. I thought of how through six years Skye had never, ever let me down; of how since I knew what 'horse' meant I had fantasized about my first show, about the perfect clear round I would ride, the perfect blue ribbon I would win. About sixty times I rode that course again and stopped at 5b again. I looked at my horse and wondered how it had happened. I even wondered if I was right, if Skye really was my dearest friend, if she really was the bravest and the most beautiful. All because of a refusal.

What foolish thoughts!

My feelings were mixed when we got home and loaded Skye off. I led her down to the water without looking at her. I think she thought I was angry. I was just confused. Until I reached out a hand to her neck to steady her and looked into those spirited brown eyes, remembered that hertbeat when I felt that power and strength and willingness beneath my hand, thought of the million times she had stuck up for me and proven again and again that in the length and breadth of the world there is not a friend like Skye, and I realised that one refusal and one small show would never be the important thing. Showing, its glamour, its excitement, its brightly painted jumps would never be what it is to have a friend. I realised that Skye had not let me down. She never had. She never will. She will always do the right thing and she will do it with her heart for Skye is a horse and horses are deep.

I am insanely lucky. I have a family, a beloved, amazing family, with mom, dad, and siblings all stuck together with invisible glue. A perfect family. How is it then that I am so lucky to have this most perfect of gifts, and then also a friend, a perfect friend, a soulmate? All I can say is, thank you. Thank you God, thank you family - thank you Skye.

A few days after the show - Skye and my friendship has not been damaged in the least; indeed, it has strengthened - I by chance (or something more) came across an essay written by a child about a horse. It is called The Perfect Horse. Anyone who has ever loved a horse would love to read it. It describes my own Perfect Horse, my dear beloved friend Skye, to the letter. I have a suspicion that everyone who have ever owned and loved a horse have known a Perfect Horse. But there are none quite so perfect as Skye!

What snared my heart in particular, what made me smile, was this line -

"The Perfect Horse has problems; he will teach you to deal with them. The Perfect Horse knows that you can't learn to be a skilled horseman if everything goes your way."

Read this beautiful essay on http://www.ultimatehorsesite.com/articles/theperfecthorse.html

The Perfect Horse

So often when, at that moment, I thought I was teaching a horse, I look back days, months, years later and think, And I thought I was teaching when I was being taught. Horses have a lot to teach us. In comparison what we teach them seems so strangely insignificant. We teach them flying changes, to collect themselves, to clear a jump, to run a race. They teach us the true difference between losing and winning; that the blue ribbon rider is not always a winner, what is truly important, what is right. They teach us that kindness achieves more than cruelty and that there are two sides to every friendship. They give so much and ask so little. We should always appreciate the glory of our horses, dogs, cats, cattle, all the beasts with their soft deep eyes, all the beasts with their pure souls, all the beasts with their amazing hearts. We should always try to learn.

That is why I look back at the show and smile and think of how lovely it really was. Sure, there is a degree of disappointment; I would have liked to complete the course. But despite those words - "unfortunate elimination" - I put my arms around the neck of my glorious Skye and am filled suddenly with the strong and unbreakable conviction that I am without doubt a winner.

*                           *                             *

On the writing side of things I just finished The Morning Star Mare. In fact, I finished it on the day of the show; Skye is very good for my creativity. Mom read it through, bless her, and apparently loved it so tomorrow it and my other novella, Night Eyes, will be sent off to MML. Then a long wait commences until the finalists are announced in January; in other words, just long enough to make me begin to think that my entries were rather second-rate and I ought to have sent in something else.

I've also started to read two horse-whispering books that Mom bought for me; the first is called Train Your Young Horse with Richard Maxwell, a prolific horse whisperer in England, and Ask Monty by Monty Roberts (need I say more?). Both are stunning and Ask Monty is brilliant for finding the answers to problems I hardly even knew existed. Thankfully Skye was and is a very problem-free horse to train, apart from the catching issue she had when she was about three; even Miss A and Achy are relatively easy-going, except that Achilles has developed a new habit of trying to bolt for home and Missy still has some of her napping (rearing) problems.

