June 2010

June 11, 2010: Who Needs TV?

Who needs TV when, if you go for a simple riding lesson with the local horse mutterer, you get to see two buffaloes darted with those sleep gun thingies and loaded into a truck by the usual array of buffalo people running around and putting towels over their eyes and thoughtful things like that? Not us. Kevin was riding Miss A and I was on Skye (I got to pick who I wanted to ride so...) and Missy had a heart attack over the helicopter, but Kevin muttered at her and she stopped her nonsense. There was a helicopter buzzing around and two of the buffaloes that they have next door collapsed. At first we were enraged and thought they were being hunted, but none of the around-runners looked very hunter-ish to me and nobody heard a gun go off. Who needs to watch TV if you just have to stroll out onto your backyard?

It was a fun lesson. We raced and Skye beat Missy as usual; she always seems to be able to speed up just a bit more when asked to do so. Missy had a good workout and plodded home looking exhausted, but she is getting fitter, though she's running a bit fat and I reduced her feed a little. Admittedly it is winter but she looks like a little roan ball and definitely needs to go on a diet.

Kevin and I worked with Siobhan again today. Yesterday I hauled her out to the ring, muttering "I'm stronger than her, I'm stronger than her, I'm stronger than her" under my breath and lunged her and she was miles and miles better and I felt more confident, so when she spun around and did her usual jump-rear-kick performance, I hit her and she looked very surprised, but paid attention after that.

I know a lot of you must be rolling around laughing after my pathetic description of the semi-Join-Up session I attempted with Skye a few weeks ago. Well, thankfully Kevin straightened it out for me and showed me how with Siobhanny. Hee hee, she joined up better with me than with him, but maybe that was just practice. I was wreathed in smiles as she tagged happily after me around and around the ring. It was just the most amazing feeling to back off and hear the gentle hoofbeats as she came after. It's different with Siobhanny than with Skye; I knew Skye would follow me because she always does, but with Siobhan it was a sort of triumph.

Further news is that this afternoon the first World Cup game begins at four p. m., and our workers all want to watch Bafana Bafana or whatever play, so we're doing the milking. Personally, I don't see anything very interesting about watching a bunch of people running around after a ball but hey, maybe some people think it's dull to watch a bunch of other people running around after horses.

After Good Golly and Miss Molly my cow Fiona calved, yet another heifer, this one named Freya. She looks a bit like Brianna, her roommate, only prettier.

Well, I've got to run, in a while we'll be off to the parlour to finish up the milking... wish us luck...

June 5, 2010: Under the Dreaming Stars

Be prepared for soppiness, as implied by the title. Or, even worse, poeticness. But though today was a bit of a nightmare, this evening was a dream-eve, the sort of starshine evening where Janet could have stood under the old wooden cross waiting for the faerie host, or the fisherman could have seen the selkies dancing on the beach, a wish-upon-a-star evening where subtle magic sang and miracles happened.

This morning was normal, or as normal as anything ever is on Hydeaway; I fed calves, grumbled about not being able to ride, and rejoiced because feeding calves is the next best thing to horses and stories. There's nothing cuter than a newborn Jersey. Trust me on this. Frieslands are sweet but baby Jerseys definitely win the cuteness prize. Brianna is cute even by Jersey standards, all fluff and deep eyes and big white blotches over a coppery coat typical of her line. Bontes, her great-grandma, is a cream-and-white cow who only ever has red-and-white cows; nobody knows why.

Afterwards we drenched a few cows and had breakfast and then it was time to run three groups of Frieslands through the crush to be weighed, measured and jabbed against Brucellosis. Plus they had broken five gates and all stampeded into the wrong pens. Frieslands will be Frieslands. So Rain ran around with three different colours of animal marker and painted stripes on each calf, Dad measured, Mom stopped them from leaping out of the crush and I sat cross-legged and wrote the weights and measurements down. Each Friesland trotted off, weight and height recorded, with a slightly sheepish air. Well, wouldn't you feel silly with red, blue or yellow stripes all over your bum? Don't answer that one.

