How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Henk writes

Wow. It’s almost September, and I haven’t written a blog post since Mila was born at the end of April! I blame it all on Lil, of course. She’s been too self-absorbed and busy doing who-knows-what to tend to my literary career, and despite my other impressive talents, I just can’t work a keyboard. She still seems to find time to ride me, though… Doesn’t seem quite fair. Like perfecting my collected trot is more important than getting me a book contract!

But I won’t bore you with my problems. Here’s a re-cap.

Marvelous Mila

Charlee’s filly is the coolest horse to hit the ground since… well… moi. I knew it as soon as she was born, and couldn’t wait for a chance to hang out with her. They live in the stall next to mine, so we could chat, but for the first couple of weeks after Mila was born, Lil insisted on putting Mom and baby out by themselves. Then, FINALLY she brought me out on a lead rope to meet them nose-to-nose. Mila came right over to say “Hi,” which prompted Charlee to spin around a kick me. Really! I was offended, but then figured out she was just making a point and I couldn’t entirely blame her. If Mila was mine, I’d do the same thing, I suppose. After that it was ok, and now Mila spends more time with Wilby and me (he got added a couple of days later and I was floored when Charlee booted him, too) than she does with her Mom. We canter around, groom each other, find the tastiest grass to eat. Charlee trusts us completely with her baby, and we’d lay our lives on the line for that kid.

Chicken Massacre

Lil got the bright idea somewhere that she should get a flock of chickens. Imagine my profound shock when I found out that the purpose behind this bizarre move was to collect the unborn offspring of these birds and.. can you imagine?... eat them! I’ll never look at a human the same way again! I think the chickens find this knowledge too unbearable to live with, because they’ve been systematically committing suicide all summer. One took a nap under a parked car. Four or five have voluntarily crawled through the fence into the dog run and martyred themselves by way of the Great Dane (who always seems so disappointed when they stop playing and flapping and… die!). And then they got help from the resident raccoon who pried open the door to their coop every other night for a week and chewed the head off one chicken each night. Wow. And people think we horses are hard to take care of!

The Return of Pretty-Boy, And Its Aftermath

Soberbio, the Andalusian stallion whose children stayed with us for a while last year spent a few months here and completely messed up our relationship with Lil. He does tricks (like half-pass , Piaffe and Passage), and she got to try some of these things out. She liked it! Worse than that, Soberbio’s owner rode Wilby and me and told Lil there’s no reason we couldn’t learn some of those tricks, too. That after we’d worked so hard to convince Lil that we’d pretty much maxed out our natural talents. Now there’s no more putzing around in the arena. We have to work again! But the news isn’t all bad, really, because all the extra flexing and collecting has built up my neck to a thing of beauty, and I’m told my butt is awesome. Here’s a picture of the pretty boy.

Horse Rescue

Lil and Robert picked up the first “re and re” (retrain and re-home) candidate this weekend. He’s a 10-year-old Standardbred that’s retired from racing and looking for a new job. A group of women from the local women’s shelter has been coming to the farm for the past few months to learn about horses, and now they’ll be working with the new guy (his name’s Targui) to teach him how to be a riding horse. Lil tells me the idea is to have people helping horses, and horses helping people. I guess the women have had some lousy things happen in their lives, and being around us equines helps them feel better. She’s calling the new program Horseplay Sanctuary.  

Well, that’s summer in a nutshell. I promise to keep Lil’s nose to the grindstone (or fingers to the keyboard) more regularly from now on.



A Frieslet

The most wonderful thing happened in our barn the other day: Lil came out to feed us at 5:30 as usual (if she lounges in bed any later than this I begin trying to kick my door down – this tends to bring her running, since she can hear it in the house) – and feedtime is a wonderful thing in itself. But. After she gave all us stabled horses our breakfast and headed out to the back paddock to feed the outdoor gang, Charlee, our pretty young Friesian mare who lives next door to me, stopped eating half-way through her breakfast and lay down for a while. I was kind of busy with my head in the feed bucket, but the next time I looked up, there were two Friesians in her stall – although the second one was so tiny I think it could be called a Frieslet.

Now when Lil came back in from outside, she opened the door to Charlee’s stall, halter in hand, ready to take the young lady outside to her paddock, but when that stall door slid open the Frieslet kind of tumbled out into the aisle at her feet. I truly wish you could have seen Lil’s face. I’m still laughing.

Charlee wasn’t due to foal for another week, and she’d shown no signs of being in labour when Lil fed her. Lil said later that her first thought had been: “what idiot locked a dog in the stall with Charlee?” Quickly followed by: “Oh my god, it’s a foal!!!”