I wish I could say the same for Little Siobhan. I read the intro to Train Your Young Horse and then skipped over to the six months to three years of age section, since I don't have any horses younger than six months at the moment. I read through the checklist at the beginning of this section, stating that the horse is not ready for the next stage unless it can do these things, and my heart sank. "Does your horse respect your personal space?" My reply: "Er... no." "Does your horse lead quietly?" "Er... definitely no." "Does your horse allow its feet and the rest of its body to be handled?" "Er... not as such..."

It seems Siobhanny needs a bit of work.

I also learnt from Monty Roberts that he decrees the third worst thing you can do in training a horse is feed it by hand. I nearly caught a panic attack. For six years I have been feeding Skye carrots by hand and for two years I have always given her a carrot when I took her bridle off. Yes... I know, any self-respecting natural horseman is now looking down its nose at me. I have never, ever had a problem with Skye; she has never pushed, nipped, kicked, or demanded her reward; the only anticipation she shows is a deep, rumbling nicker, something like saying, "Please?" On occasion I have disappointed her and not given her a reward after all and when I display my open, empty hands to her, palm up, she immediately stops even her nickering. And anyway, I know you are all going to think I'm a big weak silly, but I find it very hard to look into those particular bright eyes and hear that heart-filling sound and say, "No."

But I do realise that feeding by hand can be a problem. That is why Achilles and Arwen only get carrots at random moments when I feel like it, not at a set time like with Skye, so they can't anticipate it. I like to bring them a treat early in the mornings when I go to check on them. Little Siobhan, though, never, ever gets a treat from my hand, especially not since I started reading Ask Monty. Interestingly I have found an improvement in her nipping behaviour. I still give her treats but I stick 'em on the ground or in a bowl instead.

My opinion is, and perhaps I'm not entitled to have an opinion disagreeing with that of a famous horse whisperer, that as long as it does not cause problems it is safe to feed by hand but I would rather not make it a common practice with young horses and I'd rather not do it at all with biting or nipping ones. That's just my view. Maybe I'm too soft. I've got next to no experience but we all live and learn, don't we? Remember the Perfect Horse...

Well well, time is short and the water rises (who said that again?) and I have Ask Monty and Train Your Young Horse to read, not least work with naughty Siobhanny. Got to be off!

April 15, 2010: Only Days to Go!

I just had a jumping session with Skye. She's having the day before off to just run around and be a horse and rest up so that she's full of it by showtime. I've been very good (for me anyway) and jumped every day except for Sunday I think it was, when everything went a bit pear-shaped.

We jumped roundabout the sizes that we'll be jumping at the show. I'm not quite sure because we measure everything in tyres, since our jumps are just two sets of tyres stacked on top of one another with a pole balanced on the top, so we jump about two car tyres to three car tyres. Our highest ever was about four tyres, I guess 90cm or so.

Our rhythm is miles and miles better. Long ago we had rhythm problems at the trot but it seems we've fixed that one; the rhythm at the canter has improved by the day. Today we had one big bounce that shook me a lot, I planned for three strides and a jump and instead we did two and a little bouncy half and then a humungous jump that had me almost off. Luckily it seems it was a once-off because we jumped it three or four times again and it went beautifully smooth. It seems that so long as I judge the distance decently and count the strides aloud Skye picks up on it and she seems to know that "one" means "get ready to jump" so that we can go one, two, three, UP (which means jump). I'm not quite sure if the voice commands are for me or the horse but at any rate they work and Skye seems to be enjoying the jumping.

Apart from that we just school on outrides. Outrides are surprisingly good for schooling because you can do just about everything you can do in an arena, like all the different speeds at the trot and turns on the forehand around gates and canter-from-a-walk. That one was pretty hard; in the beginning we could only manage a flat-out-gallop-from-a-walk but we've more or less got it now.