When the deed was done I went riding. Rain does puppy training on Saturdays with the local dog whisperer, which I completely forgot, so poor old Miss A and Siobhanny had no attention today as I had planned. I saddled up Skye for a change - unless we jump I usually go bareback - because Dad had bought us a brand new numnah, following the first one which ripped and the second one which didn't fit and was a magnet for blackjacks, and a new pair of reins (reins never last very long with me, can't imagine why). Skye looked pleased and the numnah passed the Blackjack Test. Blackjacks are really dreadful. They're small, horrible little thorns that grow everywhere and stick to everything, especially numnahs, jerseys and cosy woolly socks, so most of the time when I get back from a ride I spend a considerable time unpicking. They even get stuck to Skye's feathers.

First we schooled a bit in the arena. I love that arena. All the horses need schooling and it just makes it so much easier to have secure enough footing and a good open space in which to do it. Skye was amazing and worked so well. We only had about half an hour and spent twenty minutes or so in the arena, trotting and cantering mostly; she is perfect at the trot and works very well indeed, but still needs a bit of practice at the canter. I concentrated on cantering circles; she was a little reluctant but with a bit of encouragement and urging she got the hang of them pretty soon. Nothing fancy, no fiddling about with leads - if she knows which way we're going to bend she usually strikes off on the right leg, smart girl, though she definitely likes to go on the right lead - but I'm afraid I started schooling Skye a bit late. Luckily, she learns fast. We've got the hang of cantering circles by now, though I must be doing something wrong because she's becoming a bit less responsive to my legs. I'll have to ask the horse mutterer.

We cantered through the Shuddering Woods, which was fantastic, even though the morning glories are all but gone because of the frost. Since we know the Secret Way very well by now, we canter most of the way and gallop some of the way, which means I get to shut my eyes, bend down and hang on for dear life to miss all the low branches. By the time we come zooming out of the other end we've gotten up a terrific speed and our blood is up so most of the time we canter home too.

Just as we were turning in at the Hydeaway facade (viz., rusty gate reading "HEED THE GOLDEN RULE - Close the gate behind you!", another sign reading "ENTRY BY APPOINTMENT ONLY", and a humungous sign sporting the legend "HYDEAWAY JERSEYS: Names Not Numbers") our foreman, Job, phoned. Mrs. X the daughter of Bontes and a blind cow named Grieta had calved. Both heifers. Despite the concern over Grieta, who always gets psyched up and stresses and goes off her feed when she calves, we were delighted - two new heifers; Brianna's cousin and the daugher of a blind one, always special.

It was dark by the time we went out. High above the stars dreamt of miracles and down in the winter-brittle grass two miracles lay. We found Grieta's daughter first. Dark brown and soaked with whatever it is they float around in before they're born, she had not yet risen, and lay in the grass, trembling with effort, her tiny big-eared head raised and huge questioning eyes turned on us, fit to melt your heart.

Mrs. X was waiting by her own daughter with a slightly hostile air, ears forward and head set. Her daughter was just as wet and new as Grieta's and even cuter than Brianna. White as winter mixed with chocolate-copper patches, the little creature sprawled on the grass with equally huge ears pricked in the same attitude as her mother. A blaze ran down her nose, flowing into startling pinkness on the rubbery muzzle. The two heifers were named Good Golly and Miss Molly, a brainwave of Mom's.

We gave Mrs. X a bucketful of wondrous stuff that restores vitamins and things to newly-calved cows and turned to Grieta. Mom gave her half a dozen Rescue Remedy pills to ease her nerves. The quicker you remove a calf from its mother, the sooner the mother forgets it, the less the stress. Despite the harshness, it is actually good for both, and Grieta's udder is so, not to put too fine a point on it, pendulous and ill-conformed that the poor thing won't be able to feed a calf unless the calf learns to lie down. Nobody has the heart to cull her. We don't do that sort of thing. So, as Mom put down the bucket and Grieta dived for the medicine - blind or not, it smells divine - I snatched up Good Golly and sprinted away. Peeved, Good Golly struggled violently. Her wet little head bumped on my cheek.

"Stop - squiggling - Golly," I managed. We reached the gate and I set her down carefully on four teacup feet. She pulled up her nose. Corne - nicknamed Her Majesty for her prestige as beauty queen of the herd - came lumbering out of the darkness to see what was going on. I pushed the gate open, lifted Golly through it and shut the door on Her Majesty.

