July 2010

July 24, 2010: Look at Us!

Such a proud moment! Today Little Siobhan took a big step on the way to becoming an obedient, gentle and docile pleasure horse. Okay, well, scratch the docile, possibly gentle and hopefully obedient, but something along those lines, anyway.

Rain took pictures while I worked with her. Please if you're a real horse whisperer try not to laugh at my analysis of Siobhan's body language... I've got a lot to learn... and if you're an amateur like me don't take what I write as the truth because it's just an opinion really of someone who's read faaaar too many books.

I introduced her to the numnah ages and ages ago, she's perfectly relaxed with that.

As you can see, her head is low, her eas are sideways and she has absolutely no problem at all with the numnah. Miss A looks a bit like a mule in this picture. She's very good at it when she's half asleep. I look a bit dreamy which I probably was at that point.

Here comes the saddle. Her head is up and she looks a bit wary, and is sticking out her top lip, but about thirty seconds later she began to chew the saddle. She had it on her back just once for a few minutes a couple of months ago; she's very familiar with its presence because I often saddle Miss A up nearby and she likes to chew it...

I suspect she is teething as she is now a month shy of two years old and she is chewing just about anything in reach (including the wire and the chain that holds the gate shut). However, back to the matter at hand.

Look at her! Head low, ears sideways, looking like it's all a doddle really with the saddle sitting on her back. Miss A decided to investigate and not even my vigorous shooing phased Siobhan. This is one occasion where I can say she appears to have taken it all in her stride.

Here we walk off, saddle in tow, and she looks a bit less comfortable now; her ears are back and her nose is poked out again, but the rope is slack and she doesn't want to rear/kick/buck/bite/bolt etc., in short not do any Siobhan-like behaviour. I was super impressed with her, I was secretly expecting a reaction to the saddle but they do say you can't cross a chasm in two small jumps. Her position while I'm leading her is far better now, she used to charge along with her shoulder next to mine and barge into me half the time.

Put the girth on next and pulled it up until it was just touching her chest; her head's up again and her ears are back, but the rope is still slack and she didn't mind the sensation/sound of the saddle flap being lifted and put down. She doesn't look entirely comfortable but she's certainly not having a tantrum.

This photo was taken a short while later; she looks really calm, head low, rope loose, ears forward again (so at least the girth is less scary than Rain and the camera).

Ten minutes later with the girth pulled fairly tight. The rope is tighter now but that was because she was lagging behind. She looks like she wants to go to sleep... (Am I impressed with that little horse!)

Stirrups down, girth up, saddle ready for riding! (Can't, however, say the same for the pony). Her ears are still a bit back but her head is down and she's trying to eat her lead rope. I guess she's not too worried.

Siobhan was just great today. I had (and still have) so many worries about her with her fiery nature and all the problems she had/has. She still has a huge prejudice against going into the cow crush and occasionally has a temper tantrum. Sometimes she gets out of her camp and needs to be led back down past all the Frieslands into her camp again and that is a major tantrum zone, she landed a kick or two on me there, but last time we went down she was just fine...

What a confusing little filly! One moment I feel like crying because I'm NEVER going to tame this wild mustang, the next I'm bouncing around in glee because she was an angel. At least the happy occasions are increasing. She has now successfully been measured, worn a blanket, been saddled up, and lunges quite well; she leads well too apart from having to trot, which she doesn't; she either balks or throws a huge buck and zooms off. She stays out of my personal space a lot more and doesn't trip me up anymore. However she is still wild-hearted Siobhanny and she still sniggers a lot, which she's awfully good at.

The next step will maybe be lunging her with the saddle on, but we still need to review the measuring stick and the blanket until she's relaxed with them and I think she might be a bit young to work with a weight on her back. I measured her once and stopped the session, put the blanket on once and stopped the session, because though I know repitition is key, it took forever just to calm her down enough to accomplish the task in hand and by then we were both mentally tired so I thought it would be a bad idea to keep going.

