September 2010

September 24, 2010: No Foal Yet

Flying dogs, how do professional breeders manage with a hundred mares? I'm just about tearing my hair out over two. Skye's appetite is alarmingly huge again. Every day, her stomach gets flatter at the top and bigger at the bottom. She likes to go grazing off all by herself, possibly because she eats too fast for the other two to keep up. Every night, I look at Miss A and think, "Tonight is the night," and every morning Miss A is still depressingly pregnant. In stark contrast to Skye, who has no udder whatsoever, Miss A's udder is enormous. Occasionally she starts kicking and stamping and glaring at her own stomach, and I keep thinking, my word, it's happening, and then it's only flies. Sigh.

This not-giving-birth trend does not seem to be catching on, however; within twenty-four hours of each other, Ballerina and Lollipop both had heifers. Ballerina, as usual, calved out in the veld and caused an hour of panic before she was found with a little brown heifer. The heifer was named Bright Moon, because it was a simply glorious night; the full moon glowed like the soul of a unicorn, in the west, Jupiter was near and bright, and the air was heady and dizzy from the spinning of the spring. We saw three owls, two kites and three duikers. The dam was unbelievable, a mirror of the moon, still as silence.

The next morning Lollipop, the full sister to my old show calf Leri, had a tan heifer with white spots, whom we named Liquorice Allsorts to go with Lollipop. Next to calve are three of the show calves; Lily Of The Valley, March, and my beloved Bubby. Bubby seems to be the closest. It's now a race between Bubby and Miss A.

We've only had a few drops of rain so far, but the sky is filled with it. The horses can feel it in the air. Sometimes Skye throws up her noble head and listens to a voice I cannot hear, as if the rain was speaking. It invigorates her, so that when I whistle she trots to me despite her ponderous belly, her golden coat glowing with health, her bright eyes part veiled underneath a forelock like dusty cloud. Miss A is increasingly quiet and thoughtful and rather dreamy. Siobhan is spurred into action by the spring. Just the other morning, when I had done with lunging her, I turned her loose in her camp. She tossed her head playfully, danced away from me, and suddenly, shockingly tossed up her midnight tail and zoomed off like a dolphin through cold water. She floated, no, she sliced through the air like a hawk, denying the wind, her black mane burning backwards along her neck. Her long, straight nose cut the air and she went on running like a firestorm for the sheer equine joy of it. There was a lot to do, but I watched anyway as the filly reared up and leapt into the air, caprioled like a Lipizzaner and landed with a mighty buck. Nose in the air, head swung sideways, tail arched up almost over her back, she tiptoed sideways like a ballerina, bucked again, ran a few steps, turned like a fish and came running back to me. Laughing with silence she swept past me with metres to spare and kept on going. Abruptly she reached the mares, who were watching in bemusement, and from a full gallop stuck out her legs and slithered to a long, dusty halt. As was her custom from the age of three months, Siobhan drew herself up to her full height, tossed her windblown mane, glanced round to see who was looking, put up her tail until it spilled over itself, and snorted loudly, much as if to say, "So there."

Achilles is rather distraught for the lack of Skye. We lock Benjamin, the donkey, in with him for company, and they don't fight, but Achilles still seems to want his mares. He settled down eventually and has stopped neighing, and I think in time he'll settle completely, but he's definitely headed for the Big G and to have his status changed sharply to that of a gelding. Then Siobhan can go and live with him. Eish*. The two troublemakers, living together. They will hatch plots. But at least they won't be lonely.

Training-wise, Achilles and I still aren't having a good time. I don't trust him, and I should trust him, because he doesn't trust me as a result. I'm not entirely sure what my problem is with him, because his bucking is a lot better, he doesn't run away anymore, and he is really getting more well-behaved. We taught him to jump the other day, and he took it without any fuss at all, just hopped over it and went on going. Today we jumped from a canter for the first time, with Kevin present, and he was good apart from very nearly getting me off just as we approached the jump.

Kevin recommends a change of martingale and noseband, and also a different bit - just a different size since Achilles is outgrowing his current one. He wears a loose-ring snaffle now and we're going to change to a broader eggbutt snaffle to fit his mouth.