Her name is Mila. She may be tiny for a Friesian, but she’s big for a foal and I can’t figure out where Charlee put her for the past 11 months! She was on her feet within a half hour and doing flying lead changes a couple of days later. She even did a half-pass in the paddock her second day of life, but I suspect that may not have been intentional – it was a breezy day and I think she was just trying to stay upright.

I can’t wait to get out in the paddock with the two of them. I intend to teach Mila everything I know. Mould her in my own image. Present the world another perfect Friesian. OK, I know, Charlee helped. But I shall finish what she started. Happy birth day Mila.

Louis and the Power of Three

Henk writes:

I've noticed that humans have a "thing" for threes:
Three blind mice.
Three wise men.
The holy Trinity (and Trinity in The Matrix, who happens to be really hot, very smart, and dressed all in black like a certain horse I know).
Third time lucky.

You get the idea.

Of course, "good things come in threes" (which would be why Lil shares her life with three fabulous Friesians) and so, apparently, do bad things, as Louis was about to discover.

You'll remember from my last post that our charming Canadian horse had managed to injure himself twice in the space of a week or so -- once by twisting a fetlock in the paddock, and then by trying to challenge Wilby for dominance of the herd. A very bad idea. So now the horse who'd never been sick or lame a day in his life was nursing injuries to both front legs, and just as he was starting to recover, he developed an abscess in his right hind hoof. I was trying to figure out how he'd manage to stand on one leg!

I've never had an abscess. My feet are perfect. Really. Ask my farrier (or, as I prefer to think of him, my personal pedicurist). He tells Lil all the time that if a textbook ever needed a picture of the perfect hoof, mine should be in it. Of course if you've ever seen such a book you'll know the picture usually shows HALF a hoof with all the bones and stuff showing, so I think I'll pass that honour up, thank you very much. Still, it's nice to have your feet appreciated.

So I've never experienced an abscess, but I know horses who have. Evidently it hurts like the devil. Some horses are tough and manage to hobble around in spite of the pain. The less stoic ones pretty much lie down on their backs and wave their feet in the air, desperate for their humans to make the pain go away. This, however, does not tend to be either quick or easy.

When Louis started hopping around on one hind, Lil set out to do all the usual stuff to help heal an abscess -- soak the hoof in warm water with Epsom salts to draw out the infection, wrap the legs for support, and leave the horse in his stall to rest.

Having never needed nursing before, Louis was unfamiliar with these procedures, and quickly decided that they were beneath his tough-guy Canadian-ness. The first day Lil tried to put his foot in a bucket of water I was lucky enough to be in the barn to watch.

Louis stood politely in the cross-ties, right hind leg lifted high to keep the hoof from contacting the ground, waiting to see what was going to happen. When Lil approached carrying a bucket, his ears perked up and he stuck his nose deep inside, looking for food. The look of shock was pretty funny, and he pulled his dripping muzzle away, snorting salty water all over the aisle, and Lil. He twitched his ears and pretended not to care as Lil carried the bucket toward his rear end. Embarrassed but not alarmed. He even let her take hold of the dangling right leg and lift it over the bucket, then gently lower his hoof down. All went well until his foot touched the water, and then he jerked his leg away, and now his eyes bugged out a little. Lil talked to him quietly and pulled the leg toward the bucket again, but this time he yanked it away hard, sending the bucket flying and water spilling everywhere. He hopped away sideways on his good leg and leaned his butt against a wall, looking at the spreading puddle and snorting loudly.

Lil uttered a few unprintable words and headed off to the washroom for more warm water and Epsom salts. Patience is not usually her strong suit, but she can be remarkably persistent with us horses. She didn't even get mad at Louis when he dumped the bucket a second time, and she eventually convinced him that it was OK to stand with his foot in the water, although she had to stay right beside him and stroke his rump for the entire 20 minutes. If she moved even a couple of feet to do something else (like groom him), Louis would pull his leg out of the bucket and start to fuss.

Finally, the first soaking session was over, and Lil dried Louis' leg, tied his tail in a knot to keep it out of the way, and got out the stable bandages. Louis was instantly on the alert again, watching her every move. What on earth was the human up to now?

Lil bandaged the healthy leg first, this being actually the more important leg to support, since Louis was putting all the weight of his substantial rear end on that leg to avoid using the sore foot. He watched her warily but decided to put up with the weird procedure rather than cause himself pain by stepping on that ouchy right leg. It was a different story, though, when Lil moved to the other side and started wrapping the right leg. He wasn't using it to stand on anyway, so using it as a weapon was pretty easy. He let fly time and again, and although it was never clear whether he was actually aiming for Lil or just kicking out in protest, she had to be pretty nimble to stay clear of that flying hoof. Executing a nice, even, supportive stable bandage on a moving target is tricky even when you're not dodging flying feet, but eventually the job was done. Lil was in a sweat. A few more unprintable words had been uttered.