Skye and I rode out again today as well. She was fabulous. I sat on her broad back like a queen... They say that horses lend us the wings we lack; wings on our hearts, letting them fly. However excited I am about Siobhanny and however much I blog about her, no horse will ever mean more to me than Skye does. Skye is more than a horse, she's a guardian angel. She's a horse too, noble, brave, willing, powerful, gentle; who flies without wings and conquers without sword. She is so much. One day she'll be a showjumper, but she can turn her hoof to everything. We trotted up to Dad, who was fighting with Dawn Treader's plough, and Skye was a draft horse showing that despite the looming bulk of the tractor that the passing of a horse is not a myth, it is an untruth, for the horse is a spark who will shine forever. She was a mountain pony as we scrambled along the flanks of our rocky koppie; she was a dressage horse as we waltzed home, Skye collected, shining like a gem, her hooves striking the ground rhythmically in her endless, ageless, effortless canter. And she was my friend Skye with enough spirit to fuel a herd of mustangs when with her two little bounces like a car being revved she shot off on our Gallop Stretch and sailed home like a bird.

My beautiful Skye. Thank you for everything, the rides, the joys, the freedom, the wings. Thank you for being you.

July 22, 2010: More on Horses...

Anyone who does not like horses should look away now. I had another lesson today, once again riding out, me and Skye and Kevin on Achilles. Achilles was just great and went through the River Rush (read: tantrum-inducing stream) beautifully. Skye was fantastic as always and was amazing. We were getting very bored lately because Skye can do everything I ask of her with great ease and there's no longer a challenge, so I asked Kevin where to go next. First he said neck-reining, but decided that that would be a bit complex with the Pelham she's wearing, and then said we could learn to do a turning-the-fore-without-moving-the-hindquarters.

"How d'you do that?" I enquired.

"Well - " At this point Achilles spooked, reared up, wheeled around on his hindlegs and came down quivering. "Like that," said Kevin.

Skye and I tried it and Skye finds it a bit confusing (so do I) but at length she took a step in the right direction and we rode on. We got a terrible fright when Skye trod in some wire and Skye detests wire, so everyone panicked. She bolted, the wire tied itself tighter around her legs, Achilles shot off for the horizon, Skye kicked out wildly and the wire released its grip. I was terrified that Skye was hurt but all of the times I squeaked, "Is she okay? Did she cut herself? Is she hurt?" Kevin said, "No, she's fine," in an increasingly bored tone and Skye was fine, just a bit shaken. She recovered enough to sneeze at Achilles when he bucked twice, in slow motion, when we cantered. We cantered again up the hill; Kevin said "Now, CONTROLLED CANTER!" because that is our Galloping Hill and we have left him behind more than once. I sat down and held her in and Skye arched her neck like a Lipizzaner and literally waltzed up the hill, feather-light, floating gently. Achilles just looked disinterested and trotted most of the way.

"Look look," I squawked, "look Kevin we're doing it we're doing it!"

"You show-off," spat Kevin as Skye arched her neck even more and threw up her knees and danced while Achilles broke into a gallop and champed the bit until foam flew.

The rest of the horses are all doing fine, as are the cattle and all the other creatures running around here. Mom has less flurries and Dad had to be a salesman for a day, which he detests, and we have yet to see how it turns out. We have three sick Frieslands but neither of them are really ill, just eating a little slowly. Miss Molly and Banyana Banyana had upset stomachs and Brianna and Freya caught colds, but otherwise the baby calves are fine; our latest arrivals are Mooinooi's My Hammer Is Better Than Your Hammer (don't ask), Exquisite's Elizabeth Mary Tyrwhitt-Drake (my granny's maiden name), Nerina's Negative Five (it was really cold), Cappuccino's Cupcake, and Cleopatra's Cookie. Cookie is very small, perhaps a bit premature because he wobbles a lot when he stands, but he'll grow and survive. Elite once calved two months early; the heifer was named Elite's Petite and for the first ten days of her life she could not stand. She slept in the bathroom and nobody was allowed to bath for fear it might be bad for E. P., who grew into a humungous cow and has had two calves already.

