December 2011

December 23, 2011: Much Drama

Poor Skye has gone lame. Not badly, thankfully; in fact, more stiff in one leg than actually lame, so that I only noticed something was wrong when I got on her; she felt just a little bit off, slightly iffy on the one side. I hopped off and checked her feet for stones (she's fussy about stones in her feet) and found none. At a walk there was a slight irregularity in her gait, but not enough that I could see which leg she was favouring so I trotted her up (running backwards; luckily Skye is used to me and made no protest) and she was unsound on her right hindleg.

I nearly had a panic attack (I'm very good at panic attacks) but managed to keep my head on and asked Mom if she thought Skye was lame, because I'm forever imagining lamenesses and swellings and pale gums and poor appetites. Mom said she was a bit stiff in her right hind. Skye was still overtracking with both hindlegs, so we just called Kevin for advice and he said she was having a cramp or maybe she was stiff, since there was no heat, swelling or noticeable pain in the leg. I stretched her leg a bit and got some cold water on it, fed her carrots, and felt instantly better when Skye barged off back to her herd at a trot, obviously not feeling too bad.

Last Friday we had a spectacular ride. We were inoculating 300 of the cattle against Rift Valley fever and three day stiff sickness. That's 300 cattle including the bull, King Arthur, who does not appreciate being herded. Dad went to Skye and I for help, and we were only too pleased to strut our stuff. The last time a bull tried to menace Skye she kicked him in the ribs, King Arthur is safely dehorned and besides Skye can outrun any fat old bull so I was confident. Arthur bellowed and pawed the ground at our approach; I whistled and whooped and Skye made flat ears at him and he made mock charges at us, so we make a real charge at him. Backing off twenty metres or so, we launched into a canter and thundered headlong at the bull. Arthur snorted and bellowed and acted brave, but when Skye was just a few strides away, he chickened out and bolted after the heifers. The rest of the ride to the crush was easy; getting him into the crush was a different matter. Workers with sticks and Dad with his bullwhip were shouting and banging their sticks and cracking their whip in all directions; Skye is afraid of whips and sticks, having been mistreated before I got her, and she was very nervous with her head high and ears buried in her mane but she saw it through and did the job and I was so proud of her I could have cried. Getting Arthur back to his paddock was also something of a mission; he mock charged us and Skye, thoroughly sick of his nonsense, reared up like a stallion, forefeet flailing. Arthur was scared out of his wits and gave us no more trouble. We rode for two hours, bringing groups of heifers to and from the crush and speeding up the process.

I love you, my beautiful, brave horse. I would have trusted no one else to carry me so safely and herd that bull so courageously. There's no horse in the whole world quite like you, my shining one, and I pray your leg gets better soon.

When Skye and I got back from hosing off her leg, Rain was busy getting herself into a spin with Siobhan; pony was having one of her Days - stopping short, backing up, refusing to trot on, refusing to steer properly, but thankfully no bucking or bolting or any of that nonsense. I got on her and admit to being a bit too rough with her (I was in a bit of a tizzy too) but she got the message and soon earned enough pats to make up for the smacks. I'm really pleased that Rain's riding Siobhanny a lot, because frankly I never get around to her nearly enough, and even though she trains Rain more than Rain trains her, she gets a lot more exercise and she and Rain are bonding beautifully. They really get along, both being spunky, mischievous, far too intelligent for their own good and possessing the same wicked sense of humour. Of course the two strong wills clash now and then, but temper tantrums are kept to a minimum (from both).