She stroked Louis' neck while calling him some pretty ugly names, unclipped the cross ties and led him into his stall. Louis took a step and panicked a little, kicking out that troublesome right hind again. I guess the bandages felt like something had hold of his legs and his first thought was to fight it off. Lil started to laugh, and that really ticked him off. He put his head down and walked into his stall, hopping on one leg and flailing the other around like he was trying to get clear of thick deep mud. He hobbled to the corner of his stall and stood there sulking, muttering something in French that I couldn't understand.

I was secretly looking forward to a week or so of amusing performances, but darned if that abscess didn't drain right away. I swear he did a Jedi mind trick on it just to avoid any more "nursing." He was better and back outside with us... in just three days!

Meet Louis

Henk writes:

The stall next to me wasn’t empty for long. A day or two after the Spanish horses left for their new home in Nova Scotia (see November 9th post), Louis, our Canadian horse, appeared next door. He likes to live outside in the big pasture, so I hadn’t seen him for a while. He was looking exceptionally grumpy.

“Merde,” I heard him curse under his breath. He was avoiding me, trying to get to the far  side of his stall, but every time he put his left front foot on the ground his leg buckled from pain. I pretended not to notice, and stuck my head in my feed bucket. There’s nothing a tough guy like Louis hates more than letting his vulnerability show.

As I chewed my dinner, I considered – not for the first time – how unfair it was that Louis could swear in a different language. French no less. They’re descended from French horses, the Canadians (although it looks suspiciously like some Friesians managed to dive into the gene pool at some point as well), and they’ve hung onto their language through the centuries. Smart critters. Most of the Friesians I know who were born in North America like me don’t know a lick of Dutch, and those who were born in Holland (like Wilby) don’t take advantage of it much. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve begged him to teach me some Dutch swear-words. But goody-two-shoes won’t do it. Claims he doesn’t know any. Ha! I don’t believe him. But Louis? It’s crisse de calisse this and tabarnak that. I have no idea what it means, but it all just sounds so awesome!

It’s a good thing humans can’t understand him, though, because Louis likes to use those mellifluous cuss words of his, and that could be a problem since he works in Lil’s therapeutic riding lessons. We don’t need any little kids taking interesting new words with them to school the day after their ride!

Louis’s a tough guy. Undisputed boss of the herd he usually lives with, and never mind that all the other horses are a hand or two taller. But he should have remembered there’s one horse he can’t mess with. When Lil put him out with us once his leg got better (she still wanted him in at night until he was 100%), the fool tried to challenge Wilby for some hay first morning out with us, and now he’s limping on his right front, way more than he’d been limping on his left. Lil’s losing her mind. Evidently his macho got the better of his intellect. And he’s back on stall rest, which makes him extra angry. Doesn’t Lil realize he’s meant to live outdoors like his ancestors? The little horses who worked the farm, pulled the family carriage to church on Sunday and even did a little racing, dragged logs out of the bush, and got turned loose in that bush to fend for themselves for months on end when they weren’t needed? Is she trying to make him soft by sticking him in a stall?

But at least he’s starting to talk to me a little after we’ve had our dinner every night. I like his stories. I’ll share some with you. And maybe, just maybe, I can get him to teach me some French.

Riding in Jamaica

Henk writes:

Lil and family came back just before Christmas from a vacation on some island named Jamaica which, from the pictures you'll see below, looks kind of nice but much too hot for a large black horse that's  endowed with as much hair as I am. I guess that's why when Lil went riding she ended up on a skinny-legged ex-racehorse that's as gaunt as a whippet. Still, Lil tells me the horses at this riding establishment were very well cared for and not the bony, sad-sack creatures typical of these kinds of places in the tropics. In fact, many of the horses at this place (called "Hooves" by the way) were rescues. That, of course, was the final push Lil needed to get her all excited about rescuing horses here at home, which is something she's kind of bounced around ever since moving to our current farm, so I guess we have more strange new horses to look forward to. I'll keep you posted as this particular project develops. In the meantime, here are some pictures from Lil's ride. Evidently she had a blast.

Lil and her guide, Danny, leaving the former Spanish plantation where the horses are kept, and on their way to the beach.

A canter on the beach.

Playing in the surf.

Henk writes:

Lil's husband, Robert, brought his camera out to our paddock the other day, so I thought I'd share some of his pictures with you.

The top photo is me and the human with her back to you is Lil. She thinks this is her best angle for photos.

