A New Look for CWT

Dear readers,

You might have noticed a new set of links along the top of CWT: “Joyful Jerseys” and “Riding on Water: Horses”. I mentioned in my older post “Requesting your Thoughts”* that CWT’s old format of a random mishmash of subjects wasn’t really working for me. You guys responded saying that splitting the post subjects probably would work better for you, hence, I bow to thy wisdom.

So, this is how the blog will work from now on. Clothed With Thunder remains the main blog, the home page, if you will. I’ll be publishing my deep thoughts, devotional material, and responses to prompts and photo challenges on this blog. In short, this will be my “God blog”, focused on Spreading the Word and writing about His Kingdom.

But never fear: I couldn’t stop writing about Skye and her Horde, so I hereby introduce Riding on Water, my horse blog. For my equestrian readers, pop on over there and hit the follow button – otherwise you won’t get my horse posts anymore. (I do apologise for this inconvenience; I meant to have one follow button for both blogs, but alas, my technical expertise didn’t stretch that far, despite my best efforts).

Joyful Jerseys is the link to the official website of my Jersey stud. There I will post news about the cows and also information on the Jersey breed.

My hope is that this will enhance your experience of Clothed With Thunder, my dear readers. The horse blog, especially, will be expanded, with more articles on riding and horses, and maybe even a guest blogger or two.

So there you have it. Hop on over to Riding on Water for the equine escapades – I’ll see you there.

*The second one, not the epic failure one, although that one did spark a few interesting comments.

Charging into the new year

Weekly Photo Challenge: Joy

Animals know all about joy. They have no reservations in feeling it or in expressing it; their wondrous ability to live in the moment allows them to feel their joy in its fullest, right now. And they all have some way or another of expressing it.

For horses, their best defence mechanism becomes their greatest joy. Horses were born to run and carefully designed for speed and stamina. Their superb muscular strength, long legs, and superior respiratory and cardiac systems make them unique among animals for combining strength, speed and stamina in one glorious package.

And they know it. Make a horse happy, and he’ll express it in exuberant bounds, galloping across his paddock, leaping up into the air with all four legs, rearing with dizzying elegance, or bucking spectacularly just for the sheer wild fun of it.

Horses were made to be horses. They might not know the Lord God Who made them, but they know they were made. For them, that’s enough.

Siobhan displays her joy at moving to a new paddock

Requesting your Thoughts, Take 2

Dear readers, my apologies for the epic fail post yesterday! I was hasty in publishing and didn’t check it carefully, and limited Internet connection meant that it wasn’t possible to fix it straight away.

Anyway – back to the post.

Since its inception in 2012, CWT has been a mishmash of a blog, mingling posts about writing, horses, and God all in one blog. While I am stunned and blessed by my readership, I feel that the horses and writing posts are falling behind the God posts in popularity. While I wouldn’t have it any other way – if CWT can spread the Word of God, there is nothing more important than that – I fear the other types of posts may be detracting from the readership of the God posts. CWT’s main purpose is and always has been to spread the Word, and while I would like to continue my horsy anecdotes and record of my writing journey, it might turn out better to split CWT into different blogs.

However, I couldn’t make such a radical decision without consulting the people that are always right – my readers, of course. There are so many of you out there and I feel blessed and privileged that every single one of you are reading my words, and I hope to enhance your experience of my writing.

So – below, the poll. CWT’s future is in your hands.

In Which Ponies Run

The horses had a ball the other day when I moved them into different paddocks, facilitating better use of grazing for Skye (who needs to eat grass instead of hay because of one of her innumerable allergies). A change of paddocks is always guaranteed to make them have some fun, and without further ado, here are some random happy pony pictures. Glory be to the God Who made them and put the joy of His creation in them; they might not know Who made them, but when I see them leap effortlessly into the air, lightly as a sunbeam despite their sweating half-ton bulk, and dance across the turf, I have to believe that they know they were made.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

In Which I Play Catch-up (again)

No tragedies have befallen the ponies, dear readers; no need to fear! They are still here, still by turns annoying and amazing, and still get an inordinate amount of my attention.

