November 2010

November 23, 2010: I've Just Been to the Horses

I check on them every morning, at about half past six. It's summer now and the world is green. The geese are back; the dam is full, the first rains have come and grass abounds. The bleshoender has built her platform-nest on the water. We went for a swim with three of our huge floppy dogs and emerged covered in clay, slime, and goo from head to toe.

The horses have finally shed out into their summer coats. Skye shines always, even in the dark. It was to her that I went first, where she baby-sat with both the foals fast asleep beside her, grazing away, the most contented sound in the world; of a horse tearing up the grass in mouthfuls. She nodded her head to me in greeting, her mouth too full of grass to whinny. Thunder lifted a sleepy head. I stroked the muscular curve of her neck, with its starlight mane falling in swathes across the gold. Her winter coat had shone as well; all that had happened was a subtle change of shine when she grew her summer hair. Her perfect condition adds to the gleam on her coat; not over-fat, and not thin enough to see her ribs, but her shoulders and hips reasonably well defined, her neck full and thick with muscle, not fat. Her pregnancy took a few extra kilos off her, and she is in the best condition she's been in months. She looks fabulous. As always. And under saddle (or under rider, anyway; we ride bareback quite often) she has not forgotten anything, except the turn on the forehand, which is improving all the time. Working over jumps, she goes over as effortlessly as a bird; her rhythm is so good now, and she jumps from just the right distance, not too close and not too far. She's jumping almost a metre now without any trouble at all. Time to move on to greater heights and more jumps.

On the flat, she is still well behaved but she seems to think that anything without galloping and jumping in it is awfully dull. Why, she enquires, can't we move on to something more meaningful than going around in circles? I try to keep it varied, concentrating on something different every lesson, but she still pokes her nose out and looks grumpy sometimes. Her weakest point is moving from a trot into a canter. Or rather, it's my weakest point; Skye taught me to ride and I went kick, kick, kick to get her to do anything and now I'm paying the price and trying to get out of bad habits and push her forward with just a nudge. At our last lesson it improved enormously, so we're getting somewhere.

Riding out she is as happy as ever. We get to gallop (Thunder loves to gallop) and then she's in her element. When we reach Galloping Stretch Thunder already shoots off to get a head start. I just loosen the reins and hang on for dear life; giving her a nudge now would mean Skye rocketing forward and me quite probably rocketing backward and hanging on to the tail. She is full of life and fire; springing around with excitement on rides, but always obedient; game and ready for anything - splashing through dams, thundering through forests, galloping up embankments, you name it, she'll do it. She particularly likes jumping on outrides. She'll jump anything. A branch has fallen down over the path through the Woods; it's only about 80cm high at its highest point but Skye took it like it was a meter tall; we were bareback and I had to grab her mane. Thunder jumps it too, as opposed to Dancer who goes underneath.

I gave Skye a pat, promising a ride later this morning, and moved on. Thunder had gotten up and came over to me happily. He whinnies now when he sees me, just like his mom, a heart-melting shrill little sound. Rain says, "Poor old Thundy, he whinnies like a Barbie horse." Ordinarily my only association with Barbies was by using them as Villains when I was playing with my model horses, who inevitably trampled them, but I had to reluctantly agree to this statement. He loves, loves, loves people and attention. He has gotten his teeth now and loves eating grass. So much so that it's given him some mild diarrhea. He and Dancer are the best of friends and groom each other, which is the cutest thing in the universe. Skye is extremely patient; every now and then Thunder gets a bee in his bonnet and starts rearing up against Skye's side, kicking her with tiny little hooves, prancing around and snorting and evidently wanting to play. He runs around with Dancey too. When Skye rolls (she does it a lot) Thunder comes up to her and sprawls over her, tossing his head and having a miniature temper tantrum.

He can be stroked and patted anywhere - absolutely anywhere. I can touch his ears, rub his face, rub his belly, rub his legs. He's gotten over the kicking thing and is now merely impatient when his hooves are picked up, but practice makes perfect, I assume. His snow-white nose is starting to turn grey; Dancer's started to grow out of her shaggy coat around her eyes but Thunder started at his muzzle. He's almost a month old now, and still tiny but much bigger - and fatter - than when he was born.

