Sunday 9 October 2016
Friday 22 April 2016
Natural Horsemanship
The hunt of the perfect saddle for Bree did result in one major paradigm shift for Sarah and ultimately, me.
After lurking on Facebook trying to track down as much information on saddle fitting, Sarah came across much helpful advice but in particular, she came across Tina.
Tina not only freely gave Sarah pointers on the different saddles to try on Bree, the indicators of a good or poor fit etc. But Tina also introduced Sarah to the world of natural horsemanship.
Up to now, Sarah was the product of the traditional style of horsemanship. Break the horse until it did what you wanted. This normally involved equipment and pushing the horse for perfection. Sarah was still trying to figure out what Bree's natural tendency was; show jumping, dressage, eventing etc.?
So Sarah started out to try and find, through trial and error, what was Bree's particular bag.
I remember when Sarah returned home with her latest purchase on TradeMe. She was excited as she opened up the bag, exclaiming to me that this is incredibly exciting and she could not wait until she showed me how it worked.
Out fell from the bag a jumbled collection of ropes, pulleys and straps. My interest was piqued. Was this a new adventurous and open minded attitude of my beloved that I had not seen before? As she untangled it all and started to lay it out, I too was becoming both excitedly interested.
Trying to figure out how it all fitted together and with a professional eye calculating the load bearing of the ceiling joists, the realisation dawned on me. It was for a horse. Feeling a bit deflated, I re-joined the real world from the slightly kinky corners of my mind.
It was a device for ensuring the "correct" posture of a horse when lunging; to guide the horse in maintaining a correct bearing. Something which had employed on the European equestrian training circuits that Sarah had worked in. I personally was a bit dubious as to Princess Bree's reaction when approached with this rope / strap and pulleys contraption.
However, before we could see if Bree could be wired up for sound, Tina mentioned that she was assisting on a Bert Elstrob Natural Horsemanship clinic being held at the Silverstream covered arena in Mosgiel. Sarah should come along and see an alternative way to horse training.
I was invited along to the two day event at a reduced fee to "audit" or in other words, watch.
I had heard about horse whisperers in the past and could see that by examining the behavioural aspects of how a horse interacts with other horses, identify common methods for getting a horse to connect with you and hopefully do what you wanted. I did feel that with Bree's obfuscate nature, that she would probably benefit more from a Horse Shouter than a Whisperer
Anyway, with my interest once again piqued for an entirely different reason, I found myself sitting in the cold morning air, on hard benches watching a gathering of horses and their owners. I had a thermos of coffee, multiple muesli bars, video camera and notepad and more importantly, a cantankerous Bree. This could be quite an entertaining day and well worth the course fee.
The horses had been put into stalls on the far side of the arena, looking out onto the arena itself, while the owners stood in the arena itself listening to the instruction from Bert Elstrob on the principles of pressure and release.
As Bert talked, I noticed Bree on the far side, deftly picking at her lead rope that had been tied to the wall of the stall until she loosened it off enough to untie the knot. She then backed out of the stall and started to wander down the corridor, stopping every now and then to peer into a stall, practically give a smirk to the horse contained within, before walking to the next stall to repeat the process.
I quietly lay my cup of coffee and notebook down onto the bench and tried to ninja like, leave the bleachers and frog crawl out the side door, run around outside until I got to the sliding door that opened into the stall area, running face to face into Bree as she made her break for freedom. Without trying to make it obvious to all those gathered in the arena, I returned the unhappy Bree back to her stall and retied her. Then it was a case of stealthily doing the reverse journey back to my coffee and notebook.
Settling back in I started to record pertinent points being made by Bert as to the importance of a consistent approach to training. “If you do what you have always done, you will always get what you have always got" was dutifully jotted down in my notebook.
Looking back up, just in time to see Bree raising and dropping her head repeatedly. Yup, she was untying her lead rope again. Once again, without trying to alert the instructor or other course participants to the undisciplined behaviour of the unruly mare right behind them, I started out on my commando course recapture the determined Bree. The look on her face as she pulled up short in front of me as I darted out in front of her was once of intense annoyance. Could I just please stop interfering!
I returned Bree back to her stall and tied up with even more knots this time. I cat like managed to get back to my seat without broadcasting to everyone.
The rest of the two days was spent seeing a different approach to how to get a horse to do what you wanted. Though this is actually wrong. As was constantly stated, the horse knows everything. How to trot, canter, stop, reverse, lie down, stand up etc. as it already does this normally. What we need to learn is how to ask the horse to do this when we want it to. There is also a need to build trust in the horse that you actually are there for its wellbeing, that you are not going to put into a situation where it is in danger.
Of course, with a horse being a flight animal, most things it encounters in its day to day life is more often than not going to be interpreted as a danger. Those blades of grass, the rubbish bin, sign on the side of the road. a sheep that is giving it a funny look, all things that if a horse does not take notice of, will at some stage rear up and eat the horse whole.
The horse needs to trust you more than its own instincts. Think about that one when you find yourself in a situation where you have suddenly been given a fright. You need to instead of running away or follow you instincts, you instead turn around to someone standing nearby and patiently wait for them to give you instructions. This is what we are asking of our horses.
I for one know that if I am in a darken alleyway and a large, imposing figure suddenly steps out of the shadows in a menacing way, if you want me to just stand there, turn to a person who I only see once a day for 30 mins and ask calmly what do they want me to do? I am going have to have a long history of trust built up with that person prior.
As the activities became more complex, there were occasions when riders had to break what was being asked of their horse into smaller chunks, get those right with consistency and then add another piece, and then another until the whole picture, or in this case activity, was consistently implemented correctly.
Even without a horse I was picking up invaluable instruction. I couldn’t wait to get my own horse to start implementing all this new knowledge.
After lurking on Facebook trying to track down as much information on saddle fitting, Sarah came across much helpful advice but in particular, she came across Tina.
Tina not only freely gave Sarah pointers on the different saddles to try on Bree, the indicators of a good or poor fit etc. But Tina also introduced Sarah to the world of natural horsemanship.
Up to now, Sarah was the product of the traditional style of horsemanship. Break the horse until it did what you wanted. This normally involved equipment and pushing the horse for perfection. Sarah was still trying to figure out what Bree's natural tendency was; show jumping, dressage, eventing etc.?
So Sarah started out to try and find, through trial and error, what was Bree's particular bag.
I remember when Sarah returned home with her latest purchase on TradeMe. She was excited as she opened up the bag, exclaiming to me that this is incredibly exciting and she could not wait until she showed me how it worked.