Since poor Skyecat was out of action, I took Arwen and Secret out instead. I've ridden Arwen three or four times since she foaled, giving her two weeks off first. She lost a lot of weight and right now she's where I want her, so I'm trying to keep her that way. We rode in the arena twice and she was surprisingly good for Arwen, because she gets very fizzy if left to her own devices for too long. She had a buck or two, Secret had a buck or twenty, and then they settled down. Naturally, most of Arwen's laziness is gone, though she still retains a very nice rhythmic canter. On Wednesday for my lesson we started jumping again, starting with a little 30cm from a trot. She was very hesitant and needed to be kicked right into it, but Arwen a) hates jumping from a trot and b) never really bothers to try with smaller obstacles. Still, she didn't stop or threaten to run out, and from a canter she was going a lot better, so Kevin abruptly trebled the height to about 85-90cm (what she was jumping before Secret was born). I knew she was going to stop before we even approached the jump because I was thinking, Whoa, that looks huge and Arwen read my mind and slammed on the brakes. The next time round she cantered in a little too close, but jumped very nicely; for the first time in weeks I felt once more that awesome drifting feeling over a bigger jump, the floating moment of suspension, the way the horse's shoulders seem to come right up to meet you. I was so happy I could have kissed her; we jumped again and this time she was utterly confident, taking off miles from the jump and clearing it effortlessly. A few months ago - before she grew very heavily pregnant, I guess - Arwen had a habit of taking off very early and it looks like it's back. Since she's been taking her jumps much too small, I'm letting her do it for now. The first time I caught her a little bit in her mouth but managed to get my hands forward before I really pulled on her, and for the next too jumps I was ready and gave her plenty of rein.

Yesterday I took her for her first outride since she foaled. I thought she would be very loopy because the laziness is gone and she tends to be skittish, besides when Dancer was little Arwen used to jump out of her skin with shock when Dancer shot past us, but the work I put in before she foaled paid off and she didn't turn a hair. She did go very crooked for the first half of the ride, head in one direction and body in the other, but the remaining half was lovely and she straightened out very nicely. Even when a little duiker shot out right under Arwen's nose (making Secret flee in abject terror) she just kept walking. I'm very impressed with her and have hope for her future as showjumper. She was supposed to get her AHS and flu injections early this month, but Dr. Louis the vet has to do it because I got her a passport, and she chose the day the vet came to foal down, so that was the end of that idea. Now she'll get her shots in early January so I have a few weeks to ride her as much as I want. Secret has boundless energy; poor Arwen will be panting and gasping and doing her Oh my Goodness I'm going to DIE! act while Secret will still be zooming around bucking. We had a nice gallop, or as nice as a gallop ever gets on Arwen; even without a ten-month foal in her belly, she still flops along at what would be barely a gallop at all for Skye, no matter how much I kick and wave my whip and squawk encouragement. Even Secret overtakes her, honestly. Skye was extremely disgruntled that Arwen got to gallop and she didn't; she neighed very loudly from her paddock as we plodded past. Poor Skye. This morning her leg is a lot better, I'm going to stretch and spray it again and maybe put some magic blue stuff on it.

The foals are doing well. Thunder is much happier on his walks and I've been working on getting him used to water, now I can hose him down all over without too much trouble, though he does tend to walk in circles around me while I water his bum. He got that one from his mother, though to Skye's credit she's miles and miles better and I could hose down her leg without even having to hold her. Dancer is still fiery and a bit stupid on walks, but she's very responsive and concentrates for longer than Thunder. Thunder has a personal little planet of his own, to which he retreats quite often. In that sense, he's a lot like me. Some days he'll be absolutely perfect and do everything I ask of him without putting a foot wrong; other days, Planet Thunder will reach the far end of its orbit from Planet Firn and he'll stare into the middle distance, clearly not with me, and not respond to pretty much anything. I'm taking it easy on him. He's just a baby, and better absentminded than aggressive - even on his worst days he simply ignores me and never bucks/bites/kicks/rears/chops/runs away.

Unfortunately I haven't been able to lunge them at all. My lunge ring is in a state of sad disrepair since the Frieslands ran through it last Friday, much to the amusement of Bashful, Indigo and Jane.

Sunday was Mom's birthday. I painted Apollo, her big bear of a German shepherd, on the wall for her and Dad bought her a duvet cover; then we all trooped off to see the Lipizzaners' Carols by Candlelight. Mom chose a very good birthday celebration. The Carols by Candlelight were absolutely magnificent. Accompanied by the Welsh Male Voice Choir, the Lipizzaners danced with as much grace and beauty as ever as the songs of Jesus rose into the air all around them. The Airs Above the Ground were magnificent as ever. Favory Modena, that great stallion that glows like a unicorn and smells like a horse, living proof that there are white horses even if they were born black and most people call them grey, came and courbetted for us five times in a row right in front of the audience. Each time he leaps on his hindlegs, his hooves reach higher than his handler's waist.