Dancey next. She's not quite as openly friendly as Thunder, but still likes attention, particularly being scratched. She will raise up her hooves and more or less put them into your hand when you ask her to. She can be touched anywhere, except on her face, particularly around the eyes; we're working on it. She's gone a very odd colour, a sort of blackish greyish brownish fluff, and very shaggy, but turning black around her eyes and silver on her muzzle. She's still very attached to Siobhanny and has eaten half her older sister's forelock.

Siobhan, little mustang, is now such a people-lover! When guests arrive she's all over them, demanding attention. She is not shy at all and an awful show-off; when she's had her fill of patting she gallops off bucking madly just to show that she's still a mustang and a bucking bronco. Under saddle she's very good, we're trying to work on cantering but she bucks a little then; not a problem except the saddle then sits on her neck, so I have to get off - involuntarily rewarding her for the bucking - and reposition it before I can get back on and ride again. Yesterday I moaned to Mom about this. She instantly leapt into action. It was like pushing a button marked "Fountain" and getting Old Faithful. In a matter of hours, she had made arrangements for a new saddle. To pay for this, Mom swapped one of my cows (Beth) for one of her cows (Oreo) whom she was going to sell anyway because she's having trouble getting pregnant: voila, problem solved. Hooray for mothers, though she went a bit wild and Kevin had to slow her down a bit.

Miss A, who is a roany ball that puts me in mind of a large grey strawberry in winter, has this absolutely fabulous coat in summer and she's grown it. She looks like she's arrayed in satin. She's skinnier than Skye and her hip bones stick out a bit, and she's rather bony when I ride her bareback, but her ribs aren't visible and she looks great. Wonderful to see her without a fat belly, which she had for months and which I thought was a hay belly until out popped Dancer. Under saddle, she is doing great; her extra energy has worn off a little and we're working on jumping, which she is smitten with. It's amazing because a year or two ago she flatly refused to jump; now it's all I can do to hold her back to a canter when we approach a jump, no matter what the size. She's still far from unflappable, but she'll jump anything, anywhere with lots of flair. Sometimes, though, she jumps a stride early and I have to be careful not to catch her in the mouth when she does one of her unexpected springs. Her slow canter is much improved and her extended trot is brilliant, she has such an utterly lovely trot. By the way, in Missy's world tarpaulins are terrible horse-eating monsters and more or less guarantee a rearing-up, snorting tantrum.

I left the cows' paddock, climbed through a fence and headed up for where Achilles kept his solitary vigil. Plans are under way to geld him, but for now he has to put up with the company of a grumpy donkey. He doesn't think much of Benjamin. We've started to bond, to my delight; last Friday he was really, really amazing under saddle - not a single buck and he jumped like a pro. He likes his jumping, even though he's a draft horse. He's decided to like me and I've decided to like him, and it's a turn up for the books all round.

After kissing Achi good morning and telling him how lovely he looked, with his pitch-black coat gleaming in the sunshine, I wandered off back to the house, to school and blogs, and (ugh) cleaning tack. And, of course, to stories; to Sparrowhawk, now well into its climax and 135 000 words long (165 pages). Falcon and Sparrowhawk, and their crew, have rallied an army and gone charging into battle to aid the stricken Knights of Fire and under their Sign of the Sparrowhawk they Saved the Day and got knighted, which was really emotional for everyone involved, me included. Moonrise at Midnight is pottering along happily; no unicorns have made their appearance yet but my favourite human character, Lad, is odder than ever and very amusing.

Oh, and there's a new one. My pen pal in Canada had the idea so you could say it's his idea and I'm just writing it down. He wrote something along the lines of, "What if someone left a book of Arthurian legend open on a moonlit night and lots of knights came running out with some dragons and letters of the alphabet they knocked loose with their horses' hooves?" I loved the idea and now it's heading towards 20 000 words long. Better yet, for an early Christmas present my mom and dad uprooted a huge model of the Knights of the Round Table, Table, swords and all; now when I write there's a whole horde of knights clustered around the screen. One of them is invariably Lancelot, standing there for Inspiration and to gaze at when I get bored.

So, that's what I'm up to, and now I had better go ride...

November 9, 2010: Living Again...

.. on the back of a mighty golden mare with boundless power and timeless grace. Sunday I rode Skye for the first time since the beginning of her two-month-long maternity leave, with the exception of a tiny little outride a month or so ago. I put on her bridle and jumped onto her bare, warm, wide back and it was like coming home. My legs remembered the shape of her back and my hands remembered the plaited reins, and off we went, Thunder in tow.