Out fell from the bag a jumbled collection of ropes, pulleys and straps. My interest was piqued. Was this a new adventurous and open minded attitude of my beloved that I had not seen before? As she untangled it all and started to lay it out, I too was becoming both excitedly interested.
Trying to figure out how it all fitted together and with a professional eye calculating the load bearing of the ceiling joists, the realisation dawned on me. It was for a horse. Feeling a bit deflated, I re-joined the real world from the slightly kinky corners of my mind.
It was a device for ensuring the "correct" posture of a horse when lunging; to guide the horse in maintaining a correct bearing. Something which had employed on the European equestrian training circuits that Sarah had worked in. I personally was a bit dubious as to Princess Bree's reaction when approached with this rope / strap and pulleys contraption.
However, before we could see if Bree could be wired up for sound, Tina mentioned that she was assisting on a Bert Elstrob Natural Horsemanship clinic being held at the Silverstream covered arena in Mosgiel. Sarah should come along and see an alternative way to horse training.
I was invited along to the two day event at a reduced fee to "audit" or in other words, watch.
I had heard about horse whisperers in the past and could see that by examining the behavioural aspects of how a horse interacts with other horses, identify common methods for getting a horse to connect with you and hopefully do what you wanted. I did feel that with Bree's obfuscate nature, that she would probably benefit more from a Horse Shouter than a Whisperer
Anyway, with my interest once again piqued for an entirely different reason, I found myself sitting in the cold morning air, on hard benches watching a gathering of horses and their owners. I had a thermos of coffee, multiple muesli bars, video camera and notepad and more importantly, a cantankerous Bree. This could be quite an entertaining day and well worth the course fee.
The horses had been put into stalls on the far side of the arena, looking out onto the arena itself, while the owners stood in the arena itself listening to the instruction from Bert Elstrob on the principles of pressure and release.
As Bert talked, I noticed Bree on the far side, deftly picking at her lead rope that had been tied to the wall of the stall until she loosened it off enough to untie the knot. She then backed out of the stall and started to wander down the corridor, stopping every now and then to peer into a stall, practically give a smirk to the horse contained within, before walking to the next stall to repeat the process.
I quietly lay my cup of coffee and notebook down onto the bench and tried to ninja like, leave the bleachers and frog crawl out the side door, run around outside until I got to the sliding door that opened into the stall area, running face to face into Bree as she made her break for freedom. Without trying to make it obvious to all those gathered in the arena, I returned the unhappy Bree back to her stall and retied her. Then it was a case of stealthily doing the reverse journey back to my coffee and notebook.
Settling back in I started to record pertinent points being made by Bert as to the importance of a consistent approach to training. “If you do what you have always done, you will always get what you have always got" was dutifully jotted down in my notebook.
Looking back up, just in time to see Bree raising and dropping her head repeatedly. Yup, she was untying her lead rope again. Once again, without trying to alert the instructor or other course participants to the undisciplined behaviour of the unruly mare right behind them, I started out on my commando course recapture the determined Bree. The look on her face as she pulled up short in front of me as I darted out in front of her was once of intense annoyance. Could I just please stop interfering!
I returned Bree back to her stall and tied up with even more knots this time. I cat like managed to get back to my seat without broadcasting to everyone.
The rest of the two days was spent seeing a different approach to how to get a horse to do what you wanted. Though this is actually wrong. As was constantly stated, the horse knows everything. How to trot, canter, stop, reverse, lie down, stand up etc. as it already does this normally. What we need to learn is how to ask the horse to do this when we want it to. There is also a need to build trust in the horse that you actually are there for its wellbeing, that you are not going to put into a situation where it is in danger.
Of course, with a horse being a flight animal, most things it encounters in its day to day life is more often than not going to be interpreted as a danger. Those blades of grass, the rubbish bin, sign on the side of the road. a sheep that is giving it a funny look, all things that if a horse does not take notice of, will at some stage rear up and eat the horse whole.
The horse needs to trust you more than its own instincts. Think about that one when you find yourself in a situation where you have suddenly been given a fright. You need to instead of running away or follow you instincts, you instead turn around to someone standing nearby and patiently wait for them to give you instructions. This is what we are asking of our horses.
I for one know that if I am in a darken alleyway and a large, imposing figure suddenly steps out of the shadows in a menacing way, if you want me to just stand there, turn to a person who I only see once a day for 30 mins and ask calmly what do they want me to do? I am going have to have a long history of trust built up with that person prior.
As the activities became more complex, there were occasions when riders had to break what was being asked of their horse into smaller chunks, get those right with consistency and then add another piece, and then another until the whole picture, or in this case activity, was consistently implemented correctly.
Even without a horse I was picking up invaluable instruction. I couldn’t wait to get my own horse to start implementing all this new knowledge.
A few months later we hosted a clinic at our newly purchased rural lifestyle block which was facilitated by Tina. We had a group of horse owners at it being taken through the building blocks of natural horsemanship. For one of the activities Tina had us pair up and sans horse, one person wore the rope head collar with eyes closed, while the second person lead them around the arena. The purpose of the exercise was to feel the pressure exerted by the rope halter on the horse.
Tina was standing there using some particularly colourful language as to why we must always be soft with the horse as the halter does cause pressure even at the lightest touch on the reins.
 |
| The High Priestess holding court |
I was playing the role of the "horse" being lead around by Sarah with my eyes closed. I happened to open them to be staring directly at the previous owners of the property, the Goatleys, who had chosen that particular moment to return for an unannounced visit and who were now standing by the post and rail fence of the arena.
As I stumbled my way over to them, wearing a rope head collar and trailing a lead rope behind me, I sort of stammered a welcome to the two very devout members of the Brethren Church. I could see the thoughts running through their heads as they took in the sight of a group of heathens practicing some arcane ritual in their previous home, lead by the High Priestess, spouting profanity from the centre of the field.
In reply to my welcome and not very coherent explanation that we were not actually trying to summon the devil incarnate, but rather trying to have a better understanding of pressure and release.
Mrs Goatley returned my welcome with "hello Paul, this seems *pause* interesting...."
There was probably a lot of scripture reading occurring in the Goatley's new house, that night as our two souls were tried to be saved.
Bonding with Bree
Lets take some time out for a moment to talk about the special case that is Bree. Talking about Bree is actually Bree's favorite subject.
We had looked at a couple of horses previously and yes, they were wonderful to look at, they had all the things that a horse needed, four legs, a head, ears etc. But even I could see that there was something missing. That being a connection.
Being around a horse for the first time in a long time was exciting, but they seemed detached, aloof, not interested in the goings on that they were involved in. Sarah and I talked after each viewing as to what we thought. Surprisingly, we were in agreement. It may be unachievable, but we were both looking for that sort of Love at First Sight feeling. The gut feel that this horse was the one.