Progress has been made with all of my awesome foursome. Even Skye has, for a change, been learning something new that is not how to run faster/jump over rabbit holes/swim in dams. Back in September 2012 I fell in love with Western riding, and while showjumping will always be my passion, English just isn’t a patch on Western when it comes to chilled, awesome outrides. And since Skye hates anything to do with an arena, except the occasional barrel race or game of speedball (more on that later), it made sense to school her to Western.

Exploring the newly-filled dam

Mounted games are the only things she enjoys in the arena, and being very inflexible she isn’t exactly the queen of pole bending, but she does have a lot of go and adores playing mounted games. I am equally not much good at mounted games but I love them; they’re buckets of fun and a way of just relaxing from the everyday grind of schooling. Speedball, a simple pattern in which you gallop at a traffic cone, run around it, drop a golf ball into it, and then gallop home became war when B. C. and Skye played versus Thunder and me. This was not a brilliant idea, as Thunder is fine at running in straight lines but not at turning, and B. C. has some kind of bluetooth connection with a ball enabling him to make it go wherever he wants it to, whereas the same ball in my hands turns into a cold missile that might end up anywhere.

At any rate, Skye took to Western, after a false start, like a duck to water. She goes on a gorgeous loose rein without any trouble and has even learnt to neck-rein in a few months, which, after ten years’ English training, isn’t to be sniffed at. Her strong point is her natural jog, which after some work is consistent, comfortable, and nice and slow, if not much to look at. She remains the awesomest outride horse the world has ever known and does anything from swimming in dams to jumping over logs with her trademark gusto.

Rocking the fluffy look

Her handsome little son Thunder (who’s taller than her, but anyway) has been his usual awesome self. His role in life is to be Skye # 2, in other words, another nice outride horse, this time hopefully with a bit more schooling. As such, I decided to train him Western, too. So far I have learnt three things: a) Thunder can learn anything if you teach it right, b) Friesians and loping aren’t friends, c) Western in an English saddle is very, very awkward.

Luckily point (a) cancels out point (b), and Thunder will learn to lope whether he is part Friesian or not. He already reins back well, jogs tolerably well and is perfectly happy on a loose rein as long as nothing frightens him; neck-reining is still a little beyond him, but he’s only three, so to be fair direct reining was also a little beyond him. He has a lot to learn, but it should be easier to school him to Western than it was to school Skye, because he didn’t really have time to be fully English.

As for point (c), I’m busy trying to lay my hands on a cheapish Western saddle. I’ve been longing for one forever, and now with Western horses I can finally justify buying one… not that I needed much excuse 😉

B. C. and I have also been taking him on outrides alongside his mommy, and he’s been good. He had a few moments of “Aaaaah the terrifying tiny steenbuck is going to eat me” and bolted accordingly, but luckily he has such a soft mouth that I can stop him easily. He also settles down well once he sees that it’s nothing to be afraid of. Provided he’s not being spooked by something – and he almost always spooks at something that’s actually there, not thin air like some youngsters – he is content to even lope along happily on a loose rein, leading or following, it doesn’t matter.

We also taught the little dude to swim in the dam (for a given value of swim; we more wade and get muddy), with just one hitch: He won’t be ridden in. He must be led. Someday we’ll address this, but for now I’m just happy that he actually goes into the water.

Oh yes, I may have donkey ears, but I can jump 1.15m

Outrides and mounted games aside, I actually have been doing some schooling with the glamorous greys. Arwen has been solid awesome. She has been to her first two outings, the first a mounted games clinic and the second a jumping training show, both of which went well. She had to travel alone since she enjoys kicking other horses to shreds, and when we unloaded her at the WMG clinic, the sweat was pouring off her – the floor of the box was wet from sweat. She was also quite an idiot for the first hour, pulling me around on the ground, spooking dramatically, and bucking a bit, but by the second event she had settled down nicely and in the end she was working as well as she ever does.