Siobhan's training is going just beautifully. She's really very smart, though often she applies her intelligence to something other than a worthy cause. Last week, I mounted her for the second time in her life, with Kevin holding her. Siobhan took a great aversion to this - probably because I got on too fast - and reared up all of a sudden. I promptly fell off and very nearly got trodden on, but horses really don't tread on people as often as is suspected, and I scuttled away crabwise, probably looking incredibly stupid, scrambled to my feet and scuttled away a bit more. Siobhan settled to all four feet and began to chew on her lead rein, unperturbed and sniggering. Kevin won a medal. He didn't laugh. He just said, "You all right? In that case, you can get back on." I got back on and Siobhan, having had her snigger of the day, behaved beautifully. I used the reins on the bit to steer for the first time and she was only vaguely puzzled.

This week, I stayed on, at least, and actually it went very, very well. She's now fully two years old and can start with some slightly harder work. We backed Miss A at two years of age and she was fine. I rode her in the ring a bit and began to work on the leg aids, though the reins were attached to the bit and to the headcollar; she's really lazy and doesn't know what my legs mean, but she's a quick learner and after a few minutes she began to cotton on. We trotted for the first time under saddle and her trot is really nice; there was no bucking or protest of any sort, and after a while Kevin put the lead rein back on again and led us around the Frieslands' camps and into Siobhan's major tantrum zone (which is where I got the most kicks from her) and she was fine. On the way back to the ring we went solo and though the steering is a little erratic, her brakes are very sound, and we trotted off all by ourselves. I was grinning all over my face and Siobhan was fine. After all this fighting with Achilles, backing Siobhan is really rewarding; after all my struggles with her, when she was rearing up on me and generally a brat, it really feels good to have her behaving so well.

Meanwhile another milestone has been reached with Sparrowhawk. In its twenty-eighth chapter, it's a full 100 000 words long, about 130 pages. I haven't written a 100 000 word novel since The Reign of the Golden Hope, and that was 190 000 words of junk. Moonrise at Midnight has reached about 10 000 words (about 15 pages), and A Promise for the Horses is around 45 000 words (around 50 pages).

I've got some Post Climax Writer's Block, which always happens after the climax of a story or a sub-plot. In Sparrowhawk, one of the main villains has died, after several weeks of anxiety and four combat scenes. The last scene was torture for three of my poor main characters, especially Flavian (the one who made the chandelier blow up, remember?) but eventually it was a great triumph of both internal and external conflict. The Eztli is now safely deceased, though the Jicarilla and the Head Villain, the Auryon, are still alive and the Auryon is about to blow his cover completely. Medals have been doled out, a triumphant banquet eaten, and the long-suffering healer, Rufus, has mopped up all the blood. Now all my characters have knocked off for a rest, which they always do after a climax like this one. I'll just have to be patient for a while until everyone has their breath back, then they can all launch back into the story.

Blog done, I suspect I'll go back to my agonised pacing and to the question I ask Arwen several times a day: "Missy, where's the baby?"

Come on, mares!

*Eish is a sort of Zulu expression. It can mean anything from "My word" through "Yeah, right" to "Oh crivens" (or a word far, far stronger than "crivens").

September 16, 2010: Mares...

To tell you the whole story, we start at 5:30 A. M. this morning. Mom went out, as per usual, to feed Skye and Achilles and put them in the small paddock. They have two paddocks, a big one and a small one, joined to one another by a gate; there's hay in the small one and water in the big one, so most of the time the gate stays open, but from 5:30 to about 10:00 they get locked in the small one because the cows go out to graze, and the milk tanker comes in, via the big paddock and I don't want my horses on the road, thank you very much. So Mom lures them into the small paddock with food. Achilles gets just a handful and Skye one-third of her daily ration (a little over one kilogram per day). Skye was ravenous. She guzzled her breakfast. She trotted off and started to guzzle her hay.