Being a bloke I was not sure if I was being stupid to expect something like that in an animal. I am a cat person. They couldn’t care less how you were feeling, as long as you were accepting of the lifetime of servitude that they expected from you as you pamper to their every whim.
With Sarah came her dogs. Two great big long haired German Shepherds. That was learning by total immersion. I rapidly had to get to grips with how dogs have a completely different outlook on life as opposed to cats. Loyal to you, intelligent and yet at the same time (as was displayed with the younger German shepherd, Simba) immensely stupid. I mean to say, we had to show him how to use a dog flap into the house or on other occasions, if you want to play fetch, this means you have to release the ball after you have retrieved it.
The loyalty was something else to behold. I remember vividly the moment soon after Sarah and I started in our relationship, rolling over in bed during the middle of the night, to come nose to muzzle of Simba. He was just sitting there beside the bed, all 40kgs of him, just staring at me, basically asking me just what my intentions were with his owner. After a few frozen moments of us both just eyeballing each other, I sort wiggled myself back down under the protective covers of the blankets, peeking out every now and then to find Simba still sitting there, as if reminding me that in an instant he could have me by the neck, drag me out outside and make me just plain disappear. Message received loud and clear.
When we went to see Bree, the thoughts of love at first sight not being applicable to animals was dispelled. She was beautiful. A 8 year old black standard breed mare, standing at 15.1 hands high. When she moved it was graceful and her black coat shone. Her horsey smell completed the round out of ticking all the boxes where our senses were involved.
The next part should have been the raising of a red flag. As mentioned before she had never raced, only getting by on her looks, and she knew it. What a princess. Everything that happened around her was by royal decree. Sarah wanted her. I was smitten by her. Two things never good when going into negotiations to buy something.
The negotiations were quite tense with emails, phone calls, offers, counter offers and at the last possible moment, a possible rethink of instead of being an outright sale, instead a lease. Sarah was not happy with that. In the past she worked with many horses for other owners, bringing them on to a high level of turn out for showing, only to have them sold on. Then having to start the process all over again.
A firm and final offer was made for Bree. I do not know if it was the offer or the heartfelt email from Sarah that clinched the deal, but we were soon the proud owners of Beyoncé.
Beyoncé. That was Bree's real name. That was the first to change. Soon other changes started to occur. To transport her from her old home at a friends place to a paddock that Sarah had somehow managed to find and rent in North Dunedin; required several hours trying to get her onto the float.
The regal manner in which Bree had carried herself during the visits and test rides prior to purchase also changed. She suddenly became a horse that could trip over her hooves on the flattest of ground, stumbling from place to place. She didn’t like her hooves being picked out and started lashing out with her rear legs, ears pinned to her head displaying her displeasure.
This lack of not wanting to be handled did cause some moments of hilarity when we noticed that soon after arrival she had a patch of mud fever on a rear leg. The best we could do to get near it with a salve was a dressing with the ointment applied, at the end of a long bit of twisted wire so we could dab it on from a safe distance.
I could see a lot of Sarah in Bree. A princess, temperamental, strong willed and neither backing away from a challenge. Sarah, to her credit, never gave up on the strong battle of wills that was starting to develop.
Twice a day, before and after work, Sarah went to work on Bree. Handling her, picking her feet out every visit, lunging, walking around the paddock with Bree on a lead. Just bonding and reaffirming to Bree that she was the only horse in the world and yes, it was only appropriate that all must fawn over her.
Me, I also visited the paddock every day to repair fences, assist in distracting Bree whilst her feet were picked up time and time again. Making sure that there were no casualties from the battle royals that use to ensue whilst the lunging of Bree occurred. Oh, and picking up Bree's poo. Lots of poo. Soon Bree was following us around the paddock (more I believe in just making sure that I had not missed any of her "offerings" and inspecting everything was in order in the way that she wanted it.
Sarah soon felt that they had got to a stage in their relationship for a ride. I think that the result of that first ride could be best described as the "looks like a fish, moves like a fish, steers like a cow". I may have muttered under my breath that the only thing soft about Bree was in-between her ears. Subsequent rides allowed Sarah and Bree to start to develop an understanding. Sometimes the understanding between the both of them was that both refused to do what the other wanted. A partnership made in heaven.
I followed these rides along the streets of north Dunedin and into the forest tracks of the greenbelt on foot, walking the dogs. On occasion, Sarah graced me with having a turn riding Bree. I did not like it. I felt I was going to fall off of the saddle, as it seemed to have way too much excessive movement.
Bree's aforementioned flat back, no withers approach to being a horse caused a great gnashing of teeth whilst trying to find a saddle that fitted. Also as mentioned before, the Barefoot came to the rescue and provided comfort to both horse and rider.
While there were some glimmers of sunshine in the stormy relationship between Bree and Sarah, the majority of the time it was a battle of wills. An irresistible force meeting an immovable object. Time and time again Bree felt that the programme of activities that Sarah had decided upon did not take into account her calendar. Bree had booked in a restful rejuvenating lie on the grass in the sun, possibly followed by an al fresco lunch down by the stream. Instead Sarah had planned a morning of lunging, basic handling and carrot stretches to free up Bree’s range of movement. Diametrically opposed plans.
This relationship all changed though not long after Bree's arrival. we were up at the paddock after work doing all the necessary things to ensure that Bree maintained the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed, when Sarah noticed a bit of blood on Bree's mouth. Thinking this was a bit strange Sarah had a look inside Bree’s mouth to see if she had bitten her tongue.
What she was not expecting to see was a horizontal laceration across Bree's tongue, right through causing a large section of the tongue to be hanging in place by a small thickness of tongue muscle about a centimetre wide.
The action stations button was pushed. Whilst Sarah was on the phone lining up vets, I cruised around the paddock trying to see what she had cut herself on. The only thing that it might have been was a piece of fencing wire sticking out and Bree had somehow run it through her mouth to lacerate her tongue. But that really didn’t make sense even for Bree.
The vet was summoned who inspected Bree's mouth. With her jaws clamped open with what looked like a metal instrument of torture, the damage was able to be properly assessed. It did not look good. Bree would have to be anaesthetised and have the tongue stitched back together. The vet was unsure if the stitches would be enough to stop the tongue from falling apart. She would have to consult with another vet down in Southland. We were told to prepare ourselves for the possibility that without the ability to eat, Bree may have to be put down.
Whilst the vet was examining the wound, she found embedded in the tongue the tooth from a small dog. The vet thought that the tooth belonged to something like a little terrier. It seemed that Bree must have opened her mouth at the wrong time with a small dog in the vicinity, which then latched onto her tongue, shredding it as Bree pulled away.