The second photo is me with Charlee. I'm the one with the braids. Don't even go there. It's Lil's idea of keeping my mane long and lovely. I think it's a touch embarrassing myself. I try to unbraid them as fast as I can, but she just keeps putting them back in. The farrier actually asked if I was "wrapped up for Christmas!" Ugh. But, hey, if it means my flowing, wavy locks will be that much more beautiful, I guess I can put up with it.

This is Charlee (both photos above). Actually, her name is Charline W, but we all call her Charlee. Do you notice a striking resemblance? To moi? I like this girl! Not only does she look almost as good as I do, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to mould her in my own image in the personality department. She's got the right attitude! Already Lil's sons have started referring to her as "the female Henk." OK with me.

Charlee comes from the same farm as I do (Witeeveen Friesians), and we share a couple of ancestors (Barteld 292 and Mark), although you have to go back a generation or two. (Go back a generation or two and pretty much all Friesians share an ancestor here and there!). She came to live with us last fall, when she was two. Lil says the only reason they were able to afford her was that Charlee had a bad paddock accident that summer and has a really ugly knee to show for it. She'll never be rideable, but she'll be able to have babies, the first of which she's expecting in May. That will be fun, I think. We haven't had babies around since Lil bought "the slaughter-house-three" eight years ago (that's a whole other story that I'll tell you sometime). The foal's sire is Sipke 450. I haven't met the dude myself (he lives in the USA), but Lil thinks he's pretty awesome. Charlee's pretty awesome herself. Her pedigree is full of Stars and Models and Preferents (if you're not familiar with Friesian terminology, just think of these as having won the genetic lottery -- a bit like Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt), and her half-brother is the first approved breeding stallion bred in Canada -- Michiel 442. He's now been sold to a breeder in Holland, which is a bit like selling a Canadian red wine to a connoisseur in Bordeaux: a really big deal.

We'll of course share pictures of the babe when it comes. In the meantime, feast your eyes on me. And Charlee, too, I guess.

Spanish Horses

Henk writes:

More new horses! So much for the quiet country life. I think Lil’s losing her mind. But, hey, she’s the one who has to feed everybody and make sure we get turned out and our stalls get cleaned, so I guess it’s her prerogative. And anyway, at least these last two are only visiting. Good thing, too, or I might have to take matters into my own hands. More on that in a minute.

Two weeks ago I walked into my stall in the evening and there, in the stall beside me, was a horse I’d never met before. Now, normally, I’m cool with that. I love company, and I love that whenever a new horse needs to be introduced into the herd, Lil lets me meet him (or her) first. I like to make the introductions to the rest of the gang. But this horse? I don’t know. He’s awfully good looking, and the way he acts I think he might be deluding himself into thinking he’s a Friesian. All charming and delightful and he likes people almost as much as I do and, you know, he’s stealing the attention that’s rightfully mine! People are all beside themselves, patting and ogling and feeding him carrots and “oh, isn’t he beautiful!” Hey! What about the black horse in the stall next door? Me? If you’re going to go ga-ga over any equine, it should be me!

Ugh.

And then, a week or so later, another one shows up! The first one’s younger brother, and wouldn’t you know it, he’s even better looking! Now the situation’s getting serious and I’m considering slipping the latch on their paddock and turning them loose. Let’s see how long you guys make it on your own without the humans looking after you! Have you heard those coyotes yapping it up at dusk?

I guess Wilby goody-two-shoes figured out what I was thinking, ‘cause he gave me quite the talking-to. Seems thoughts of “disappearing” the competition are un-Friesian and unacceptable. Pardon me! I didn’t know there was a code of ethics. But the humans saved me from myself anyway. The two pretty-boys have been sold and will be leaving for the beautiful province of Nova Scotia soon. Is it too late to start being gracious?

The one who lives in the stall next to mine is named Hypnotiq, and he’s a four-year-old son of Soberbio XII. Cutie-pie is his three-year-old brother Symphoniq. Both are purebred Andalusians (or, as they’re called these days, Pura Rasa Espanol). So that explains the looks and the brains. Like us Friesians, the Andalusian is a Baroque horse (also includes Lipizzaners, Lusitanos, and the Kladruber from the Czech Republic which happens to be where Lil was born). The “boys’” daddy, Soberbio, hung out in our barn for a couple of days two years ago on his way to a dressage clinic, and I must say I was impressed. Stallions can be a little sketchy, but this one is all class. A true gentleman. And very lovely.

So I’ve decided to let them have their moment in the sun. The novelty will probably wear off soon and my many adoring humans will return to worshipping me. “The boys” are due to leave on Sunday. And if they don’t, that paddock latch really is a piece of cake to open.

Check out the photos:

Symphoniq (grey) and Hypnotiq 

Soberbio

"the boys" again

Soberbio doing tricks