The men sang and the horses danced; and the horses celebrated and were themselves a celebration, a study of joy in grey and white; they knew this was special, Modena knew this was special for he leapt five times instead of the usual twice. They're always special, but that night they knew Who had made them, and revelled in it; they could feel His presence, as could I, as could all of us. The Lipizzaners rejoiced, and I wondered if there had been a horse in the stable the night our Lord Jesus was born. I think there was, or God would not have made them so beautiful.

The Pas de Triox, all out of the same mare (Arva), with the two bays' riders sidesaddle. Unfortunately this is the only reasonable photo I got before my phone died; I didn't even try to photograph the Airs Above the Ground and filmed them instead.

Some time ago - weeks in fact - we went to the Caesersvlei Open Day. Caesersvlei is a budding equestrian estate right next door to us; home to the most beautiful Arab I have ever seen, Innana Ishtar Belrock. Belrock is chestnut, the sort of chestnut that bursts into flame when he walks into the sunlight. His long, white stockings and perfectly diamond-shaped star lend even more flair to a horse that is made of flair. Not only strikingly lovely, Belrock moves like a prince among horses. His extended trot is unlike anything I have ever seen; he puts his feet down only for the fun of it, he could trot on the air if he wanted to. I'm in love. He's simply stunning. He's right up there at the top of my list of most beautiful horses (you know who's number one on that list by about a million light-years. Skye of course).

He's goosebumpy, that horse. If I was superbly rich I would breed him and Skye and see what sort of a foal I'd get. Judging by Skye and the way Thunder is turning out absolutely dreamy, it would be truly amazing.

December 11, 2011: Of Horses and Their People

More specifically, their girls. I can't speak for the horsemen out there, not being one, but I do know that what a horse does for a girl is something very special and very indescribable. In those horribly cold mornings when the last thing you want to do is shiver outside watching horses eat, and you do it anyway because they're standing there all fluffy and hungry, horses give you feet. On those blazing days when you fly up the hillside with a song in your heart and a mighty horse between your knees, horses give you wings. Feet and wings. What more could a girl want?

They say that every horse deserves, at least once in its life, to be loved by a little girl. I think it's also true that every girl deserves to love and be loved by a horse. You don't know what soft is until you've touched a horse's muzzle, and you don't know what a hug is until you've wrapped your arms around a horse's neck and realised how perfectly that curve of muscle fits into the circle of your arms. You don't know what freedom is until you've galloped up a hill knowing, without an atom of doubt, that God made the horse you're riding.

They also say that there is no secret so close as that between a rider and her horse. Not even I understand the secret and I'm the rider. I think Skye understands it, though.

Our friendship is a morning star in my sky. When I was a lot littler, I used to plait ribbons into Skye's mane and make her wear those cute decorative browbands. You know, little-girl-and-her-horsy stuff. Now, I prefer to stay in the saddle. To ride and ride and ride and ride and ride, to canter under a wide open sky and wish that this ride would never, ever end.

Yesterday, Skye and I went to fetch the cows. She had a day off on Friday and was rather full of herself, prancing and playing with her bit the way she does when she's feeling fiery (i. e. virtually always). This resulted in the two of us bounding down some embankments rather faster than I had intended; usually I stick to a walk or slow trot down the embankments - they're really steep! - but yesterday Skye had other ideas and bellowed off down them at a full canter. The cows nearly had a heart attack and charged off toward the milking parlour a bit quicker than usual. Oops. A good gallop to fetch the dry cows took a little bit of the tickle out of her feet; she still had enough spark to shy wildly at a feed bag and jump a log as if it was about two metres high. For the dry cows' sake I managed to rein in my golden horse to herd them, whereupon she sulked.