While the vet consulted with her colleague, I made contact with our equine insurance people. We had taken the insurance out on Bree two weeks prior and so it was with a heavy heart that I updated them on the situation. expecting to be informed that they would not be able to cover an injury so soon after taking out the insurance policy, I was immensely relieved to hear that Bree would be covered, to submit a claim once the surgery had been done and the person on the other end of the phone took time out to empathise with me as to how shocking such an injury would be and their hope that the surgery would be successful.
I have never forgotten the kind words that this person said in what was a situation that had the potential to turn completely devastating.
In preparation for the surgery, Bree had to be taken to holding stables the night before the procedure. Apart from the fact that she was not allowed to eat anything, we could tell that Bree was considering this turn of events as only proper and was looking forward to a bit of one on one pampering. It also helped that a stallion in a nearby holding area had noticed Bree as she sashay past and was voicing his approval at such a sexy wee vixen moving in next door. Bree could have been the next Maybelline model the way she was tossing her head, making sure that the stallion saw her flowing mane and saucy looks.
The next day, with another vet to supervise the operation coming up from Invercargill, Bree was anaesthetised and her tongue stitched. When we visited later that day, the vet said that there were some concerns around how well the stitches would hold and only time would tell. Bree would have to be kept of hard feed for period until the tongue had a chance to start mending. Knowing Bree’s love for food, we were not entirely sure how we would break this news to her. However at this stage Bree was still totally a space cadet, high on the drugs the vets had given her.
It was time to take her home. As we didn’t have a float we borrowed one from a fellow horsing person Linda. It was her paddock that we had moved Bree to after the dog incident. We didn’t feel that it would be safe for Bree in her old field in case the dog returned and we had a repeat event.
We loaded Bree into the float and started the journey home. We had a particularly steep hill on the way back to navigate, with a small winding road.
With our Nissan terrano struggling to pull the weight of Bree, the float and the two of us up the hill, we soon had an entourage of cars behind us, all probably not thinking thoughts of good wishes to us and admiration for attempting to climb up the hill with what looked like a severely underpowered vehicle.
We were about three quarters of the way up when there was a loud explosion from under the bonnet and large clouds of steam streaming out. Kiddies, Uncle Paul's top tip of the day. Clouds of white vapour from an engine means steam, dark clouds mean smoke. Sarah and I use to experience panicked bystander reactions when attending motor vehicle collisions as all the steam was mistaken for smoke. Only on a few occasions have I been to an accident to find the "smoke" really was smoke. The first time I got back onto the radio to confirm with Control that the fire service had been notified as "for once, the callers are correct, the vehicle is actually on fire for a change".
With the billowing steam clouds obscuring the view in front of the vehicle, I pulled over to the side of the narrow road and we decamped from the vehicle. Reassuring the next two cars that pulled past us that no, the vehicle is not on fire, I popped the bonnet to see what the damage was. I was greeted with the sight of the entire top of the radiator missing. That’s not pretty, we could have a problem.
Hearing this, Sarah has already spring into protecting-the-baby mode. Screw everything and everyone else, Bree must be first priority. We immediately offloaded her and Sarah relocated to a convenient road access point to a nearby forestry block. I returned to the vehicle to determine if it would be credible to have the blown radiator initiate a secondary fire that would unfortunately consume the crippled vehicle, thereby solving several problems at one stroke. I was pretty sure that the insurance was paid up. Unfortunately the clearing steam clouds did not reveal a burgeoning fire and despite my valiant attempts at fanning the engine in the hope of encouraging any hotspots, the vehicle retained its unburnt status.
By this stage, all the cars that we had been holding up in our slow journey up the hill less than five minutes ago must have past us, all probably with that wry smile you get when karma is delivered a little quicker than you had been anticipating, because a newly arrived car pulled over and offered us some assistance.
The kind gentleman inquired if he could drop us off any place in town to arrange the recovery of the vehicle and float. I thanked him for his generosity and remarked as the horse always insists on sitting up front when travelling we might just leave her and Sarah behind, however if he could drop me to Linda's place that was nearby and use her Range Rover to complete the journey. The Good Samaritan looked backwards and for the first time must have seen Sarah struggling with this large horse, off and down from the road. He agreed that this was probably the smartest move as he only was driving a Honda civic hatchback.
I ran back to Sarah and informed her of the good news. "Just hurry!" She hissed through clenched teeth as she tried to maintain control of Bree. Bree, after not having any food since the day before surgery was now desperately trying got break loose from Sarah's control to gorge herself on the tall dry stalks that she found herself suddenly standing amongst. Also there were tempting blackberry bushes also within reach which were really talking to her. Obviously Bree had totally ignored the vets little speech of only eating small amounts of soft food and instead was trying to strip the leaves off the brambles. Maybe she had the munchies after all the drugs.
Leaving Sarah to the valiant struggle of trying to get the gluttonous Bree away from all things edible and some things possibly not, I re-joined our road side saviour and off we travelled to Linda's lifestyle block. With many grateful thanks to our white knight, I was dropped off at Linda's driveway and after some brief explanations was returned to the roadside carnage in the Range Rover driven by Linda's husband, Grant.
Bree was soon reloaded onto the float (now attached to the Range Rover) and on the way back to her paddock with Sarah and Linda. I followed on behind in the crippled Nissan Terrano, one eye constantly on the temperature gauge. As soon as it started to rise, I would pull over to the side of the road and turn the engine off, waiting until the engine temperature started to decline, then off again I would drive. it only took one stop to get to Linda's and then only two stops for us to limp home after making sure Bree was tucked up in 'Linda's arena as there was no way we could trust Bree not to start eating, if we had returned her to her paddock, the moment our backs were turned.
even though we went through all these dramas and it meant a routine of careful monitoring of what and how Bree ate, numerous vet visits to see how the tongue was healing etc., it was a clear turning point in Sarah and Bree's relationship. By the time the tongue had healed sufficiently for Sarah to even contemplate putting a bit back into Bree's gob and go for a ride, Bree had changed into a horse that seemed to trust Sarah. Yes, the battles of wills would resurface from time to time, but it seemed as if Bree now looked at Sarah as a person who she would allow to be led by. Bree was noticeably more at ease and cuddly around Sarah. We could now pick up all of her feet without that feeling of potentially Bree lashing out, kicking us into a place that even Google maps could not find.
Seeing the progress that Sarah was making with Bree, that sense of partnership it was becoming harder for me to keep that urge of wanting my own horse under control. Soon I was going to have to have my own challenge to work on.