Dimanda, Bontes, Tylo and Shampoo were a little ill but all made a full recovery. I had to pull Negative Five out of his mom, with Dad's help, because Nerina's a little heifer and Neg is just huge. Next to calve is my first show heifer, Leri, whose picture was in the January 2009 edition of Animaltalk. Leri is the second calf of Line (Elavicki Elline) who has had five heifers all in a row; Leri and her younger sister, Lily Of The Valley, were both show heifers and the next calf, Lady Lynette, is in training. Line's latest daughter is Lady Lizanne after a cousin and maybe she too will make it to the show ring. Poor Lollipop, Line's first daughter, sat it out and has to be content with just being a cow. Lolly only ever had bulls and Leri's first calf Little Bear was also a bull.

We had our latest load of Frieslands on Tuesday; Group Ten, which brings our Friesland count to 195. We shooed them all through the crush today to be weighed, measured, named, dewormed, and given a shot of minerals to boost them. They were named beginning with G: the first one was promptly named Grumpy Guts when she had a tantrum over the measuring stick and kicked like a horse. Giselle, Galumphing, Grateful (who wasn't), Gabrielle, Glorious, Get Away From Me (that was Rain's idea even though G. A. F. M. tried to charge over me, not her), Glissade, Grands Jete, Gemma, and company rather behaved themselves, except for Grumpy Guts and Get Away From Me. Get Away From Me narrowly missed being called Gruesome Gory Grumpy Growly so she should be grateful.

Yesterday we put 40 Jerseys through the crush as well, the usual weighing, measuring, deworming, and inoculating shenanigan. Nine were sent to the bull, all of them heavier than the target weight of 250kg: Barbara, Sugarbird, Blue Moon, Prinsie, One Autumn Morning, Guinevere, Boegoe, Lynette, and Pocahontas. Barbara and Blue Moon are the daughters of the daughters of my cow Blinkers, who is thirteen years old, has had eleven calves and, in her last lactation, wowed the young 'uns by giving 20l a day. She is now retired and doing nothing in particular except hanging around and eating. Sugarbird is snow white with brown spots instead of the other way round; we've had a lot of bulls that way but only two heifers, her and Miss Molly. Prinsie is the only ox, poor dear thing, and named after a pony (it means Prince). Autumn is part Friesland, Guinevere's mum is blind, Boegoe is a herb and not disgusting and Pocahontas is extremely podgy and not given the best name ever. Pokey couldn't be graceful if she tried.

So, lots of adventures this week. Hope the greyhound was given her own personal dog basket. She jumped in, jumped out, jumped in, jumped out, jumped in, flopped down, and snarled loudly, making it quite clear that it was HER basket. The next morning Mom found Hope and Whiskey the Jack Russel curled up together in the basket. Hopey probably uses him as a hot water bottle.

Got to run now. I'm halfway through Hereward the Wake by Charles Kingsley, starting on Canterbury Tales and still need to go and read them before Mom kicks my bum.

July 14, 2010: Updates on Horses

Well well, we have good news and middling news. The good news is, all three my mares behaved themselves impeccably today. The middling news is, one of them didn't, nine months ago.

Kevin came for a lesson today and we rode out, again. I rode Skye and he rode Miss A because if Kevin rides Skye she pouts awfully and digs in her toes. (Pregnant horses have their Moods. Most of the time she explodes at the nearest tall male, i. e. Kevin or Achilles). The pressure is off Missy for the time being, because unfortunately the Pretoria show rules and whoever made them turned up their noses at poor little Miss A because she doesn't have Papers, so now she'll have to be registered. It's a very complex process and quite possibly involves putting her in a horsebox and lugging her off to an evaluation but luckily her mom, Dubbele Diamant Sharon, is a registered blue-blood mare even if her dad is a highly-strung Boerperd. She'll be registered as a Keeva (Kevin's stud) but in my name because stud membership is horrifyingly expensive. Keeva Lady Arwen will hit the show rings soon enough. (Yes I know Kevin is going to laugh at the Lady but so what). So, big heady plans for Miss A.