"Sorry," I added with a bow. Then there was the sound of the dry cows' night camp gate falling over, which it usually does, and a cow stepping over it with well-practiced ease. A moo, and Beauty lolloped up, bellowing, because she thought Golly was Brianna.

"Oh crivens," I yelped (it's from Terry Pratchett's The Wee Free Men and it's NOT a swearword), grabbed Golly and ran for it. Poor Golly was sick of being shunted around and kicked out violently. Beauty galloped after me. Jersey cows can do a fair turn of speed and they get angry when their calves are being stolen. Thankfully I knew the way and felt all right sprinting around with my precious burden. Skirting the dung heap, I reached the calf shed, yanked the door open, chucked Golly through it, leapt after her and slammed it shut. Golly staggered off and landed in the dung channel. Poor dear. Now, at least, she's tucked into a nest of warm hay, dreaming of the milk we'll take to her in a minute, I'm sleepy, all four horses are together and since nobody's in heat and nobody's fighting they'll have to stay that way for tonight, and Dad has threatened for the third time to eat my share of supper. Good night all.

Well, Kevin and I did have a lesson with Siobhan.

I rode Miss A in the arena first. I rode her on Monday last so she was very fresh and bouncy and the Frieslands, who were zooming around their paddocks like shaggy black and white Sputniks, didn't help at all. She bounced and bucked and kicked. She couldn't stand still for two minutes. Kevin got on her and did some horse-whispering and when I got back on she was still fizzy but calmer. It went quite well, really, except that her gaits were a bit inconsistent - she kept speeding up into a fast canter or slipping down into a trot - and corners and I are not friends, I either cut them or go far too wide.

Now down to Little Siobhan. It turns out, as is so often the case, that Siobhan's biggest problem is not Siobhan. It's me. I need to pull myself together and discipline her properly. I hate whacking horses but it's the truth: either I whack her a few times, or she becomes a danger. In the long run it's best for everyone if I become firmer. I'm scared of her too so you could say that Siobhanny and I are in a right pickle.

How do I feel about this? Good question. I'm relieved, in a way, that she can be sorted out and that it's not really her that's the major problem. I'm unhappy that it's me, though. It's all part of the learning curve of horsemanship but all the same... you know what I mean. Every horse I'm training is as much teacher as student. Skye taught me the most, I think; Missy taught me a lot about handling more difficult horses - Skye is so steady and gentle, you see - and Achilles taught me about working with stallions. I can feel that Siobhan is going to teach me very much. I need to strengthen myself and straighten myself out before I can straighten her out.

I have a lot to think about, and a lot of stuff to stew about. But in a way it's glorious. Because a whole world is waiting to be discovered, Siobhanny's world, and if only I can overcome my fear, then I can unlock the door and take my first steps down that path.

My prayer for tonight is for the strength to do what must be done, the love to do it, and the wisdom to know what it is. Sometimes love can be harsh. It will be harsh on Siobhanny and harsh on me. But it is worth it, isn't it? Remember what it says in 1 Corinthians 13. Charity... rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Oh, soppy old me. Here I go quoting the Bible about a problem with a horse. But then again, where else will I find the strength?

Wish me luck. Wish me courage. Wish me joy in Little Siobhan.

June 3, 2010: Computers!!!

Ah, three exclamation marks. A sure sign of impending madness. Don't worry. I'm immune to madness because I'm always a bit crazy.

Sadly I'm not immune to frustration, which was the foremost emotion when smoke started to come roaring out of my computer. Yuuugh. Luckily Steve the Amazing Computer Doctor managed to put it back together again and hey presto, it works. Thank heaven for a nerdy father who has nerdy friends. Incidentally Steve has a Schipperke who runs up and down barking most of the time and is the cutest little dog ever, save the ballet shop lady's dog, a sort of Papillon-thingy with the softest eyes aptly named Sweetie Pie.