We had looked at a couple of horses previously and yes, they were wonderful to look at, they had all the things that a horse needed, four legs, a head, ears etc. But even I could see that there was something missing. That being a connection.
Being around a horse for the first time in a long time was exciting, but they seemed detached, aloof, not interested in the goings on that they were involved in. Sarah and I talked after each viewing as to what we thought. Surprisingly, we were in agreement. It may be unachievable, but we were both looking for that sort of Love at First Sight feeling. The gut feel that this horse was the one.
Being a bloke I was not sure if I was being stupid to expect something like that in an animal. I am a cat person. They couldn’t care less how you were feeling, as long as you were accepting of the lifetime of servitude that they expected from you as you pamper to their every whim.
 |
| Simba in a battle of wills with a post |
 |
| Getting the hang of the dog flap. It took Simba a bit longer. |
With Sarah came her dogs. Two great big long haired German Shepherds. That was learning by total immersion. I rapidly had to get to grips with how dogs have a completely different outlook on life as opposed to cats. Loyal to you, intelligent and yet at the same time (as was displayed with the younger German shepherd, Simba) immensely stupid. I mean to say, we had to show him how to use a dog flap into the house or on other occasions, if you want to play fetch, this means you have to release the ball after you have retrieved it.
The loyalty was something else to behold. I remember vividly the moment soon after Sarah and I started in our relationship, rolling over in bed during the middle of the night, to come nose to muzzle of Simba. He was just sitting there beside the bed, all 40kgs of him, just staring at me, basically asking me just what my intentions were with his owner. After a few frozen moments of us both just eyeballing each other, I sort wiggled myself back down under the protective covers of the blankets, peeking out every now and then to find Simba still sitting there, as if reminding me that in an instant he could have me by the neck, drag me out outside and make me just plain disappear. Message received loud and clear.
When we went to see Bree, the thoughts of love at first sight not being applicable to animals was dispelled. She was beautiful. A 8 year old black standard breed mare, standing at 15.1 hands high. When she moved it was graceful and her black coat shone. Her horsey smell completed the round out of ticking all the boxes where our senses were involved.
The next part should have been the raising of a red flag. As mentioned before she had never raced, only getting by on her looks, and she knew it. What a princess. Everything that happened around her was by royal decree. Sarah wanted her. I was smitten by her. Two things never good when going into negotiations to buy something.
The negotiations were quite tense with emails, phone calls, offers, counter offers and at the last possible moment, a possible rethink of instead of being an outright sale, instead a lease. Sarah was not happy with that. In the past she worked with many horses for other owners, bringing them on to a high level of turn out for showing, only to have them sold on. Then having to start the process all over again.
A firm and final offer was made for Bree. I do not know if it was the offer or the heartfelt email from Sarah that clinched the deal, but we were soon the proud owners of Beyoncé.
Beyoncé. That was Bree's real name. That was the first to change. Soon other changes started to occur. To transport her from her old home at a friends place to a paddock that Sarah had somehow managed to find and rent in North Dunedin; required several hours trying to get her onto the float.
The regal manner in which Bree had carried herself during the visits and test rides prior to purchase also changed. She suddenly became a horse that could trip over her hooves on the flattest of ground, stumbling from place to place. She didn’t like her hooves being picked out and started lashing out with her rear legs, ears pinned to her head displaying her displeasure.
This lack of not wanting to be handled did cause some moments of hilarity when we noticed that soon after arrival she had a patch of mud fever on a rear leg. The best we could do to get near it with a salve was a dressing with the ointment applied, at the end of a long bit of twisted wire so we could dab it on from a safe distance.
I could see a lot of Sarah in Bree. A princess, temperamental, strong willed and neither backing away from a challenge. Sarah, to her credit, never gave up on the strong battle of wills that was starting to develop.
 |
| The free spirit that is Bree |
Twice a day, before and after work, Sarah went to work on Bree. Handling her, picking her feet out every visit, lunging, walking around the paddock with Bree on a lead. Just bonding and reaffirming to Bree that she was the only horse in the world and yes, it was only appropriate that all must fawn over her.
Me, I also visited the paddock every day to repair fences, assist in distracting Bree whilst her feet were picked up time and time again. Making sure that there were no casualties from the battle royals that use to ensue whilst the lunging of Bree occurred. Oh, and picking up Bree's poo. Lots of poo. Soon Bree was following us around the paddock (more I believe in just making sure that I had not missed any of her "offerings" and inspecting everything was in order in the way that she wanted it.
Sarah soon felt that they had got to a stage in their relationship for a ride. I think that the result of that first ride could be best described as the "looks like a fish, moves like a fish, steers like a cow". I may have muttered under my breath that the only thing soft about Bree was in-between her ears. Subsequent rides allowed Sarah and Bree to start to develop an understanding. Sometimes the understanding between the both of them was that both refused to do what the other wanted. A partnership made in heaven.
I followed these rides along the streets of north Dunedin and into the forest tracks of the greenbelt on foot, walking the dogs. On occasion, Sarah graced me with having a turn riding Bree. I did not like it. I felt I was going to fall off of the saddle, as it seemed to have way too much excessive movement.
Bree's aforementioned flat back, no withers approach to being a horse caused a great gnashing of teeth whilst trying to find a saddle that fitted. Also as mentioned before, the Barefoot came to the rescue and provided comfort to both horse and rider.
While there were some glimmers of sunshine in the stormy relationship between Bree and Sarah, the majority of the time it was a battle of wills. An irresistible force meeting an immovable object. Time and time again Bree felt that the programme of activities that Sarah had decided upon did not take into account her calendar. Bree had booked in a restful rejuvenating lie on the grass in the sun, possibly followed by an al fresco lunch down by the stream. Instead Sarah had planned a morning of lunging, basic handling and carrot stretches to free up Bree’s range of movement. Diametrically opposed plans.
This relationship all changed though not long after Bree's arrival. we were up at the paddock after work doing all the necessary things to ensure that Bree maintained the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed, when Sarah noticed a bit of blood on Bree's mouth. Thinking this was a bit strange Sarah had a look inside Bree’s mouth to see if she had bitten her tongue.
What she was not expecting to see was a horizontal laceration across Bree's tongue, right through causing a large section of the tongue to be hanging in place by a small thickness of tongue muscle about a centimetre wide.
The action stations button was pushed. Whilst Sarah was on the phone lining up vets, I cruised around the paddock trying to see what she had cut herself on. The only thing that it might have been was a piece of fencing wire sticking out and Bree had somehow run it through her mouth to lacerate her tongue. But that really didn’t make sense even for Bree.