Sadly Skye will have to make do with being a Basic Mare, which means she can go to shows but she's not a Nooitgedacht, not really. She's something far nicer in my opinion. And she doesn't get to go to an evaluation. We'll puzzle out if Miss A, Skye, and/or Siobhanny are going to be registered later when the latest crises are under control.

Miss A and Skye behaved themselves beautifully on the ride. Missy has come a long way from the flighty little horse she was four months ago. She doesn't spook so much anymore or act like an idiot. Skye was really stepping out today and performed her magnificent turn-whilst-moving-the-bum-but-not-the-head (possibly a turn on the forehand, not entirely certain) with great perfection and such promptness that Kevin was moved to blink and say, "Oh, that looks nice." Skye beamed, I beamed, all was happy.

Kevin trimmed Little Siobhan's hooves and she has come a long way too. Remember the filly that plunged around so much that Kevin could hardly trim one forefoot? This same filly stood sleeping while he trimmed all four. She hopped once or twice while her forefeet were done, but the fearsome hind feet, once liable to explode unless picked up with a lunge rope from a safe distance, were so easy to handle. She was amazing. She still has trouble with wheelbarrows (snort-inducing), being lunged on her bad side (scary), the tractor (triple-scary), and measuring sticks (terrifying, tantrum). I introduced the fearsome stick on Tuesday and she went bananas. She reared, she kicked the stick, she shied at the sound of hoof striking stick, she had a panic attack when I lengthened it completely. I gritted my teeth and plodded on. "That child," says my granny, "will make an excellent fisherman." I tried more times than any sane person would and in the end Siobhan stood on a concrete block, rope slack, and allowed herself to be finally measured. Thirteen hands, two and a half inches tall, exactly a hand shorter than Skye, at the age of almost twenty-two months. A bit small, but not tiny.

And now we have the middling news. Remember the Miss A quandary? Naughty Miss A who got in with the stallion when she was in heat? Well. Kevin and I had a rather uncomfortable conversation, running along the lines of - "Yes, he did it, but he only did it once." "He only needs to do it once." "He did it lots with Skye." "Well, it only takes once to get her pregnant. The other times are just - just - just - " Thankfully he abandoned the subject at this point and looked down at Miss A's fat hay belly that I found so exasperatingly hard to work off. "She looks pregnant," he said.

Oh crivens. Come spring the pitter-patter of four pairs of foaly feet will be sounding on the farm, alongside exasperated cries of, quite probably, "I've been getting up at midnight for six weeks, why are you foaling in the middle of the day?" Oh well, we'll figure it out. If I seriously can't manage six horses... there will be very hard decisions to make. I mean, I'm really attached to Siobhanny, but how about six months from now when Miss A's foal is weaned and could be sold, a little foal whose first breaths I helped him/her take? Big softie. We'll see how it goes. For now, I'll look forward to two new equine arrivals and worry twice as much about both mares and foals and feel like a Real Breeder and enjoy myself so much I might just pop with happiness.

Now I bet you're thinking: How annoying can one ridiculously optimistic equestrian be?

July 13, 2010: Return!

Still not dead, I'm afraid. Sorry about my disappearance the past month. The horse camp happened, a week at our grandparents happened, a few of the usual shenanigans, pandemonium, and crises happened, and here I sit at a total loss of how to describe everything that happened.

The horse camp was great; thankfully there were no embarrassments and Skye was wonderful. She whinnied a bit the first night, but soon settled down; she ate and drank as normal and when I rode her she was fine, except for being super fizzy on the outrides, bouncing around everywhere and piaffing whenever we stopped. She took everything in her stride: mielielands, strange horses, chest-deep water, log jumps, hills, forests, sheep, donkeys, people falling off nearly under her feet, other horses spooking and running into her, jumps, courses, even a train - in short, everything that would have completely unhinged Miss A. The train was huge and rattled by only about fifty metres to the side of us, but all she did was prick her ears as we waved wildly to the passengers; the driver tooted his tooter and waved too, and Skye didn't even spook at that. When beautiful Dirk, a fresh and leggy dapple-grey, had a heart attack about a motorbike and careened into piebald Masker, Masker threw her rider off and ricocheted into Skye. Skye just sidestepped out of the way and stood like a rock. I felt like kissing her. I thought it would look foolish and did it anyway. She was praised by everyone for being bombproof and grinned a horsy sort of grin. We had gymkhana games; she zoomed around the course like a rocket and was simply stunning.