At 6:30 A. M. I went out to check on them. I gave Skye a nice fat red apple, which she guzzled in between guzzling hay. I ruffled her mane affectionately and told her I'd come to brush her at mid-morning. She paused in her chomping to sniff at me and say, in Skye's own language, Thank you, my friend. I kissed her and told her I love her and wandered off to check on Miss A and Siobhan.

At 7:30 A. M. I went to brush the mares. Skye was standing very close to Achilles in their paddock, nibbling grass every now and then. I groomed her thoroughly and, as usual, offered her an apple afterwards. She nickered for it, as usual, and ate only half. I panicked. Skye's appetite is always, always, always excellent. She only ate half her apple. I phoned Mom in a terrible panic. Mom said, Maybe there's something wrong with the apple, or she doesn't feel like another apple, you know what you've read about pregnant mares. Give her a handful of horse pellets. I shot off and brought her a handful of pellets, which she ate, but listlessly and only after I gave Achilles a little to show her that it was edible. By then I was having a nervous breakdown. Mom called Kevin, who said that sometimes pregnant mares just don't feel like eating, and also she's out of her routine, so give her until her normal feeding time. With difficulty I got a grip on myself and we checked all of her vital signs: breathing is normal, temperature was 37.2 degrees Celsius (whenever we've taken her temperature it's been between 37 and 37.5, so that is normal too), her eyes are bright, her coat is glossy, her gums are pale pink - the same colour as Achilles's, capillary refill time is less than two seconds, she's answering calls of nature (i. e. urinating and defecating) normally and the stuff that comes out is perfectly normal. All in all, a perfectly healthy horse, still eating grass and hay, but refusing to touch feed. She was acting very clingy, tagging closely after Achilles all the time and huddling up next to me.

At 8:30 A. M. I spent an hour sitting on a bale and reading my National Geographic and watching Skye. She seemed fine; didn't eat hay, but kept trying to eat my National Geographic. She didn't act at all different. Stood resting one leg most of the time. She's very alert and interested in her surroundings, interacting with Achilles, listening to sounds, looking around.

At 10:30 A. M. we went to give them their feed. Skye sniffed at hers and then wouldn't touch it. Still hasn't touched it. Still healthy in all other respects, but staying behind a screen of big round bales and eating hay occasionally; Achilles has given up on talking to her and wandered off. We phoned the vet, who asked a multitude of questions: what's her udder look like, how far is she from foaling, etc. Her udder is bigger than normal but not as big as Miss A's. No wax on the teats yet. She's supposed to be two weeks from foaling (320 days pregnant to be exact) and it's her first foal. Ah, said the vet, a maiden mare, they're frustrating aren't they? His opinion: she wants to foal. I nearly screamed. Mom got a second opinion from Kevin. He said, either she's just being a pregnant mare, or she is getting ready to have her baby after all. So we brought her two bucketfuls of water; she didn't drink, but when I pinched the skin on her neck, it sprang back instantly, indicating that she's not dehydrated. We took Achilles out of the small paddock and shut the gate to keep him out (he chases dogs and small calves so we're afraid he might attack the foal) and made sure that Benjamin (who kicks newborns) was out with the cows. Then we left her to it, still with her uneaten feed and buckets of water. She shifts her weight every minute or so; she stands resting one leg, and then after a minute shifts her weight to rest the other leg. I've heard that that can indicate colic, but since she's still pooping, it can't be colic. I think she's having contractions. Maybe she's going to foal after all. I spent half an hour in fervent prayer begging that Skye will be all right... whatever happens, that Skye will be all right.

At 11:30 A. M. I checked on her again. She was standing at the gate of the small paddock, swishing her tail and looking unconcerned, but still shifting her weight now and then. Checked her for dehydration; her skin sprang back at once. I let her into the big paddock because Rain and Mom are working calves in the big paddock (I'm in too much of a state) but she stayed there in the gateway, looking unperturbed. No apparent progress.