The vet was summoned who inspected Bree's mouth. With her jaws clamped open with what looked like a metal instrument of torture, the damage was able to be properly assessed. It did not look good. Bree would have to be anaesthetised and have the tongue stitched back together. The vet was unsure if the stitches would be enough to stop the tongue from falling apart. She would have to consult with another vet down in Southland. We were told to prepare ourselves for the possibility that without the ability to eat, Bree may have to be put down.
Whilst the vet was examining the wound, she found embedded in the tongue the tooth from a small dog. The vet thought that the tooth belonged to something like a little terrier. It seemed that Bree must have opened her mouth at the wrong time with a small dog in the vicinity, which then latched onto her tongue, shredding it as Bree pulled away.
 |
| The Tooth |
While the vet consulted with her colleague, I made contact with our equine insurance people. We had taken the insurance out on Bree two weeks prior and so it was with a heavy heart that I updated them on the situation. expecting to be informed that they would not be able to cover an injury so soon after taking out the insurance policy, I was immensely relieved to hear that Bree would be covered, to submit a claim once the surgery had been done and the person on the other end of the phone took time out to empathise with me as to how shocking such an injury would be and their hope that the surgery would be successful.
I have never forgotten the kind words that this person said in what was a situation that had the potential to turn completely devastating.
 |
| Still looking good? Still looking good!! |
In preparation for the surgery, Bree had to be taken to holding stables the night before the procedure. Apart from the fact that she was not allowed to eat anything, we could tell that Bree was considering this turn of events as only proper and was looking forward to a bit of one on one pampering. It also helped that a stallion in a nearby holding area had noticed Bree as she sashay past and was voicing his approval at such a sexy wee vixen moving in next door. Bree could have been the next Maybelline model the way she was tossing her head, making sure that the stallion saw her flowing mane and saucy looks.
The next day, with another vet to supervise the operation coming up from Invercargill, Bree was anaesthetised and her tongue stitched. When we visited later that day, the vet said that there were some concerns around how well the stitches would hold and only time would tell. Bree would have to be kept of hard feed for period until the tongue had a chance to start mending. Knowing Bree’s love for food, we were not entirely sure how we would break this news to her. However at this stage Bree was still totally a space cadet, high on the drugs the vets had given her.
It was time to take her home. As we didn’t have a float we borrowed one from a fellow horsing person Linda. It was her paddock that we had moved Bree to after the dog incident. We didn’t feel that it would be safe for Bree in her old field in case the dog returned and we had a repeat event.
We loaded Bree into the float and started the journey home. We had a particularly steep hill on the way back to navigate, with a small winding road.
With our Nissan terrano struggling to pull the weight of Bree, the float and the two of us up the hill, we soon had an entourage of cars behind us, all probably not thinking thoughts of good wishes to us and admiration for attempting to climb up the hill with what looked like a severely underpowered vehicle.
 |
| Don't believe that this is looking the way it should |
We were about three quarters of the way up when there was a loud explosion from under the bonnet and large clouds of steam streaming out. Kiddies, Uncle Paul's top tip of the day. Clouds of white vapour from an engine means steam, dark clouds mean smoke. Sarah and I use to experience panicked bystander reactions when attending motor vehicle collisions as all the steam was mistaken for smoke. Only on a few occasions have I been to an accident to find the "smoke" really was smoke. The first time I got back onto the radio to confirm with Control that the fire service had been notified as "for once, the callers are correct, the vehicle is actually on fire for a change".
With the billowing steam clouds obscuring the view in front of the vehicle, I pulled over to the side of the narrow road and we decamped from the vehicle. Reassuring the next two cars that pulled past us that no, the vehicle is not on fire, I popped the bonnet to see what the damage was. I was greeted with the sight of the entire top of the radiator missing. That’s not pretty, we could have a problem.
Hearing this, Sarah has already spring into protecting-the-baby mode. Screw everything and everyone else, Bree must be first priority. We immediately offloaded her and Sarah relocated to a convenient road access point to a nearby forestry block. I returned to the vehicle to determine if it would be credible to have the blown radiator initiate a secondary fire that would unfortunately consume the crippled vehicle, thereby solving several problems at one stroke. I was pretty sure that the insurance was paid up. Unfortunately the clearing steam clouds did not reveal a burgeoning fire and despite my valiant attempts at fanning the engine in the hope of encouraging any hotspots, the vehicle retained its unburnt status.
By this stage, all the cars that we had been holding up in our slow journey up the hill less than five minutes ago must have past us, all probably with that wry smile you get when karma is delivered a little quicker than you had been anticipating, because a newly arrived car pulled over and offered us some assistance.
The kind gentleman inquired if he could drop us off any place in town to arrange the recovery of the vehicle and float. I thanked him for his generosity and remarked as the horse always insists on sitting up front when travelling we might just leave her and Sarah behind, however if he could drop me to Linda's place that was nearby and use her Range Rover to complete the journey. The Good Samaritan looked backwards and for the first time must have seen Sarah struggling with this large horse, off and down from the road. He agreed that this was probably the smartest move as he only was driving a Honda civic hatchback.
I ran back to Sarah and informed her of the good news. "Just hurry!" She hissed through clenched teeth as she tried to maintain control of Bree. Bree, after not having any food since the day before surgery was now desperately trying got break loose from Sarah's control to gorge herself on the tall dry stalks that she found herself suddenly standing amongst. Also there were tempting blackberry bushes also within reach which were really talking to her. Obviously Bree had totally ignored the vets little speech of only eating small amounts of soft food and instead was trying to strip the leaves off the brambles. Maybe she had the munchies after all the drugs.
Leaving Sarah to the valiant struggle of trying to get the gluttonous Bree away from all things edible and some things possibly not, I re-joined our road side saviour and off we travelled to Linda's lifestyle block. With many grateful thanks to our white knight, I was dropped off at Linda's driveway and after some brief explanations was returned to the roadside carnage in the Range Rover driven by Linda's husband, Grant.
Bree was soon reloaded onto the float (now attached to the Range Rover) and on the way back to her paddock with Sarah and Linda. I followed on behind in the crippled Nissan Terrano, one eye constantly on the temperature gauge. As soon as it started to rise, I would pull over to the side of the road and turn the engine off, waiting until the engine temperature started to decline, then off again I would drive. it only took one stop to get to Linda's and then only two stops for us to limp home after making sure Bree was tucked up in 'Linda's arena as there was no way we could trust Bree not to start eating, if we had returned her to her paddock, the moment our backs were turned.
even though we went through all these dramas and it meant a routine of careful monitoring of what and how Bree ate, numerous vet visits to see how the tongue was healing etc., it was a clear turning point in Sarah and Bree's relationship. By the time the tongue had healed sufficiently for Sarah to even contemplate putting a bit back into Bree's gob and go for a ride, Bree had changed into a horse that seemed to trust Sarah. Yes, the battles of wills would resurface from time to time, but it seemed as if Bree now looked at Sarah as a person who she would allow to be led by. Bree was noticeably more at ease and cuddly around Sarah. We could now pick up all of her feet without that feeling of potentially Bree lashing out, kicking us into a place that even Google maps could not find.