So that is the reason for my two-month-long disappearance. When I last checked I was still not dead but busy enough to satisfy a bee. We've had a flood of new calves - first in line was Nijinski's daughter, Nanette, and Mermaid's son Matthew, and Spot On's daughter Spicy. Next Blossom decided to calve long before we expected it and the result was a small unimpressed creature named Bheki after our butler (read: house boy). The resemblance is striking. Primrose and Star decided to have theirs on the same day, resulting in Parsley and Sage. Then, in one fell swoop, three cows calved in a single night, setting a record for the most calvings in less than twelve hours on Hydeaway; Brumby had a bull named Basjan, Shumba had a bull named Stampede, and the crowning glory was aptly-named Beauty's perfect heifer, Brianna. Tiny, dainty, and with perfect white markings, Brianna is a classic baby Jersey; like something out of Faerieland with feet the size of teacups and eyes the depth of seas. If you think a Beagle has deep eyes you have never met a newborn Jersey calf.

The Friesland population has grown to one hundred and seventy-eight by now, raised to that number by the arrival of Group Nine, the Fs. Fabienne, Fransina, Frances, Full Moon, Freedom and their friends have settled in well. Not to mention Fuzzy Tummy whose tremendously fluffy belly makes her look even more prosperous than what she already is. Just Nuisance was artificially inseminated and seemed quite pleased, in sharp contrast to Jena who tried to run up the walls, trod on my feet and constricted my arm. Not for the squeamish, artificial insemination.

On a sadder note we had an epidemic of lumpy skin disease which sounded the death knell for two lovely heifers. Two hundred inoculations later, no one else seems to have caught it. There was some diarrhea amongst the three-month-olds and two in particular, Dottie and Damien, were really ill. Damien is gambolling around with her friends again now after much persistent nursing from Mom and Dottie has become a lawnmower, spending her days knee-deep in grass and her nights shut up in what was once a bicycle shed and is now proclaimed, by slightly skew writing done with a tag pen, "THE CASTLE." It's quite special really because we've been keeping calves in it since 2005 and wrote all their names on the wall. Soon we will have to make it bigger if we are to have space for all the names.

Writing-wise we sent The Morning Star Mare off to MML for the judging. I'm fishing around idly for another competition to enter. Perhaps I'll polish up another novel and see what Tafelberg Publishers think of this one, though sad to say they're in my Bad Books (no pun intended). A Promise for the Horses (formerly My Lady's Horses) is doing well after a long period of writer's block; Prince Daniel nearly died of AHS (dubbed horse-sickness in the novel since Africa doesn't exist in the Other Lands) but I grabbed a unicorn and begged him to do something so being a unicorn he did and Daniel is back to his usual self and everyone knocked off for a rest. A few weeks ago a new voice whispered those enchanting words in my ear, So do you want to know what happens next? and the result was Sparrowhawk, the story of a boy named Soaring Falcon and his dream of a horse, a dapple-grey mustang filly named Sparrowhawk, and their ambition to become knights of the highest Order in Kerrapydra - the Order of Fire. But many things stand in the way of Falcon and Sparrowhawk, among them the dreadful Auryon and its allies - the Jicarilla, the Djimon, and the Eztli - who seek revenge for a crime commited long ago by Falcon's ancestor, Soaring Raincloud. Falcon, Sparrowhawk, Falcon's sister Burning Lioness, their friend Flavian (well, possibly, anyway, he hasn't come in yet), General Kendaleigha, Sir Ralph, and mysterious Modena must pit their wits against the Auryon's hordes...

And my first ever future-seer might be appearing in a prospective novel entitled Another Tomorrow. Flynn has been bouncing around (well, more standing around and looking irresistible) in my imagination for ages and presented me with four different stories before I eventually managed to mould something of a tale out of them. I won't say much because only a little bit of prewriting has happened as yet, but it seems to me that a horse named Steltella and Another Land called Terralla might be involved.

Rainy's birthday was on the thirty-first of May and it all went delightfully, though I have yet to get my hands on her present (not telling, just now she reads my blog). She baked a fantastic chocolate cake which I think we all enjoyed much more than she did. Miss A gave her a ride on her birthday.