At 12:30 P. M. she was standing with Achilles in the shade, fast asleep. No more restlessness, shifting weight, or any of the like. She woke up when I called to her and whinnied loudly; snuggled up closely against Achilles, gone to a clingy stage again. Vital signs still look good, coat still glossy, not dehydrated, everything looks perfectly normal. I'm starting to understand why experienced horse people groan about their first-time mares... As long as she's all right. As long as she's all right. Please, please be all right, Skye... I calculated very carefully that she's exactly 320 days in foal, and according to most sources she could foal at any moment. That makes Miss A 330 days. I'm beginning to wonder which one will go first... The suspense is killing me!

At 2:00 P. M. she was standing beside our old brick silo, swishing her tail (possibly at flies) and looking very sleepy. She did shift her weight once or twice, but looked very calm and relaxed. We started to think about moving Skye to Miss A and Siobhan's paddock because Benjamin lives with them in their paddock at night, and the last thing I want is for Benjamin to harm Skye or her foal. We wondered if the stress would be bad for her, I mean, moving her so suddenly, but we've been planning the move for weeks. She also knows Miss A and Siobhan and I doubt there will be fighting beyond the normal little spats when they settle things. I would like to keep her where she is for the stress, but I really think her stressing is far the lesser of two evils - she'll stress far worse if she or her baby get hurt.

At 3:30 P. M. we put her in with Miss A and Siobhan. We had some concerns over whether they would fight, but apart from Siobhanny being a real pain in the bum and forever nibbling at Skye's tail or touching her with her nose (Skye put a stop to that with several warnings and eventually a nip) they were perfectly fine. Skye's temperature was 39.4; we phoned Kevin in a panic and were told that it's afternoon so her temperature will be up and yes, when they're getting more and more pregnant, their temperatures do rise, so we don't need to worry. Her gums are still pink (slightly paler than Missy's but the same as Siobhanny's) and otherwise she's fine. More restless now; shifting her weight every few seconds and swishing her tail. Still not kicking/biting at her stomach. She went straight to the trough and had a drink, then answered a call of nature twice, passing less dung than usual but still doing it frequently (in my recent [extensive] research, I've learnt that that's a sign of late pregnancy too). Left the mares alone for a while; they'd settled in well. Skye seems to have had some sort of discharge from her, uh, you know, female reproductive organ.

At 4:30 P. M. we went back to check on her. Gums still the same colour as Siobhanny's; Kevin had some concerns over biliary but as long as her gums retain their colour she shouldn't have it, also she has no ticks at all. She'd just had a drink and neighed loudly when I approached. She and Miss A were standing under a tree and dozing like old friends, which they are. Siobhanny had caught a huff and was sulking in a corner. Skye is mildly worried, especially since Achilles is running around neighing (poor little boy), and so has not walked down to the hay, but I suspect it's because she wants to be near Achilles. So touching to see my three dear little mares all together again; burnished gold, dark copper and ash-flecked coal. There's no tension anymore between them. Skye started snuffling around in a few empty feed bowls, and I offered her a handful of feed, which she ate instantly. Yay!!!! (scuse my grammar) We'll see how her appetite is in an hour's time. Please, Skye, have your baby soon... please be all right... please be all right... (Tried to get some fluid from Miss A's udder and was shocked to get a great big squirt of the stuff. It was quite sticky and opaque white. Oh crivens, are they both going to pop tonight? I'd be glad to be rid of the worry... but tomorrow will be busy if that happens!)

At 6:00 P. M. Skye was grazing with Miss A (Siobhan still sulking near the hay). When I called for her she neighed and came jogging up, dived into her food and scarfed the lot. Thank heaven! Skye, thank you! She cleaned up her feed as normal and wandered off to slurp some water. There was no competition at feeding time, except for the normal squabble between Miss A and Siobhan (poor Missy lost some of her feed to her daughter, because I was busy marvelling at Skye) and afterwards when they all went to drink together, Skye and Miss A are perfectly fine with each other, though Siobhan still needs some nips to put her in her place. Poor Achilles is still neighing a little, but ate well and was chomping hay when we went to feed him. Phew! Big sigh of relief. Skye's skin also felt cooler to the touch than this afternoon (remember, she'd been standing in the hot sunshine). After drinking they all trooped off towards the bales. Skye is acting perfectly normally. Yippee!