Seeing the progress that Sarah was making with Bree, that sense of partnership it was becoming harder for me to keep that urge of wanting my own horse under control. Soon I was going to have to have my own challenge to work on.
Wednesday 23 March 2016
Bree
I had to wait in line. Sarah also wanted a horse and unlike me, didn't let the same obstacles that I self imposed to get in the way. Can we afford a horse, where do we put it, what will this mean to our lives etc?
She out maneuvered me while I was still in the slow lane of day dreaming and as is the case many times, she put thoughts into action and reached the goal first. Let all the issues sort themselves out. She bought a horse.
Bree entered our world. A black Standard Bred, never been raced. Got through life on her pretty looks.
A cantankerous ride if I ever saw one. Bossy, demanding, a total prima donna. I told Sarah that Bree took after her side of the family. A finer peering one could not find.
What started next was my true introduction to horse ownership. The horse comes first, weary husbands are second. as the horse was paddocked away from home, there was two visits a day needed, in the morning before work and after work.
Horse poo needed to be picked up from the field everyday. I never remember seeing this happening on Black Beauty, Hollyfoot Farm or those other TV shows during the '70s that I grew up with. In fact I cannot even remember that happening with Mr Charteris, but it must have, just something else which i have blocked out of my memory. Along with the times I use to wear bright yellow polo neck skivvie with brown corduroy pants or trips to the Dental nurse (or the Murder House as kids everywhere referred to it).
The other new experience was all the paraphernalia that owning a horse required. soon the living room was taken up with saddle pads, bridles, leads, lunging rollers, long reins, cavessons, chambons and covers.
The only thing missing from the once was a living room in a small two bedroom cottage, now is a tack room with enough gear for four horses, was the saddle. for being the little princess that Bree is, like Cinderella and the glass slipper, no saddle fitted her properly. The ever elusive correctly fitting saddle hunt was afoot. with a flat back and hardly any wither to speak of Bree once again demonstrated her specialness.
Saddles came and went. I was introduced to the length and breadth of the saddle world. terminology such as the tree (conversely treeless), twists, gullets, stirrup leathers, fenders and channels.
I managed to get my own back when I went western and introduced latigo, canticle, rigging Ds, Cheyenne rolls and flank billets to our household lexicon.
The internet was scoured and visits to sellers on TradeMe and other saddlery shops was made. I would be travelling to a meeting for work when I would receive a call from Sarah directing me to stop whatever I was doing and visit a local seller in case that one and only saddle, that magic saddle, was the One!
It would not be the first time that me, fulfilling the role as the equestrian newbie would find himself in a shop asking a very bemused sales staff about the saddle they had for sale as we were looking for a saddle with a very wide gussett. I managed to stay away from Blackhawks saddlery in Oamaru for several months until the laughter had stopped over that slip up in terminology
Finding the holy grail was starting to turn out to be a more realistic proposition as opposed to finding a saddle that would fit Brees billiard table level back. Saddle fitters came out, inspected Brees back, looked at the fit of the latest saddle and with the same sad shake of the head reserved to doctors on daytime soaps when they are delivering the news of the death of a character (just before the evil twin turns up as a shocking plot twist), the saddle was destined to be cleaned up and onsold to the next horse owner also searching for the ONE saddle to fit their horse.
I started holding conversations and passing judgements on the various advantages and disadvantageous of Bates over Status, Wintec versus Baines etc. identification of what a saddle was used for came much slower.
An English GP to me was a family doctor found in the UK, sometimes with a perchant for knocking off their patients with overdoses of morphine (I'm looking at you, Harold). It was not unusual for two identical (to me) saddles being shown to me and patiently having it explained to me that one was for jumping and the other was dressage. a difference that should be painfully obvious based on amount of resignation in the voice of the deliverer.
To Sarah's credit the entire process of purchasing and on-selling saddles was almost cost neutral. Which was handy as we rapidly went through and discarded the cheap saddles, then the moderately expensive ones, before reaching the you-have-to-be-joking-no-fool-is-going-to-pay-that-much saddles.
It was about this stage that the elusive saddle was found. The Barefoot treeless. Able to conform to Bree's rotund figure, no pressure points and an armchair quality when sitting on it. The Eagle had landed!
Of course, when it came to my horse, it was going to be just as difficult getting the right saddle.
But first I ACTUALLY had to get a horse.
Of course, when it came to my horse, it was going to be just as difficult getting the right saddle.
But first I ACTUALLY had to get a horse.
So what do I know about horses?
My first experience of a horse was at a farm sale. I am unsure why we were there as a family other than to feed my Fathers magpie hoarding tendencies (something which to the despair of my wife, I seem to have inherited).
There it was, amongst the rusting disc plough, harrows, wool pressess and other bits and pieces of farming life up for sale, forlornly tied to a post, a lovely (in my four year old eyes) majestic, beautiful bay coloured pony. This mighty steed was everything that I, two minutes before hand, had not been looking for. Every old black and white western movie that I watched at my grandparents place when on holiday in Invercargill were brought to the fore. there I would be, astride my faithful companion galloping across the High Sierras of Alexandra. jumping five wire fences as I chased my brothers with my lasso. I had it all planned out in an instant.
I just needed to convince my father of the merits of my plan. It was so obvious why I needed to purchase a horse. I mean to say, given the strongly grounded, practical reasons that there were, the very fact that I was not already in possession of one was highly indicative that a major part of my life had been denied and needed rectifying quick smart.
Despite my pleas to my father of looking after it forever and it would never become a burden on my parents to care for it, and when that failed to tug on the heartstrings, the direct action of trying to pull my fathers hand out of his pocket so that the auctioneer could see that there was some serious bids from that corner of the crowd, my first pony was passed in with no interest from the crowd and we all moved on, leaving the bored pony standing there not knowing just how close its life could have been irreversibly changed for the better.
You can imagine the absolute disgust that I as a four year old could muster when it turns out that my brothers had manage to secure, several lots down, an old 90cc vespa that blew out a constant stream of blue smoke.
My pony would not have blown out a constant stream of blue smoke.