She perked up soon when I pointed her up the hill to fetch the calves and we zoomed off at a Mill Reef sort of gallop, both parties having the time of our lives; the poor calves headed for home at a trot. It was overcast and everyone was feeling the rain; the calves' tails were corkscrewing up in the air and they bucked all the time, which drove Skye dilly, luckily she only pranced up and down on the spot instead of bucking too. There are few feelings like the one you get when you're sitting on a horse that glows gold, her neck arched until her chin nearly bumps her chest, folding her legs like a carousel horse as she prances on the spot, silver tail swept high. She is too beautiful not to love.

There was hardly a drop of sweat on her when we finished. I was quite relieved about that; when she's really sweaty and I wash her off with water, the invariable result is Skye rolling in the muddiest place she can find.

She can be something of a goofball every now and then.

Another girl-horse relationship is budding on the farm, though. Rain's riding was nonexistent for the past two or three years; after losing her old horse, a dear old thoroughbred named Rivr, Antoinette the Friesian Lady gave her Arwen and the then two-month-old Siobhan. Arwen was a darling to back but, being Arwen, had a head full of air and less sense than a duckling, and she was afraid of everything. Rain also didn't know how to ride a canter yet. Inevitably this resulted in Rain getting bucked off onto her collarbone, which promptly broke. So riding ground to halt for a long time, and since I've become a nervous rider, I really can't quite wrap my head around how Rain scraped together the guts to get back on after such a nasty fall. But she did. First on Skye, who, fiery and explosive as she is, plodded like an old school pony and never put a toe out of line. Skye gave Rain her courage back, the way she does with me each time I stick a foot in her stirrup. Then Rain rode poor Arwen for a while and the featherbrain was angelic with her, to all appearances trying to make it up to her.

And now since Arwen's on maternity leave and after Siobhan was consistently being very, very good, I put Rain on Siobhan. I admit that putting a nervous rider on a three-year-old pony might not have been the safest idea in the world, but Siobhan was impressing me and so was Rain, so I bit the bullet and let it happen. And guess what? They just clicked. Within the very first half-hour Rain was cantering with The Mustang while I stood there gawking and trying to figure out how Siobhan the Mustang turned into a sweet little pony.

It is a great miracle. Less than two years ago, I haltered a scruffy eighteen-month-old filly and tried to lead her around a bit. She promptly reared up, forelegs flailing, spooking the wits out of me and giving me a quite impressive bruise. The Siobhan saga had begun. She reared when I lunged her. She reared when I tried to pick up her feet. She reared when Kevin tried to trim her hooves (he managed to trim one hoof in half an hour). She reared when I led her too far away from her mother. She reared when she saw the stallion; she reared when she was frightened, annoyed, frustrated or just plain felt like it. She reared the second time I got on her, and she reared when we changed her saddle, flipping over and missing me by about half a centimetre. (Okay, probably more, but when a horse nearly lands on you the "nearly" always seems quite tiny). And now...

And now she's being such a dream. She hasn't bucked for ages. She stands like a stone to be mounted. She walks, trots and canters willingly; being Arwen's daughter she's pretty lazy, but for Rain that's better than being pretty lively. She doesn't follow her head so well, with the head going one way and the body going the other, and she also won't canter downhill (only canters the other three sides of the arena) but we're still working on that. The other day we taught her to jump. We're making progress; at first she slammed on brakes just in front of the jump, now she slams on brakes midway over the jump, ending up with her forelegs on one side, hindlegs on the other, myself being enormously embarrassed and Kevin thinking it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. Siobhanny is being really really well behaved and then she and Rain just had a connection. The two of them seem to suit each other. She's young, and needs a lot more training, but I really hope that being a girl's pleasure pony is in Siobhan's future. The only other thing I can see myself using her for is as a riding school pony; I have enough riding horses and I could never sell her in a million years, because the two of us have walked a long road together.

So now Siobhan sports a brand new, bright pink fly mask and gets ridden four or five days of the week, mostly by Rain and often by me, because she really needs a lot more training. When I told Kevin that Rain had cantered on Siobhan (Kevin never did succeed in getting Rain to canter, irrespective of the horse) his eyes came out on stalks.