The week at Tom and Pixie's was great too. Dad and Mom and Tom put up an electric fence; despite the fact that Tom is turning seventy-nine this year he worked just as hard as Mom and Dad. Pix babysat and took us to the beach, the lion park, the fair, and even to get ice creams. It was a dream of a holiday. I returned with two bowls full of shells, a new pair of plaited reins for Skye, a t-shirt with a horse that looked like Skye on it, my head full of longings for Skye, and a few ideas, mostly including golden chestnut horses that looked a bit like Skye. As you might infer, I really missed Skye. However, I got three fantastic story ideas. I'm not sure which one is going to be written now; one of them, Wingshadow, will have to sit and wait until Sparrowhawk is done because it's the sequel. The other one, The Unicorn Shell, has got some prewriting done; but the third, Moonrise for Midnight, looks really appealing currently. The Unicorn Shell includes a magic system I've been dying to try out for months, unicorns, Tide Steeds which can be explained as sort of a cross between hippocampi and waves, Storm Bringers which can be explained as a cross between kappas and whirlpools, winged horses, huge dogs, Shadows which are part smoke part nightmare part nothing, Shadow Tamers who are the Villains, more unicorns, and Modena, the First Unicorn who is named after the Lipizzaner, who figures in just about all of my stories as a sort of Helping Hand (or hoof).

Moonrise for Midnight appeals hugely because it's set in the equestrian world I'm growing to love, a world that is right here in modern-day Earth oddly enough. It doesn't mean I'm going off fantasy because I couldn't bear not to have at least a unicorn or two, and Modena just sort of ambled into it and pulled it all together and gave it some depth. Now I'm going to tell a bit of the story but you're not allowed to tell anyone because it's Top Secret Writer Stuff and you should count yourself lucky, maybe it'll be a bestseller (ha ha). You read it here first.

The main character is Midnight, the daughter of two nutty writers who, though doting, have to go off somewhere on writer business for the summer. Midnight is a horse lover and when she sees an unbacked and wild colt going for a very low price at a horse sale he catches her heart and she feels obliged to buy him. Well, the grey colt (Moonrise he's called) can't sleep in the backyard forever. Enter Eagle's Nest Stables, run by the slightly eccentric Winifred, home to several slightly more eccentric horses. Don't know how yet, but Moonrise and Midnight end up staying there for the summer holidays. Now we meet The UFO (short for Unidentified Fat Object), Witchcraft, Windswept, Supersonic, Lady D, and Amor, and their riders, Lily, Gabrielle, and Lad. Amor is a beautiful white mare, but an injury to her foreleg when she was a filly rendered her lame for life. Her owner, Lad, isn't giving up on her, though. (He's a bit crazy too). He believes in unicorns, and that one day he and Amor will find one, and that with a touch from the unicorn's horn Amor will be magically healed.

Midnight doesn't believe in unicorns. She doesn't believe in miracles, either. But it will take a miracle to tame and ride Moonrise, and Midnight finds herself having to believe far deeper than she had ever imagined she would. In some worlds miracles and unicorns are for fairytales and wild silver colts should go for dog meat. But Midnight might just find that in this world, dreams really do come true, and miracles could happen. In this world, maybe unicorns can heal too. And maybe there can be happily ever afters. It's a summer Midnight will never forget.

Good grief, that sounds like fun. Sorry, Unicorn Shell, you'll have to take a backseat, I think Moonrise for Midnight needs to be written. I'll need to scribble a bit more on the plot and sketch out some of the characters, but they are taking shape so beautifully... some stories just don't go with prewriting.

See you again sooner or later, readers. If I disappear it means I'm having fun again.