Whoa, maybe I'm not cut out for this breeding lark after all. Sigh. Mares! Especially the pregnant ones. It's very nice, though, to see the three girls together again. I feel sorry for poor old Achilles, but there's no other way, except gelding him, which we're considering. Maybe it would be best for him after all, though it won't change his behaviour (too late for that).

I'm really looking forward to the foals. Skye's is going to be magnificent; I think he/she will have a lot of regal presence, considering his/her parentage. I'm quite curious and keen to see Miss A's foal. Nooitgedacht cross Friesian... one delicate as porcelian, one powerful as a tempest. Now that should be interesting.

Other news is that Achilles and I got over the bucking thing on Tuesday. It was beginning to get really burdensome, having that shadow looking over my shoulder saying What kind of a horsewoman are you? Well, (I think) it's a lot better and I'm very glad about that. I just hope we can get Achilles to canter acceptably. Cantering him is only marginally better than bucking. You go bounce, bounce, bounce, and with me hopping about on his back I doubt it's very comfortable for the big black prince.

We've also got forty four-week-old Boschveld chicks for fly control. Rainy is over the moon with her newest babies. She deals with small fluffy things, I deal with big shiny things, Mom deals with serene shaggy things, Dad does a bit of all three, with the possible exception of fluffy things. One of the chicks already has a name, a runty little black-and-white one named Tuxedo.

My heifer, Babeica (after El Cid's warhorse) had a bright-eyed little bullcalf, Bucephalus (after Alexander the Great's warhorse). Bucey is very cute and dark-eyed, like most baby Jerseys. He was closely followed by Beach's bullcalf, who was born on the day I convinced myself and Achilles that bucking is a bad idea, and hence he was named Breakthrough.

Ah well, now I really am on foal watch. Hope that next time I blog I will be spouting off on the latest addition to the equine family. But I'm going back on my somewhat panicky theory that there are any foals due tonight. Famous last words...

September 9, 2010: Same Old, Same Old well sort of anyway, you know what it's like around here.

This morning I woke up down in the Dumps, with which I am not very familiar, but I was very Dumped this morning. The Dumps are a decidedly unpleasant place, but I was so down in them that I couldn't find a way out, until, as usual, I heard a bright whinny and beheld a golden mare cantering through the gloom towards me, and, again as usual, I got on her back and she sailed out of the Dumps and up into Seventh Heaven, where I still am, slightly giddy.

Forgetting the metaphors for the moment, I was getting really downhearted lately because a) all Achilles really wants to do is buck me off b) I can only ride Achilles c) I really, really, really miss riding Skye. Consider the situation. The only horse I can ride spends most of the ride trying to get me off and kill me. Hardly pleasant. It would have been all right if I could still ride the mares because at least I'd know that, hey, I can actually train a horse to stop bucking, but since I couldn't I was really gloomy. Mom panicked and phoned Kevin, who knows Skye and I pretty well and said, "Tell her to take Skye for a gentle hack." Skye is three weeks to foaling, but still as sprightly as ever, so I did as I was told (with no great reluctance) and we went for a ride in the Woods. My memory had not done riding Skye justice. I mean, I still see her and talk to her and groom her every day, but it's not entirely the same as being away and free. Even though we couldn't canter or anything, we just walked and trotted a little, it was amazing. The rain was in the sky, and the wind was restless, and the Woods shook, my dear beloved Shuddering Woods, the most beautiful place on Earth. I saw the kites, eagles of the veld, soaring in the sky, and my heart soared with them. Skye was patient and brisk and beautiful. The wind combed her silver mane into graceful curves, and her muscles rippled with an ageless grace. She bent her beautiful neck to my hands and the lightest touch was enough to guide her. And I suddenly saw that all the trees have new leaves on them, that the petunia is in bloom, that the softly crying trees have opened their sweet white blossoms, that the starlings are back and the red-billed hoopoos have returned, that it was really spring now. Skye strode through the forest and though she was shorter than Achilles I was higher than Everest on her back as she paced through the woods like a Queen in her domain, which she is. She was then and is now so beautiful that I thought I heard the dryads singing and weeping all at once and that the very sky smiled. And I looked at the woken woods, and thought that when Skye has her foal and we come here to show the young one the Woods, the morning glories will be in bloom.