"No!" he squawked. "There's no way. Rain cantering on Siobhan?"

But it's true.

So after riding Skye yesterday I took Rain riding. At first she would sit and wait while I saddled up, ride a bit, then vamoose while I groomed the horse, but luckily things have changed because I really can't stand those riders that hop off the horse and toss the reins to the groom.

Siobhan was quite far down in her paddock, so off I went to catch her. Rain grabbed the helmet and bridle and pretty much told me to go fly a kite. Bemused and pleased, I tagged after her as she effortlessly caught Siobhan (making me feel like a royal idiot after warning Rain that no one but me can catch Siobhan, not even Kevin). While she was putting the bridle on, the photographer in me leapt up and down screaming so I fished for my cellphone and tried to capture the magic between a girl and a horse.

Siobhan decided to look like a mule in all the pictures, but she behaved herself impeccably. Rain decided to ride her up bareback (Rain? Voluntarily riding bareback? On Siobhan? HUH??) and tried to vault on, but despite Siobhan being just 13.2hh Rain hasn't quite got the hang of vaulting yet. As we say in Africa, 'n boer maak 'n plan (a farmer makes a plan), so off Rain charged to fetch a food bowl, Siobhan watching with great interest. She wasn't quite sure about this idea.

A little bit of a jump, with Siobhan looking worried,

... and they were off. "CHARGE!" screamed Rain and smacked her heels into Siobhan, making her plod off at about half a metre an hour.

Before saddling up, Rain first had to spend a few minutes lying on her pony's neck and whispering sweet nothings in her ears; Siobhan elected to flatly ignore her and look like a mule as ever, but I know she was listening. Horses are good at listening.

Then it was time to saddle up. In theory, anyway; first Rain had to expound on her dream of winning what she called, in one of her six-year-old moments, the Prettiest Girl and Pony Competition. I think they've got a good chance.

The saddle gave Rain some trouble, being an endurance type saddle instead of the English saddles she's used to, and she succeeded in getting it to fall off the other side when she put it on, but Siobhan behaved herself. Rain laughed at herself as she tried to figure out where the girth went (somehow she got the stirrups tangled in the girth straps). Don't you think she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?

I tried to get Siobhan into the spirit of the thing with those lovely pictures some people can take of the horse's eye and forelock. Siobhan was looking more mulish by the moment, but luckily my camera is good at focusing so I just pointed it at her and pressed the button and it came together quite nicely, barring Rain's super puzzled expression (she managed to tangle the stirrup leathers, girth straps and saddle blanket together).

Siobhan really was feeling mulish today, but thankfully this meant only that she rushed around corners a bit and was really lazy, not that she tried to kill her rider, which was the case some time ago. Once she actually managed to prick her ears. Rain's riding is shaping really well, she's sitting up a lot straighter, though the heels need a lot of work. Heels up is such a nasty habit to shake.

It wasn't long before they were trotting about (see what I mean by Siobhan's head?)

... and cantering, too. (Photographic evidence! It really happened!)

Then after the ride, Siobhan brought a lump to Rain's throat by following her around like a trusting shadow.

Rain spent about a gazillion years brushing the pony, lost in those lovely daydreams horses give their people, and I left them to it and went to take Thunder for a walk. We didn't have much time, but he is a lot better, no longer pulling or pushing me around and neighing a lot less. I let him graze a bit only a few metres away from Achilles and despite the stallion's neighing, Thunder just ate. We splashed in a puddle a bit - Thunder is really calm around water, too - and called it a day. He's becoming a dream horse with that long flowing mane and expression of epic gentleness.

So, as you can see, Thunder and Siobhan's education is going really well. Arwen is on hold for the moment, though I'll probably start riding her next week or the week after; she was supposed to get her AHS injection last Friday but then Secret happened. Speaking of Secret, he's doing well, too. He's very cheeky and as vain as a peacock, and we love him to bits. He's nibbly, like most foals, but it looks like I've cured him of his kicking habit. He's still shy, but he'll come up to me and let me stroke his face and neck, and if I move quietly I can stand next to him and rub his back and belly. Dancer was wilder at his age; Thunder was a lot tamer, which is interesting, because I've handled both the colts almost exactly the same - catching them with one arm around the chest and one around the hindquarters on their very first day, and breathing softly in their nostrils to get them used to my smell. Right from the start, Thunder never minded anyone touching him; he was a week old when he started to neigh at the sight of me, which was quite heart-wrenching.