Ooh, and the bath. Yes, today Skye had a bath. Considering it was her first bath she was absolutely brilliant. She stood stock-still for mane, tail, face, ears, poll, forelock, forehand, middle, back, and belly to be thoroughly washed. Her hindquarters, however, were quite a mission and it took Mom and I the same amount of time just to wash and rinse her hindquarters as it took me more or less alone to wash the rest of her. She simply does not like water and though she stood steady for her forehand and back, it was just too much for her hindquarters. Oh well, a bit of practice is all that it takes.

The end result: Extremely filthy Firn and extremely beautifully squeaky clean Skye. Her coat, normally glorious, shimmers like something divine; her coat has become darker, a rich, shining, amazing shade of red-gold. Always glossy, now it glows. Her white socks have been buffed up and her featherings float. Her mane and tail are the colour of mercury laced with deepest black and her white star shines brighter than ever. She is the picture of health and beauty, a real diamond of a horse. She is going to shock the show people with her glory. No bay horse curse for me. (Beg pardon, Little Siobhan).

I think that even if the show were cancelled - heaven forbid; I'm so looking forward to a day out with my mare - Skye and I would hugely benefit. All this hustle and bustle, this great excitement, this happy expectancy, bathing, lungeing, jumping, schooling, cleaning tack, making lists, snapping at the heels of a dream - it is so wonderful to be up and doing something. It seems such a small little thing, a training show, but for us it is big because we're chasing a dream and one day we will catch it.

I only hope with the greatest of hopes that when we do catch that dream, there will be another dream to chase. It's not the capture that matters, but the hunt.

Hold thumbs for us!

 April 11, 2010: Winter is Coming

The four big poplars are the first to lose their leaves, one by one in a somehow sweet, somehow sad golden rain. The air is beginning to sharpen, to nip with cold jaws at noses and fingers. The calves are growing shaggier, the cows following their example; the youngest babies, three-week-old Bellini out of Bestie and Phyllis Spira out of Pnumpning, must stay inside until lunchtime for fear of colds.

The sky takes on its translucent winter blue as the sun rises later and sets earlier, bathing the world in dark for most of the time. Mom takes a torch with her when she goes walkabout and it is still dark at six o' clock when I get up to saddle the horses for a lesson. Dad made the first broth of the winter, more stew than soup, a chicken slush guaranteed to cure any attack of colds and flu. The workers were ecstatic when they got their fair share and even the dogs had the last dregs dribbled across their pellets, which they loved.

Little Siobhan is, as always, the first to grow her winter coat. Slowly, she is becoming shaggier, the copper hairs growing ever longer; her mane thicker than ever, her poor skinny tail barely reaching her cannons. Even Miss A's roan coat is losing a little lustre. Two-month-old Blodwynn, the daughter of Bontes the Logo Cow, is the fluffiest of the calves. The cows' production begins to dwindle; Jentle the Friesland's normally long coat now resembles that of a Shetland pony in a howling blizzard, though another Friesland, Shine, has yet to lose the lovely glimmer on her black-and-white coat that named her.

Summer lingers though, as it lingers in the coat of Shine. The cows and calves are fat as butter, as are all my horses, even Skye, who is working hard and has yet to grow a winter coat. Rain's white hen has hatched seven tumbling yellow chicks, still clumsy with youth, tiny and cheeping continuously, flapping stubby wings hardly bigger than my thumbnail. Rain is enchanted and even I, not a fan of poultry, must admit that they have won my heart. Rain and I watch them tumble around and squeak and bicker about naming them; one is already called Tiger Stripes for the brown lines down his back, and Rain wants to name the rest after family members, while I vote for Fluff, Buff, Duff, Puff, Huff, and Muff. We have discovered (or possibly invented) a new term: a fluff of chicks, to go with a quarrel of lawyers, a beauty of horses, a song of wolves, a grace of ballerinas and a glory of unicorns.