I do have to say, looking around now at the piles of tack, potions and medicated products, containers of feed and the odd vet and equine insurance bill currently sitting on the table, I am drawn to the conclusion that my father, despite heartlessly crushing the five minute old dream of a four year old (almost) pony owner, was a smart and wise man.
The next brush with the highly addictive drug that is Equine was when I was at Primary school. my brother and I attended the illustrious Lauder Railway School. Located in the sprawling metropolis that was Lauder, population 12.
The single teacher school itself could have been described as bijou. The roll fluctuated during my time there from the low of four students to the giddying heights of 14. This mean that all the teachers that turned up there always seemed to be on their way some place else, as if them receiving the position had been the consequence of a very ill informed bet with the Ministry of Education.
There was only one classroom to contain all the different aged students. when we had them, the older Form one and two students were at one end of the classroom and the younger Primers at the other, with the Standards 3-6 in the middle. When there was only four of us, we were just clustered together, near the single pot belly stove which was the only form of heating during the winter months.
We use to have great fun with that pot belly stove, banking it up with as much coal as we could, then waiting for the combustible gases to be cooked out of the coal, suddenly igniting causing the lid of the pot belly to fly open with a large BOOM and thick black smoke rolling up into the air before colliding with the vaulted high ceiling and spreading out like a cloud from a low yield nuclear device. through these activities I probably smoked the equivalent of 40 packs of cigarettes during my primary school years.
During the procession of teachers that we had, a Mr Charteris arrived into Lauder. I have this memory of him riding into town on a black horse, leading a second smaller pack horse with canvas bags affixed to a wooden frame. he sat there wearing a khaki cockies hat, tall and thin, mustached with a laid back look in his eyes. Eyes with wrinkles in the corners from years of squinting into bright sunshine whilst surveying the high country lands, trying at the same time to keep the wind blown dust from the hills out.
Yeah, I think this is a false memory, from an over active child's mind.
Mr Charteris did look like like the description above and we can add to that a little limp when he walked from a less than successful repair of a broken leg when a horse rolled onto him but as to his actual arrival into Lauder, it more than likely would have been him driving his old beaten up 1960's Land Rover (which just needed the zebra stripes paintwork to have looked like it was straight out of the TV show Daktari), pulling an equally beaten up horse float which contained his two horses. The smaller one was his pack horse and did have the canvas and wood pack bags.
Mr Charteris soon put his stamp onto the Ministry of Education approved curriculum for Lauder railway School. Horse related activities soon started to appear. Along with the standard reading, writing and arithmetic, additions of basic horse care and riding were added. we took time out to brush horses, watch Mr Charteris perform farrier work, how to properly mount a horse and during lunch and after school, we rode his two horses.
Quarter of the paddock that we used as a rough sports field was turned over to the planting of carrots for the horses.
Story time consisted of being read to about life on high country farms revolving around the life of riding horses. it was from these autobiographies that we learnt about the importance of Epsom salts and the dangers of colic in horses.
I still remember, during one of these reading sessions, we were listening with bated breath as Mr Charteris was reading about a particularly harrowing account being faced by the books protagonist of a floundering horse. the book was written in the first person style and we had been following the trials and tribulations of the author for the past several months with Mr Charteris reading so many pages a day to us. The author related as to how, while running back from the paddock where this horse was writhing in agony on the ground, her skirts flapped out behind her as she ran to get help.
My friend an I immediately turned to each other and in unison, exclaimed in total disbelief "Skirts?!"
For the previous several months we did not have the slightest inkling that the author was a girl. it took us a little while to recover from that particular bombshell. oh, and the horse in the book survived.
I fell in love with that little pack horse, Flick. For the life of me I cannot remember the name of the larger black horse, there was only Flick in my eyes. When I think of Flick, I remember the horse smell. That heady gorgeous smell that is just so intoxicating.
I stayed after school to care for Flick and when the opportunity arose, joining Mr Charteris for rides together along the dirt roads that surrounded Lauder.
Flick was such a docile horse, he put up with all us kids without putting a hoof out of place. deep down, despite my feeling of total control over Flick through my fantastic horsemanship, I think that he just ignored the commands coming from whoever happened to be on his back at the time and he just plodded along after his paddock mate. Mr Charteris had one rule, no faster than a walk while riding on his horses. That was probably about the only nod towards Health and Safety that ever occurred in those days.
I still remember the thrill of illicit joy when, during one of our plods out on the back roads, I slowed Flick down a bit until Mr Charteris was about 30 metres in front, and then with a little dig of the heels put Flick into a trot using the pretense of closing the gap as an excuse for a bit more speed.
So what do I know about Horses?
The next time i was on a horse was with my wife Sarah, on our belated honeymoon in Rarotonga, 32 years later. after discovering that actually I can absolutely sit on a beach all day doing nothing (my first non-working trip to the pacific islands, always thought resort holidays would find me bored senseless) Sarah came across a pamphlet advertising horse riding treks.
A moment here to talk about Sarah. she is English and comes from a serious background of equestrian activities. from owning a horse at a young age (obviously a far better manipulator of fathers than I was) to riding with some of the major equestrian families in Europe in her late teens early twenties. There are pictures of her on horses she rode in three day eventing where the horses are about the height of your typical suburban dwelling.
So before I have time to finish my cocktail with the little umbrella in it, I was off the sun lounger and standing in front of this horse receiving instructions from our trek guide (who spent most of his time when not being a guide, running his other business, T-shirt screen printing, a natural fit).
I have given up trying to keep pace with Sarah when she gets an idea in her head. I remark to people that the only reason why the English ruled quarter of the world instead of all of it is because they did not have Sarah as the project manager.
So back to standing in front of this horse. a horse who gave the air of having seen it all, done it all and got the t-shirt (probably printed by its owner). Standing there, in the cook island heat, with fields of pineapple bushes around (who knew that Pineapples grew that way! it was truly an informative day) trying to recall instructions from Mr Charteris well over quarter of a century ago.
Things I do not recall once I got in the saddle, from earlier days riding was the sense of a total lack of security. I immediately wished that I had a safety rail in front of me. Every time the horse put its head down to scoff, i felt like I was about to be pitched forward.
Of course, Sarah is up and away, like a fish back in its natural environment.
We plodded along the back roads (well, it is Rarotonga, so really the one and only back road) until we reached the beach. then it was out into the sea. what an amazing experience. Cocooned by the water, with the horse partially swimming, partially walking on the seabed, i could relax to enjoy the moment. I was transported back to the days on Flick (albeit not with so much seawater around). I was IN the moment, nothing impinging on my mind. no worries, no cares. I was at peace.
What do i know about horses?
Nothing.
Apart from the fact that I now really wanted one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)