Secret loves (to nibble) people and gets very curious if you sit down. At my last lesson Kevin was marching around everywhere trying to get away from Secret, who wanted nothing more than to eat his hair. "Your foal is tormenting me!" the mutterer burst out at last as Secret stole his cap.

Dancer's also doing quite well. I don't handle her as much as I handle Thunder, unfortunately. Since they're over their AHS injections I lunged them both, it's only the third or fourth time they've ever been lunged. Thunder is very sweet. He wouldn't know a temper tantrum if you dropped it in his feed bowl. He gets afraid or confused sometimes, but he never turns aggressive or starts going ballistic. He's a perfect gentleman with lunging: no bucking, no bolting, no trying to leap over the sides of the ring or kick my teeth out, which is quite a relief after Siobhan who did all of those, sometimes at the same time. He'll walk, trot, halt and change direction very nicely as long as he's concentrating - he loses focus very easily and then trots around staring into the middle distance, in his own little world, totally oblivious to me. I'm not going to worry about that now, though. He's still only a baby and I can't expect him to focus for more than ten minutes or so.

Dancer is so much like Siobhan that it's just unreal. Lunging her is just like lunging the two-year-old Siobhan. She kicks now and then, but the main problem is that she jumps out over the side; the poles are about a metre high and one day she just up and decided to jump out, despite me pulling on her head. I goggled and hope fervently that she'll jump as nicely when she's a five-year-old under saddle as she jumps now. Anyways I just knew that I had forgotten how to lunge properly, lulled into bad habits by lunging only well-behaved horses, and I was right this time; my lunging has gone from bearable to pathetic again. It doesn't seem to matter lunging a calm horse like Thunder or Arwen but it all comes to pieces with Dancer. More practice and a whip is in order; I tried to lunge Dancey with just a lunge rein, using the end of it to urge her on, but it's hard to handle and drives me up the walls, especially when Kevin takes over and makes the rein go exactly where he wants it apparently without effort.

The black (or seal brown, or dark bay, I still can't figure it out) filly is a lot like Siobhan but much more toned down; she goes into the crush nicely and doesn't protest as much as Siobhan did. On walks, she has the occasional temper tantrum, or freaks out sometimes, but not much at all and we're also curing her irritating habit of chopping with her front feet when she gets frustrated.

The two puppies are doing superbly; they spend hours and hours playing and Cyclone has never really hurt Blizz, though Blizz still starts yelping every now and then. Poor little Blizzy learnt what the electric fence is for by getting shocked so hard she ran into the house squealing and spent five minutes shivering in my lap and staring in the direction of the fence with saucer eyes. Blizzard managed to grow 1.4kg in one week, probably because she eats everything in sight, including my saddle soap. (As I was trying to cook and clean tack at the same time, I'm afraid that the puppy wasn't the only one who ate saddle soap, though the family just stoically went on chewing. I guess my cooking tastes weird anyway).

Blizzard's been working hard on her Innocent Face, hence no one ever shouting at her for eating their stuff.

Skye and I went for a superb outride today. I'm going on a short pony camp and I'm going to miss my shining one, I would have liked to bring her along but this would have meant Skye being stuck in a stable, which I don't think she'd appreciate. Our ride was... something friends share. Very beautiful, very fast and very free. My horse prancing like a sunbeam. Oh, I love her. I love her enough that, when no one is looking (especially not a parent or Kevin), when we canter over good terrain, I drop the reins and throw both hands in the air and scream "Thank You, Sir!" knowing that I'm breaking more rules than I have brain cells (which is admittedly not hard).

As we drifted on, my golden horse and I, all I could think was: If this is only Earth, then what is waiting for the followers of Christ in the life that is to come?

December 2, 2011: Much Excitement...