Speaking of horses, Skye is doing brilliantly. Seven months into pregnancy she is in tip-top condition for early winter; well-covered, but not over-fat, fit, and simply sparkling with health. She gets brushed so often that even her growing winter coat shimmers. She looks, as always, fantastic. A lot of work is being thrown her way but I love riding her and I get the impression she enjoys it, too. Even Kevin said she was enjoying her work. She is showjumper, racehorse (Secreteriat's spirit and sadly not his legs), cow pony, trail horse, broodmare, destrier, pleasure horse and dearest friend all rolled into one. Mom and Dad agreed to make me a 60 x 40m arena, which, thanks to them, is absolutely stunning to have. I don't know what I'd do without my parents. Firstly, I wouldn't exist. But seriously, they really are stunning about it all. Skye and I tested out the arena today with a jump in it and it was fantastic. Skye likes the arena because there is the space and the footing for her to really work properly, she comes on the bit and throws out her legs and glows. Kevin rode her on it so she pouted awfully and pretended to be lame, but when I got on her she was perfectly fine and worked beautifully, so I got to say So There to the horse mutterer* who did the usual, muttered.

Miss A is working hard for the Pretoria Show in August. She is improving. Her napping has gone and she is much more responsive to my legs thanks to a riding whip. I don't like whips but this one did the trick with Missy; she learnt pretty quickly that I should only ever have to ask once. She shies a lot less and her coat also looks better with a bit more grooming. I introduced her to her winter pyjamas - a Trident winter rug - and, though I expected a terrible tantrum, she just sneezed and watched Siobhan zoom off to the horizon (Siobhan was convinced that the rug was going to eat her). We - make that I - are going to build a sort of stable/shelter thingy for Missy to sleep in this winter so that she doesn't grow too much of a winter coat and look like a Shetland pony in the ring. I can't wait. I know this sounds nuts but I love taking care of stabled animals. There's something charming about it. Even the mucking out.

Skye gets to sleep in the stable too. If you want the public reason: so that Missy won't be lonely and Siobhan can be separated from her a bit which can add to her independence. If you want the real reason: Skye is pregnant and besides that Skye is Skye and gets pampered with carrots in the morning and apples after every ride because she deserves it.

Anyway, poor little mini-Skye will be so cold if he's born outside in the winter, don't you think?

I rode Achilles on Tuesday. He has a new bolting problem; if he gets insecure he tries to spin around and run home. He ran all the way to the gate once before I managed to turn him around and push him on. Now I manage to catch him before he starts running but it's still pretty hard. Nothing major, I hope; he is a stallion after all and problems can be expected from young horses.

Little Siobhan is entirely another matter. She makes me feel hopeless. I just don't have the experience or the skill to figure her out and fix her problems. Part of me would like to pack her off to Kevin's for six months, but that would be giving up, wouldn't it...? Anyway, where do we find the cash for something like that? So if I don't, who will? I'll have to learn fast if I'm to fix her. Tomorrow Kevin's coming for a lesson and I'm going to bring Siobhanny. I need help with her. Desperately. I got her to walk over a big piece of iron lying on the ground, and to stand for her hind hooves to be cleaned, but that's all. She still rears up at people and she still kicks, viciously with both hind feet. She also likes to chop with her forefeet, nip, and push you around when you lead her. I know I must be doing something wrong, but I don't know what... it can't just be someone else's mess I'm trying to mop up here, I'm so scared I'm doing more harm than good. Worst of all I'm getting scared of Siobhanny herself now. I've spent a bit too much time staring at a couple of hooves whistling over my head. She is scary; she might only be 13hh high, but she's still bigger and stronger and faster than I am.

Time to call in the horse mutterer who, even if he doesn't whisper, is as least as good as a horse whisperer.

Mom is riding Achilles a bit too. She's coming along quickly, though she's a bit scared and trusts Skye more than Achilles. She has a Way With Animals which is a wonderful gift.

Well well, time to go, Sparrowhawk needs attention and yesterday a parcel arrived containing two DVDs on ballet for Rainy and a formidable volume weighing at least two kilos. It's The Sword of Shannara Trilogy by Terry Brooks. I read the second one, The Elfstones of Shannara, and I can highly recommend it. It's got something like 1100 pages in it. I can't wait to get cracking!

*My uncle is very interested in horses and asked me for details about Miss A's being backed. I told him and eventually he asked: "But did he say anything? Did he whisper to her?"

I gave this some thought. "Yes," I said. "He said, 'Yulles stupid horse'."

Since then Kevin has been known as the horse mutterer.