We just rode around their paddock but it was a ride to remember, because it was Skye. We walked and trotted and cantered, that fluid, rocking-chair canter that gives me so much joy, Skye's white sock flashing out in front of her as she bent her neck in an arc of gold to the bit. Thunder stuck to Skye's side like Velcro. Skye pranced and tossed her noble head, piaffing like a Lipizzaner, her excitement contained like lightning in a jar. She has not forgotten anything, though her tight turns, where she moves her hindquarters around her neck and shoulders, are a little rusty, but another ride will fix that one. Soon we'll go riding out, where we always go; Galloping Stretch (though we won't go too fast, for Thunder's sake), the Ethelmoor, the Shuddering Woods perhaps.

Skye and Thunder are well. We suspected that Skye had mastitis, but if she did it's gone now, no more discomfort. She had a slight, dark red discharge for a few days, then a clearish one for two more days, and then it stopped, to my great relief.

Skye is much more lively than she was when she was heavily pregnant. I don't blame her. In any case, she loves to run around in the rain, tossing her head, throwing out her legs, and afterwards she likes to roll but to be fair she doesn't roll in the mud. The green grass is getting longer now, due to the about 80ml of rain we've had, and she grazes half the day. She also eats a lot of hay and her pellet ration is back up to what it was, much to her delight. She loves little Thunder and spends ages snuffling him over and generally mothering him. She has taken a great dislike to apples, but will eat them if only for my peace of mind, but for a carrot she will do anything. She is bright, shiningly beautiful, and vastly deflated, looking much more athletic and streamlined. Her condition is beautiful; not too fat but not skinny at all. She's a little unfit, but despite the heat there was not a drop of sweat on her when I rode her out today (she loved it and Thunder behaved himself).

Thunder is happy and healthy and suckles every two minutes. He runs, suckles, sleeps, suckles again, runs again. He's terrifically shy of the other horses and Siobhan offers to babysit him often, but he always hides behind his mom. He has started to accept Dancer and tries to play with her but Dancer's idea of play and Thunder's idea of play are very different. Dancer reared up playfully at him the other day, causing him to bolt back to Skye full speed. Poor darling. Skye often babysits the two of them; Miss A and Siobhan will go off grazing at one end of the paddock, leaving Skye with the babies. Usually Dancer grazes with Skye or Dancer and Thunder both fall asleep. If Dancey wakes up and gets a bit confused and starts to whinny, Skye whinnies back and Dancer calms down. Siobhanny babysits Dancer a lot, too; those two adore each other and when I ride Siobhan in their paddock little Dancey always skips along after us.

Thunder is as tame as a dog. He likes to invesitage stuff with his lips but I'm teaching him not to nibble. In the first few days, when I caught him, he'd kick and buck, but now he doesn't mind anymore though he's still a little prone to kick. He never had a problem with his face, belly or legs being touched, and today I picked up his little teacup feet for the first time, which he didn't mind. His worst fault is that he likes to come over to you and lean on you. When he does that I give him a shove; it's cute and pretty now but when he's as tall as his mom and a big bunch of muscle it won't be much fun to have him lean on you.

Miss A has calmed down and her energy isn't as overdone as before. Her extended trot and slow canter are miles better and Friday I rode out with her and Dancer for the first time. It went really well, Dancer slipped in the mud and sat down but didn't get hurt, and Miss A didn't rear or anything, just tried to turn around a few times. She got a bit jittery at the long grass waving in the wind, and almost panicked when Dancer heard Siobhan neighing and tried to go home, but it all ended well with a lovely gallop. Dancer has decided that the arena is her own personal racetrack and zooms laps around it, leaving tiny hoofprints. Miss A's schooling should pick up now and we'll do some more arena work. Perhaps we won't miss Pretoria Show next year; I'd dearly love to bring my own horse.