In six days is the horse show and Skye and I are working hard. She is quite fit now and yesterday we jumped again for the first time since the AHS inoculations. Thankfully, she jumped well, and has not forgotten; I need to practice getting the strides right at a canter. We have entered two jumping classes, 60-70cm and 70-80cm (more or less 3 feet), within the scope of her jumping experience. I'm nervous at times, but I trust Skye; she always gives her heart for what she does. Kevin recommends outrides every day and practicing the canter from a walk; he also says we need to use the running martingale this week - I'm not overly fond of the idea but Kevin knows more than I do. And then every day we must jump a little to keep her in practice.

Kevin gave me a hand with Siobhanny yesterday. We taught her to lunge and though I am particularly useless at lunging she got the hang of it, except for trying to leap over the sides of the ring now and then. It all went well except when I tied myself up in the lunge rope, which happened quite frequently; worst of all was when Flower the Border collie appeared and got tangled up in the rope too, much to Rain's delight. She had turned up to watch for a change and sat on the bumper of a busted combi screaming with laughter. Even Kevin was moved to grin now and then and I think Siobhan was laughing too behind her thick black forelock.

Her manners are improving; Kevin managed to trim all her feet today. We tried to lead her over the big piece of steel that I use for teaching show calves to load, but it was a failure, even with a bum-rope. More triumphantly we got her to walk through the crush, with the help of some horse feed and a bit of pushing. All in all, Little Siobhan is much better.

Well, there is much to do. I must finish The Morning Star Mare this weekend for MML and of course there's the horse show. There is tack to clean, jodhpurs to buy, horses to school, mane-plaiting to practice, articles to read, stories to write, breakfasts to eat, calves to feed, tick and fly poison to put on everything that breathes, and so on...

... what a wonderful to-do-list I have! I can't wait to get started!

April 7, 2010: Yay!! (Excuse the grammatical error of !!).

So Kevin managed to convince the show people that Skye could come to the show even though she hasn't had her equine flu vaccine. Hurray! Thanks Kevin!

Basically we displayed the entry form to Kevin and told him about the problem. Kevin thinks he's better at nagging than Mom is, so he decided to phone the show people.

"There's a phone number here that says Enquiries," he said. "I will... enquire."

He grinned in a way that made me feel very sorry for the show people. But they must have got the message because Skye and I can now go to the show! I can't wait, it will be such tremendous fun. She looks like a living jewel now (which she is) with all the grooming she has been getting and that brilliant summer coat she has, and her fitness levels are definitely improving. My only worry is the technical side of the jumping because I am not exactly a seasoned rider and still haven't got the hang of the whole leading leg thing. We haven't jumped anything for ages, though we can't really because we have only one jump and it is most frightfully boring to go over the same jump again and again. So primarily we're just doing a lot of outrides and an even bigger lot of herding, especially because today we split up the dry cows/heifers/oxen and the lactating cows/donkey for the first time and began to feed the lactating cows in the middle of the day. This means driving our moany, groany, creaky, screamy tractor, which wails and wiffles like a cross between the Jabberwock and a whale in its death-throes when it is asked to start up*, out into the veld with a trailer-load of feed bowls and bringing the cows to the tractor. Skye is extremely useful now; most of the time I just stick to her back and hang on while she does most of the work. After a while the cows will discover that they get fed and come running when the tractor appears, but for now we have to bring them in. We're feeding them half a kilogram each of a sandy-coloured smelly goo which is called restbrot and makes calves grow like weeds and cows produce like rivers. Skye likes it but I bite the workers' heads off if they allow my horses anywhere near the restbrot because they might get laminitis or colic or poisoning or something equally dreadful.

Well well, I'm rambling on a bit here, must be because it's eight o' clock at night and my brain is starting to drop sublte (I meant subtle) hints that ist tiem fro bed. Oh dear, you see what I mean.

Good night all!

*Luckily the tractor is hopefully going to be stored in the Hydeaway Farm Museum. That is, if I win the MML prize and the prize money can become payment for a tractor. Dad and I made a deal: he can buy the tractor with my prize money if I'm allowed to paint Dawn Treader on it. It's a good name for a tractor, don't you think?