I spent the rest of the day positively euphoric in my usual little cloud of dreamy happiness. My mood was shockingly brilliant. I waved to a guy I didn't know when he drove past Skye and I, and grinned broadly at the butler for no reason at all. I hugged Siobhanny just because she was there and kissed Miss A on the nose.

I still have to get on Achilles again tomorrow morning and stay on through his variety of bucks and survive Achilles's tantrums, Kevin's yelling and my own abject fear, but Skye will still be there and brave and bright.

Miss A is due within the next two weeks and she looks ready to blow up. Her stomach is huge, her udder is huge, and she is very, very, very moody. I am so excited. I can't wait to go and check on my pregnant fairies every morning, though Skye shows no progress apart from becoming steadily hungrier. Still no mood swings for Skye; she's always been so even-tempered. Rain wants to call Miss A's foal Jazz if it's a colt. I pleaded her to at least lengthen his name to Jasper, and she could still call him Jazz, but Rain is adamant. I mean, please. Skye, Lady Arwen, Little Siobhan, Achilles, and Jazz. You'll have to wait until Skye foals to know the dear creature's name. I've already thought of some, but I will keep you in suspense. Hey, I'm a writer, I can't help it.

Speaking of which, Sparrowhawk's plot grows ever thicker. I have totally fallen for the main characters. Characters are such stunning people, aren't they? They might be bossy, all right they are bossy, and they will always have their way, but they're excellent company. For example. I have an amazing character named Flavian, who could be human, or at least humanoid. Anyway, I like him a lot. So, when I met another amazing character, a beautiful chestnut stallion named Forest Fire, I thought: wow! These two will go together so well! So I introduce Flavian to Forest Fire. I am excited. I say, Go on, try him out, Flavian, you'll love him. And? Forest Fire bucks Flavian off. They don't get along. Flavian becomes frustrated. Forest Fire begins to sweat. Flavian falls off again. Forest Fire bolts. Flavian loses his temper and because of his advanced magical powers makes the chandelier blow up. Okay, cool it, I say, that was a bad idea. Now Forest Fire has to settle for being a minor character because a winged horse named Chamonix (pronounced Sham-en-nee, by the way), whom I never intended to be in the story, took his place and he and Flavian just clicked. Aaargh! Characters can be the pits. But they're still amazing. I'm very, very attached to three of the other main characters in particular; Hero Number One, Soaring Falcon, Hero Number Two, Sparrowhawk herself, and Falcon's sister, Burning Lioness.

Yes, I know, I'm insane. For a fantasy novelist, though, I'm positively normal. Come on, I'm a Hyde, us Hydes are crazy. Our latest escapades include inviting my great-aunt Hennah and her dog Misha to come and live with us, artificially inseminating hundreds of Friesland heifers, and bringing dead calves back to life. Well, sort of. E. P. (short for Elite's Petite) had a son, E. M., who died. He looked dead to me. His mouth was icy, he was lying on his side, and he wasn't moving. Half an hour of lying in the sunshine later, and pumped full of drugs, E. M. got up and wandered off. To say we had already made his funeral arrangements would be macabre and true. We were delighted when the poor dear creature went wobbling off, apparently cured. He's still a bit weak but much more full of zest and needless to say alive, which, for E. M., makes a nice change.

All right, now I must wander back to my characters; I can see them crowding around me, peeking over my shoulder and poking one another to see better. Hey, Flavian, she's written something about you, and it's not at all flattering. She said you made the chandelier blow up. Well, he did, didn't he? Yeah, but you didn't put it in the story. So? Firn, help! I think I'm about to have another nightmare! Oh for heaven's sake, somebody wake him up. Just kidding. You rat.