Siobhan is an angel! She was on heat the other day and was naughty, but now she is behaving beautifully. We've abandoned the halter and I'm riding her in just a bridle with a plain loose ring snaffle. Bareback she's actually safer and more comfortable than with the horrible forward-slipping saddle, but we haven't cantered again yet, though the walking and trotting work is coming along well; she is getting more comfortable in a trot. We've been doing circles and figures of eight, all the bends in walk. We started herding some cows too and Siobhan is very good, I expected her to nip the cows but she doesn't. She hardly ever stops or starts backing up now. She can walk, trot, turn, stop, and back up on command, all willingly and no longer lazily. Not bad at all. I am getting really attached to this little horse; she has so much personality - free, indomitable, confident, showy, extravagant and intelligent. We're still doing some work in hand, with a bridle now, and she's getting the hang of it. She stops quite well squarely, with her ears forward, and walks reasonably well; when she trots she pricks her ears and swings out her legs and chews at the bit, wanting to go faster.

Achi is doing pretty well; I'm reshuffling my schedule because often Achilles's sessions land on the afternoon and it rains every afternoon, but I make sure I ride him at least twice a week. If I stop riding him now it will be ruined; that was my mistake in the first place.

Sparrowhawk is 122 000 words long and in its thirty-third chapter. The fulfilment is getting nearer. It's getting rather long but there is just so much story to this story, worst case I'll split it into two novellas or something similar.

Dad finished up my stable. Three sides are wooden poles, with a big brick wall to the north (the side our worst winds come from) and a roof on top. It's more like a paddock with a roof than a stable, but I could bring the horses in out of the lightning today and it made a huge difference. They're perfectly happy; I put all the girls and Thunder in it (it was a bit of a squeeze but they didn't mind) and they stood there eating hay and looking smugly at the rain. No mud, no miserable horses standing in the pouring rain and best of all no hazard of lightning. Unfortunately when we let Achilles out he tried to climb over the side of the stable (Miss A is in full-blown heat) but by then there was no more lightning and we could let them all out again. All thanks to Mom and Dad, who made it all possible. Thank you.

Well, Mom has been badgering me to blog for ages and ages so I better send this off. Till next week!

November 1, 2010: Thank You, Skye

For being the most wonderful, shining, beloved, beautiful friend that anyone could wish for. For being part devoted guardian, part wise teacher, part rambunctious playmate, part mystic distant unicorn, part brave unstoppable destrier, part star, part queen, part almost-angel, part - everything. And for being all friend. And for being a gentle, kind mother.

Not my mother, of course. I already have one and goodness knows she's too good for me.

It started yesterday with All Hallows Eve (Hallowe'en to anyone moving with the times) and with Sunday, and a thunderstorm. It was a wonderful storm because it wasn't a threat, but just grumbled along in the east, a spectacle for us to watch and not fear. The eastern sky was so dark as to be black, and I could smell the damp, electric smell of a storm; lightning rent the toiling clouds, and thunder spoke in the far east.

I went to check on the horses very late (about 9:30 P. M.) that night. Miss A was stuffing her face with hay, and Dancer was a warm sleepy bundle at her mum's feet. Siobhanny came up to say hello. Skye grazed, her dark silhouette huge and graceful against the stars. She sighed good-night with hay-smelling breath, totally innocent, and went on grazing, her white star shining on her forehead.

I went home and dreamed of Skye foaling. I always did, for the past few weeks. Dr. Louis had given Skye another ten days before she foaled, Kevin merely muttered that she was going to do whatever she wanted no matter how many days he said she still had to go, I decided that it was going to take forever and ever. In my dreams Skye foaled about six times that night. I woke up to stare, very blearily, at Mom's face.

"Huh?" I said. Then, "Hmm," and tried to go back to sleep.

"Listen to me, Firn!" squawked Mom and gave me a good shake. I snapped to attention. "Skye has foaled."

"Really?" I said dreamily.

"Really," said Mom.

I swooshed out of bed. I grabbed my huge, old dressing gown. Half in and half out of it I stormed out of the house; I have no recollection of putting on my boots. I tried to run into the parlour door, hit the wall, and managed it on the second try. Dad was spraying fly poison on the walls in a big floppy hat and a faded grey shirt.

"Wow, look how pale The Kid is," he commented.

The Kid bolted on past him, half fell down the exit ramp, crashed through the gate and went on running. I stopped like I'd run into a wall again when I saw them. If it was a movie there would have been a fanfare; a drum roll perhaps, or the roar of thunder. Instead there was sunshine, bright and fresh, pouring down in abundance. There was the song of birds and the busy hum of the milking machine. And... there was Skye, glowing, beautiful, a proud golden queen under the sunlight, throwing up her head and neighing at my approach. And there was a smaller, wobblier version of herself at her side.