April 6, 2010: Hooves

On Friday we had a lesson again. Kevin put me on Achilles for a change and seated himself on my poor little Skye, who pouted. More excitingly we rode out on the gravel road that runs next to our farm and it was brilliant. Achy was fine; lazy as usual, and simply would not canter for more than two or three steps. Yes, he would trot, extended trot, super-extended trot, split-in-half extended trot, and no canter.

Otherwise he was okay. We passed a car or two and though only Mom, Dad and Rain (on the way to town) slowed down, he did pretty well. The eland, blesbuck, springbuck, wildebeest and hartebeest belonging to the People Next Door did not faze him. Not even the attractive mares of Inanna Ishtar Arabian Stud could entice him to do more than look, whinny, and keep walking. Smart boy.

We rode all the way to the big tar road that goes to town and all the way back, me on Skye and Kevin on Achilles, for no apparent reason other than that Achilles was wearing the comfortable saddle and Skye was wearing the uncomfortable one, which is Kevin's mortal enemy. Skye was very good but got a stone in her foot and I nearly had a heart attack. By the time we got home she had shed the stone and seemed to have suffered no ill effects.

Then the fun began. Achilles's hooves needed rasping and I was nervy because the previous time we had done Achy's hooves he bucked and plunged and leapt around all over the place. It was all Kevin could do to trim his front hooves. This time however, much to my astonishment, Achilles went to sleep and made no fuss at all. What a good boy!

Miss A was pretty good too except that her hooves were covered in mud to the cannon bone. She looked much better and happier with her feet trimmed.

Siobhanny was blissful to catch for a change, but when she saw Kevin she more or less bolted. Luckily I was still clinging to her lead rein and dragged her to a halt, to which she responded with a rear. We spent a wild ten minutes trying to calm her down, during which she reared so high I was sure she'd fall over. Eventually Kevin managed to quiet her and trimmed and rasped one forefoot. Then the rearing performance began again and Kevin narrowly missed being kicked, so we decided to call it a day. Kevin's opinion: "She's a nasty little horse."

"Why does she rear?" I asked unwisely.

"'Cause she's stupid."

Now Little Siobhan is scheduled for a lesson with Kevin and I this Friday. That ought to be very interesting. Very very interesting indeed...

April 5, 2010: Book Arts Bash Prize

Here is my little trophy for the excerpt from My Best Friend is a Werewolf.

I just loved this competition for homeschooled novelists and can't wait to read the excerpts - especially the winner of my grade and the second to third grade winner (a story entitled The Adventures of Blue Flame the Heroic Giant Squid Fighting Hero. Too cute for words). If anyone is interested go to www.bookartsbash.com

Well, that's it for now. Still have to finish Star Mare within two weeks at the most! Gotta run!

April 1, 2010: A Special Sort of Magic

Today, the first day of April, 2010, we have lived here, on Hydeaway Farm, on Imaginthia for ten years. It is the only home I know. Once, when I was a toddler, there was another place. But now there is nowhere else.

Here is where we built a dream, the very strength of belief and determination making that dream seem so much closer. Here is where, once, when the lands were unfenced, and only duiker grazed the veld, a man and a woman and two children looked down over the glorious hills and had a dream. Here is where the dream lives now, almost two hundred head of wonderful Jersey cattle, and more than a hundred pretty Frieslands. Once we sighed for a registered herd and a place in the Jersey SA. Now we dream for a herd to rival the best in the country and a place in the top ten best studs in South Africa.

We moved in ten years ago, Mom, Dad, kids, dogs, two cows, a bull, ducks, chickens, and a donkey. The house was tumbling down and there were no fences; the outbuildings were unused and thick with the dust of long-ago harvests; for years no cow had trod the fertile, waiting earth. Ten years later the house tumbles down still, but fences have come, and the buildings are sweet with the dusty smell of cattle feed and the chorus of doe-eyed calves awaiting their bottle. It is sad in a way for once the land was free; but all dreams are free, no matter what is tamed in the process of living them. It is impossible to fully tame Nature, for the tamers - humans - like to think that they are the tamest of all, yet a wildness still smoulders in us too.