Now you must really think I'm off my rocker and should be sent to an asylum. Don't worry, I'm no danger to myself. Or any one else, for that matter. Ask any other writer and they will tell you theirs do exactly the same thing. It's enough to bring on an epic headache.

September 2, 2010: Quieter Now

Note the er. Quieter, not quiet. Saying things are quiet is asking for pandemonium. Anyway, things aren't quiet, merely reasonable.

The pregnant fairies are living a life of luxury, lolling about in their paddocks, eating first-rate teff hay, clear troughs of water constantly available, three meals a day, and daily grooming. All they do is eat, sleep, and think. I think they're feeling it now, they hardly ever trot; Skye will only trot if she feels like it, and Miss A will only trot if I bellow extremely loudly and shake her feed bowl and threaten to give it to whichever curious bovine is standing nearest. Their stomachs are both enormous. Apart from that, Skye shows no signs of the imminent arrival, but Miss A's udder is swelling by the day and she pulls awful faces if anyone is stupid enough to try to touch it. Guess it's tender. I just hope she lets the foal suckle but I'm not so worried about Missy, she's done it before, she can do it again. Skye is so naturally maternal I think she'll be fine too. Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?

Oh, Skye has also developed a suddenly shocking appetite. She eats and eats. Achilles just stands there gawking. Well, she's eating for two, isn't she? The green grass is just starting to come out, so when Skye's not munching on teff she's nibbling grass. She attacks her pellets with great glee and whinnies loudly for her daily treat. No temperament changes, as yet, except for kicking Achilles now and then when he gets on her nerves, but she usually does that. Miss A is getting moody, going from happy and bubbly to depressed and droopy. Achilles fusses around Skye and ducks the kicks; Siobhan treats her mother with total, teenage indifference.

Watching horses is terrific fun and I'm getting to know such a lot about my horses' personalities and how they behave and what they react to and how. There are few things I've found in life that is as satisfying and rewarding as keeping horses. Training horses is one; drawing is one; writing is one; and (I know this will probably make all girls my age sit up straight and have a mild stroke) keeping my room tidy nearly gets there. Seriously, though, only training horses and writing novels is as rewarding.

There is a sense of great pride and accomplishment and great love that one gets when one looks at a pair of beautiful horses, mirrored majestic black and exquisite gold, grazing together, their coats glossy with health, their condition excellent, hooves trimmed, eyes bright, free of pain and fear, of hunger and thirst, of close confinement or cruelty, and knowing that you helped to bring that state about. There's also a sense of righteousness, of justice, of a debt partially paid. My greatest rule in training and keeping horses - and some may disagree - is that a horse should always be treated fairly. In my mind fairly means never giving or taking what it is not fair to give or take. It's unfair to neglect a horse, to let his coat grow dull and his bones stick out and flies crowd around his face. Everyone can see that. It's also unfair, to a slighter degree, to give a horse discipline when he doesn't need it - and equally unfair to give him praise when he shouldn't get it. And anyway, in return for the wings they lend us, for the friendship they give us, for the joy they bring us, the least we can do is to give them what they need - adequate shelter, correct feeding, a good supply of water, enough exercise, a safe place to live, a little bit of freedom, everything they need to be healthy; and the things they need to be happy - a little love, which could be a smuggled sugarlump, a soft hand on the neck or a gentle voice in the ear, or could be just saying "Hello". Well, how would you feel if the person who took care of you, your mum perhaps, just marched up to you in stony silence and went about her business feeding you without a word? A horse isn't just a thing that's there, they think too. I don't think they understand what we say but I know that they understand much more of what we mean than we give them credit for.

After the complete unasked-for and probably unnecessary lecture, I will commence blogging instead of preaching.