Whoa, where do I start? How can so much happen in so little time? So there's been this puppy and this foal and this calf and Skye is over her AHS and we got to RIDE!!! and it was awesome, andandand... I should really switch my internal editor on, I sound like an overexcited teenager, which, to a greater or lesser extent, I am.

Okay, let's start with Arwen and leave the best (AKA Skye) for last this time. On Saturday morning I noticed that Arwen was making a bit of an udder. I scratched my head and had a long look at her and thought that she really doesn't have much of a belly, so it must be the change of feed (onto her micronised maize, better known as cornflakes in the Hyde house). I took it easy with her for the next few days but she was so fizzed up on her cornflakes that I almost ruled out pregnancy. On Wednesday that udder looked rather large, so I asked Kevin to have a look.

"Well, she doesn't look pregnant," breezed the sagacious mutterer. "I mean, her tummy seems too big at the top and too small at the bottom if you get my drift."

"Oh," I said. "Well, what's with the udder, then? Are you sure she's not pregnant? 'Cause if she's pregnant my parents will skin me alive."

"Nah, she's not pregnant," spake the oracle. "It's the change in feed."

So after having my lessons on Skye and Siobhan, I took Arwen out for a ride by herself. She was super and we had a lovely long canter, which I cringe to think about right now. On Thursday afternoon it rained and I didn't get to ride her. God sent that rain, because, well, Arwen had dried milk on her teats and I (in sheer stupidity) thought that It Was Just The Change Of Feed making her give milk. This morning I took Blizzard the Puppy (more on her later) to go for a wee and peered down to the horses' paddock to see what Skye was up to. Skye was grazing alongside Arwen, who was grazing alongside something small and leggy. I thought, Hey, what's that buck doing in the horses' paddock? (In my defence, I had just been woken up by a puppy with a bursting bladder). Then I thought, That's not a buck. Then, Oh, Arwen. Then, Nice one, Kevin.

I attired myself in a dressing gown and swooped down upon the horses. Skye gave a merry neigh, something like "Hey, look what happened in the night!" with just a hopeful hint of "Is it breakfast time yet?" I patted her and stood goggling at Arwen, who looked innocently back, swishing a tail stained with whatever it is that foals float around in before they're born. By her side stood a foal. Long-legged, fluffy, big-eared and heart-wrenchingly innocent, it peeked at me in mild trepidation, curly ears flicking to and fro, tiny nostrils working as it drank in my scent.

Almost exactly the same colour as Dancer was when she was born, the little thing sports a pure white star on its forehead. A handsome and healthy and tiny little bay colt.

I was quite enchanted. I forgot that no one had planned this foal; forgot how expensive it is to feed a horse; forgot that I had ridden poor Arwen throughout her pregnancy; forgot that she is five years old and this is her third unintended foal. I just saw a miniature replica of a horse, wobbling on endless legs, the tiny fluff of his mane and tail curling wildly and his eyes wide and dark and curious. A small, white muzzle reached out to me, little nostrils twitching, thatch of curly whiskers quivering. I held out a hand and tiny huffs of milky breath touched my skin as the little colt tried to find out what I was. My fingers brushed a coat as soft as a baby's dreams. I fell hopelessly in love. I fall hopelessly in love with all foals. I mean, how could you resist this?

I named him Secret. It suits him perfectly. I simply can't believe that there are seven horses now. Skye, Thunder, Arwen, Siobhan, Dancer, Achilles and Secret. Three born here on the farm. Only one was intentional.

And here is the hard lesson, learnt hard: bad infrastructure and stallions don't mix. There's no excuse. We made plenty when we bought the great prancing colt that was Achilles. The fences will hold him... I mean, there are two fences between them even if they can see  each other... He'll have Skye with him and we'll geld him as soon as she's pregnant, so he won't try to get to the others, right? In my parents' defence, they're not horsy people, they could never be expected to see the warning lights that I should have seen when we loaded Achilles into the trailer. Frankly, I was captivated; not only by the black stallion with his flashing dark coat, but also by the thought of a miniature Skye galloping about. I'm still captivated by Thunderbird the majestic. He was worth all the hassle of getting Achilles, backing him, trying to ride him, getting bucked off two times in as many minutes.