This is a dream-place. Dreams happen here. It is part of the soil. We have become part of this lovely little farm in the hills, planting our fence posts and filling the land with beautiful cattle. Yet in the process, the farm has become part of us, too. Its soil runs in our blood; its rock strengthens our bones. This farm is ours. We are this farm's. This is where we belong.

Ten years have changed Hydeaway Farm; there is a milking parlour and a network of fences and lovely cows and shining horses. There are chickens now in the disused pen and dogs sleep again in the house. Ten years has changed us, too. We have become poorer in a way; and much, much richer in another. Once we had much money. Now we have just enough. Once we lived in a huge, elegant house. Now we live in a house that is little more than a cottage.

In that, we are poorer. What we must all learn to realise is that, though money is to a certain extent important, it is not as important as many, many other things. We have health and life and happiness. We laugh loud; we love hard. We dream big. We have magic now and we have a family. We have something to be proud of. When one looks at the rows of camps with healthy, good cattle where once there was only veld, one has pride. And yet we are at the same time gifted with humility. They say a horse will as soon throw a king as his groom; it is also true that a cow will as soon trample a prince as a beggar.

Oh, but there are so many more dreams to dream. A dream is like a star on the horizon. The road to it is rough, and sometimes the horizon is very dark. But the right star will never stop shining. A dream is one of the most precious things in the world. Our dream is a big dream. But it's the right dream, and we are together. It is not a single dream, but more a great dream springing from many dreams interwoven. It is written: A threefold cord is not quickly broken. (Ecclesiasties 4: 12). A cord with four interwoven strands must indeed be very strong. All four of us dream a different dream. Our dreams are inexplicably interlaced. We dream dreams that will not easily die. A threefold cord is not quickly broken.

Of course dreams come true. I pity the man that denies that. A wise man said - Whether you think you can or whether you think you can't, you're right. If you do not belive in dreams coming true, yours won't, much like you can only see the magic if you believe in it.

This is an amazing place. There is nowhere like Hydeaway Farm, like Imaginthia, in the whole world, in all the worlds. There is a special magic that throbs here at the heart of our heartland.

Today, a fine, sifting drizzle filtered down in silver droplets, freshening the green world of April. For a few minutes a dreadful thought came. When the cows came dancing in to be milked, eight were missing. Rain and Mom set off in the bakkie with two of the dogs while I went to explain the situation to that most dependable friend living here - Skye. She was waiting; I think she knew. We cantered into the drizzle, her hooves singing on the ground. We had to find them.

Skye and I took the route down to the kopje where the cows had been grazing while Mom drove around it. We were just splitting up when Rain saw them. At the same moment as she yelled, "Hey, I can see them!" Skye's head swung around, ears pricked, eyes bright. Gentle Jersey eyes looked back.

My heart sang as Skye took them home; eight tired and wayward cows. She paced quietly after the cows, guiding them home. Bold young Made You Look - or Mully - let the way at a jog. Deep, red-gold Henrietta, flanked by black Ocean and outgoing Swallow, hurried after; in a bunch, the younger and more nervous followed - dainty but fiesty Cleopatra, fine-boned Lollipop, silver Hilda, with shy Tioctan bringing up the rear. All children of the great cow families that form the basis of the Hydeaway herd. Mully is a grandchild of well-bred, elegant Manhu MMP May - better known as Bontrok. Henrietta and Hilda share an ancestry of brilliant Heidi, the daughter of ancient Blommie. Ocean's grandmother is Ou Girl, a big gentle Friesland. Cleopatra is a princess, a daughter of wonderful Corne. Lollipop's mother, beautiful Line, came from the same breeder. And Tioctan is a grandchild of the venerable Tinkerbell.

It was good to know these things. Good to have a legacy and something to be proud of. As we drove the last few cows through the gate and shut it, I took a moment to turn Skye's head into the south wind, to gulp the pure air thick with magic, untainted by the smoke and fog of the magic-killing city. And I was happy. Purely, utterly, blissfully happy.

 

Hydeaway Jerseys: Names Not Numbers