Siobhan's education seems to be slowing down a bit now, perhaps in shock. I can't think of what to teach her next. She's too young to really ride, her manners are brilliant (wow, I'm saying this about Siobhanny, am I?), and she knows a lot of things that many two-year-old horses have yet to learn. She's gone from a shrimpy little brat to a precocious precious, though she still retains that cocky, indomitable personality. She can still be a brat occasionally, but I guess that's part of her personality. Mom and Dad bought me a bridle (gazillion thanks) and I found that an old eggbutt snaffle of mine fits her well, so I put it all together and we have yet to put it on properly. She lunges well, she will suffer a blanket to be put on her, and her halter manners are almost impeccable. Her only problems: the phobia of the crush, and a new weird problem with having her ears touched. She's never had it before and I'm wondering if she hasn't got mites or something, so tomorrow we call in the horse mutterer. She's already better, however, maybe it's just one of those odd things that horses do. Sometimes they simply don't make sense.

So far all I think I can really do for the next couple of months is as follows: a) Get her used to the bridle and what it means; b) Not let her education go backwards in any way; c) Give her a bath, she sure needs one; d) Train her for in-hand showing, you never know; e) Perhaps get on her once or twice so she doesn't forget.

With Achilles, for the past few months I've been really guilty and basically left him to his own devices apart from a short ride out once a week. I made a big mistake that I should have learnt from with Siobhan: I didn't feel like dealing with a problem, so I left it be. As could be expected, it just grew and grew and Achilles went backwards instead of forwards. Well, with both mares on maternity leave and Siobhan being ahead of her age, I had to face it sometime, so Kevin put me on Achilles, dragged us to the arena and drilled us for two long hours. Achilles was awful and it was all my fault and I knew it. I was scared and insipid and deeply ashamed and disappointed. Stallion bolted, wouldn't listen to my hands or my legs, poked out his nose and dawdled. He bucked wildly and leaned on my hands. When asked to canter he would have an awful temper tantrum, buck for several minutes and then set his big neck against the bit and shoot off in whichever direction he chose. He has a fantastic temperament and he was merely being your typical young adolescent male; hyperactive, bored with life, eyeing the girls and pumped with testosterone. The last thing he wanted to think about was his Education. He would never have gone astray if I hadn't neglected him. Four sessions later, I've pulled myself together, got back some guts and, in essence, re-learnt everything that the mares and Kevin taught me before. Achilles has realised that I mean it and has decided that it's altogether easier just to do what I say. Whatever, he says, and obeys. He is now being such a star. I schooled him this afternoon; he brings his head in beautifully now, stops well, never bolts, and behaves like a gentleman and not a teenage rebel. Even Rainy rides him a bit now, though she always could; horses have this stunning affinity for people, they know what they can do when. Achilles's biggest problem now is that he performs for the mares with piaffes and loud whinnies, and also he still bucks terrifically at the canter.

So, though things are quieter and more routine, I'm still wonderfully busy. Apart from the horses my novels are still in full swing, Sparrowhawk is my best, just booming along and beginning to taper towards the climax; we reached the 100-page milestone a while ago. I still help on the farm, which is as wonderful as ever, with a new batch of Frieslands - Group Eleven, the H's - three young cows (Brumby, Nerina and Storm) being classified by Jersey SA, Anemay nearly dying of milk fever and needing a drip (which I gave, brag brag), Her Majesty Elavicki Corne the Queen of Hydeaway Farm munching along in her usual steadfast glory, and three new babies, Indigo's It's A Boy, Ocean's Outstanding and my old favourite, Out In Front, had a lovely heifer named Orabella (meaning beautiful gold). Achilles, Miss A and Siobhan's ex-owner, our friend Antoinette, has had a new arrival; her mare Santa Fe Valerie had a filly named Faeriewood Ciara, coming in second of this season's foals to Tannie Marie's Lady Rosa's colt, Robin Snoet.

Oh, P. S., I do actually do school, though I guess most of you might be surprised that I ever get round to it. Mercifully I have the blessing of stunning parents who opt to homeschool me. I have a strong suspicion that I'm in grade seven, though it's very confusing, in Math I'm almost in grade eight, in Literature I'm in grade nine, in Nature Study I'm in grade seven, and in History, Biology and Career Planning there doesn't seem to be any grade at all. Career Planning mostly means sending petrified letters to South African National Equestrian Federation asking how I go to study and get all those cool qualifications.

All right, I've run out of steam. Quarter past eight P. M. and I will now leave you in pieces. Goodnight all.