"Beautiful..." I quavered, staggering up to her. "Beautiful Skye. You're all right. You're all right."

Skye neighed again. She lowered her head to the foal and arched her silver-tressed golden neck around the foal like a hug, pressing it to her forelegs. Her nostrils flared as she spoke softly to her child and to me. Then she raised her head for a hug from me. I didn't know what to make of anything, so I burst into tears on her neck, much to our bewilderment. I am so terrifically happy and thankful that she is all right. After all the worry, all the fuss, she is all right. That is a gift of such greatness that it nearly eclipses the other gift; the foal. She is my dearest friend and there is little that I would not do to be sure she is all right. With that silken warmth that fits so perfectly into the circle of my arms, and her mane soft as starlight against my cheek, I was at a complete and utter loss for words.

I stepped back from Skye and planted a kiss in the centre of her star. Then I looked down at the foal, who looked up at me. It is very light bay, with a curly fluffy little black mane and tail, a white nose and a star just like its mother's on its forehead. The star captivated me at once. The star has always been a beacon to me, like a real star shining on Skye's forehead, and now her foal has one too. The eyes, too... Skye has eyes deeper and darker than the greatest sea, but brighter than the nearest star. The foal's eyes aren't quite so magical, but they come very close. Long-legged, yet stocky already like its mother, the foal stood on new legs in a new day and watched me with interest. It snuffled across my hand with a muzzle that could sip from the tiniest teacup.

The first thing I said to Skye's foal was, "You have your mother's eyes." Overcome with shyness, the foal turned around and plugged itself in to Skye's udder and began to gulp down milk. She still has the swelling on her belly, but her udder has vastly deflated, I suspect because of the gusto with which the foal drank. I took the opportunity to see what it was. A colt, as I had hoped for; a handsome, healthy young colt, and best of all, born out of a healthy, happy mare.

"Well done, Skye," I said and almost burst into tears again. "Thank you, Skye. Thank you so much. You are very wonderful. You're a miracle. I love you."

The foal finished his drink and turned his little head. He sucked on Skye's elbow for a bit. She turned her head and smiled at him in that sparkly way that horses have of smiling, that does not involve their mouths at all.

"Yes, you're a miracle too," I told him, "... Thunder."

I'd decided on a name long before he was born. Thunderbird, after a mighty bird out of Native American mythology. Thunderbird might seem like a big strong name for a tiny wobbly foal, but I think he likes it. At any rate, he tossed his head and doddered around his mum. Poking his head around her hindlegs, her silver tail spilling down like a spotlight over his neck, Thunder regarded me shyly. Under a blue sky flecked with clouds, in springtime, the sun shone and Skye shone and life is one great wonderful diamond of a thing, the greatest of gifts, next to friendship and a healthy mare. I could've danced, I could've screamed with joy, I could have fainted. Instead I draped one arm around Skye's neck and thanked God for - for everything. I would have fallen to my knees, but I was so wobbly with excitement that I might not have been able to get up again.

What more can I say? What more is there to say? I have not words for what this miracle is. I brought Skye water and hay and she ate and drank while Thunder suckled. I found her afterbirth, all of which seems to have come out. Miss A, Siobhan and Dancer came to meet the new arrival and Skye let them come close, but not too close. I stroked Thunder's neck and called him Thundy Wundy, which made him hide his face behind Skye's tail in embarrassment. Thunder and Dancer touched noses. Dancer skittered backwards, and Thunder shyly scurried back to Skye. He's going to be a mommy's boy if his mommy has anything to do with it.

Skye doesn't like the others to come too close to Thunder at the moment, with the exception of Dancer. When they come too close, she protectively nudges Thunder out of the way and lays back her ears, telling them to go away. When I am close to Thunder and this happens, she gives me a little nudge too, as if to say, "I won't exclude you."

Now they're still down there in their paddock. Skye is standing and resting a leg while her lovely little son suckles. Achilles must know, for he is standing by the fence with his ears pricked staring down towards his son. The sun is shining. Spring is here. Skye is my friend. Thunder is born. They are all well. It is a beautiful, beautiful day.