For the reason of Thunder, I won't say that we should never have bought Achilles. I will say that we should have listened to the horse mutterer and built a proper paddock for him. Arwen got to him twice. Now the mares are all out of Achilles's reach but the damage was done; Dancer and Secret were both born, and though they're lovely horses and I can never regret the birth of a horse, I must unwillingly admit to myself that they are unwanted horses. Not unloved - but unwanted. It's not fair to expect my parents to feed seven horses. Achilles is already on the market; I will have to sell Dancer or Secret or both, depending on how they grow up and how life pans out. And of course I'll send them to the best possible homes and check up on them and do my very best to ensure that they live happy lives, but I can't be absolutely certain. And I'll also know that the horse I sell to a good home gets a home that another horse needs. Do you know how many horses are rescued each year? Do you know how many more aren't? Neither do I, but I can imagine...

So tomorrow there will be worries. For today, though, I have a foal to cuddle!

The aforementioned puppy, Blizzard, arrived on Sunday. Because of Cyke's poor hips, the breeder said we could have a free puppy, which is enormously generous of her considering how expensive those puppies are and that Cyke's hips weren't her fault. Anyway we sure weren't about to say no, so enter Romy von Kazandi, AKA Blizzard, an adorable little ball of eight-week-old fluff.

She has huge paws and a very cute, intelligent face, and I now sleep with two German shepherds on my bed. Blizz enjoys sleeping with her head pillowed on my stomach, which makes for some careful breathing, and Cyke sleeps curled up on my feet. I thought Cyclone and Blizzard would come to blows, mainly because Cyke is really playful and doesn't know her own strength. They were a little wary of each other at first...

... but it wasn't long before they were acting like sisters.

Now they play all the time. Cyke is a little rough and occasionally Blizz starts to howl like she's being skinned alive, but Cyke is learning not to push her boundaries and Blizz is toughening up a bit. I can't leave them unsupervised as yet and frankly taking both of them on a walk together is a disaster because The Disasters (as they're commonly called) end up rolling about in the dust before we go two steps. They're so special, even though I'm prompted to announce "Mayday!" whenever I enter a room with the puppies in tow.

Blizzard has a really really good appetite, which I'm pleased about because Cyke's appetite goes through bad patches now and then. Blizzard cleans up whatever I put in front of her and quite often dives into Cyke's bowl if I turn my back for too long.

The parents from heaven gave me my very own Jersey stud! Joyful Jerseys is official and fully registered, and owns nineteen animals!!! I'm so EXCITED!!! I have my own JERSEY STUD!!! I think I might POP!!! I'm giving my internal editor a heart attack, so I had better stop with the exclamation marks, but my excitement is heightened by the birth of the first calf with the prefix of Joyful:

This is Joyful Blue Star, the daughter of Hydeaway Blue Moon and Prospect Lancelot's King Arthur. Blue Star is a Studbook Proper and I'm so proud of the poor little thing that I could explode. Okay, so her mom is rather too far on the thickset size and she looks to inherit this undesirable trait, but still she is Joyful Blue Star and she is very, very, very special. Actually I haven't registered her yet, still some paperwork and stuff to do, but she should be a Joyful.

This afternoon, I was back home. Back where I belong, in the saddle of a golden horse called Skye. A horse that can fly. She glitters like a star and floats like a comet, and I love her to absolute pieces, and when we gallop I love God and Skye and the wind and the sun and all of God's mighty, beautiful creation. When we gallop, I have nothing to fear and nothing to hate; when we gallop I scream aloud "Thank You, Sir! Hallelujah!"

The world is very beautiful when seen between my friend Skye's ears.

We haven't been able to shoot around for about a gazillion years (i. e., six weeks) and getting back in her saddle... The feeling is indescribable, like the smell of a running horse, the song the wind sings and the way the light leaps back on Skye's coat.

I love you, Secret. I love you, Blizzard. I love you, Blue Star. I love you, Skye. I love you, family.

I love you, my Lord!