She travelled a bit better for the show with less shivering and a little less sweat, and was noticeably calmer when she unloaded; in fact, she didn’t put a toe wrong for the entire show apart from a half-hearted buck or two. I was immeasurably proud of her. We did three classes (ground poles, 40cm and 60cm) and she jumped everything I put in front of her with hardly any hesitation. She had one rail in the 40cm class and that was all. In the 60cm, we put in a gorgeous, careful, rhythmic clear round that got us into the jump-off. Once in the jump-off, bolstered by the beautiful clear round we had, I decided to pull out all the stops, take all the risks, and if we failed at least we’d fail epically.

So I kicked Arwen into a gallop and we charged through that course at a hair-raising speed. We cut every corner, took every risk, and jumped some of the jumps from the most peculiar angles. I thanked my lucky stars for the fact that Arwen’s mounted games training made her both agile and controllable at high speeds. She put up her ears, threw up her tail and had the time of her life. We didn’t even touch a single rail, despite some very big leaps from very long distances, and she responded to every touch of the reins and legs. I had spurs and a whip, but I didn’t have to use either very much. There were some quite challenging lines – the line from jump 1 to 2 was very tight if you cut the corner off the way we did, and she had one straight stride before jumping – as well as a one-stride double, but she didn’t let anything phase her. We blasted through the finish with me grinning all over my face and Arwen looking quite pleased with herself.

Our time was about a second behind the winner and just not good enough for a ribbon, but we came fourth in a class of about fourteen, which was very respectable for a first show.

I would blame my complete lack of photos on B. C., but the poor thing was much too busy tagging after me reminding me to drink water, holding my horse between classes, keeping my mom up to date with innumerable SMSes and generally keeping me alive to even think about photos. Handy things, boyfriends. I feel deeply sorry for anyone who has to go to shows without one. Thankfully, he knows he has to be a horse groom before he can be a bridegroom, and took his duties in his stride.

Back at home, Arwen is becoming quite the dressage diva. Her basic paces are quite good now, although she does have days when her canter just doesn’t seem to come together, so we have been working on some more advanced stuff. She has nailed the turn on the forehand and pirouette at the walk, as well as tricky transitions like trot-halt and walk-canter. Her dubious leg-yields-trying-to-grow-up-to-be-half-passes have turned into true half-passes in walk with correct bend and forward movement as well as sideways, and she has given me a few leg-yields in trot, although she seems to find them very difficult. She will also shoulder-in and haunches-in at a walk, sometimes shoulder-in at a trot, but I have to work for it.

Her extended trot is utterly deplorable and so are her flying changes, but this is an improvement because up to this Wednesday her flying changes were simply nonexistent. We spent a gruelling half hour just on cantering in figures of eight, and whilst it became a fight at one point, she finally clicked and started to change leads. Again, her mounted games training definitely helped, because she didn’t become disunited anywhere near as easily as Sookie, Joepie and Cointreau used to. She still gets very flustered, flops onto her forehand and starts to gallop, but at least she knows what she has to do now.

Muscle man

That leaves Magic, who has acquired a new show name: Magical Flight. Gadsfly was just too awful. He progressed magnificently since coming home and even started to build muscles, losing his hay belly and getting some nice muscle tone in his shoulders, belly, and back. Even his neck has started to come out a little bit. Currently laid off for a minor injury that made the princess OTTB lame, he has been doing some very nice work.

He is now nicely ambidextrous and happily leads on whichever leg I want in a canter, has shed his habit of overjumping hideously, and pops happily over anything up to about 90cm. 1.10m is a bit more of a challenge, but we’ve jumped it a few times. The one sad part is that he became impossibly hard on my hands – not bolting, but poking his face in the air and resisting my hands with his neck and jaw. This doesn’t seem to be the fault of my hands but more of his racing background. We tried everything – standing martingale, lungeing in side reins, elastics, and draw reins, but none of them worked and eventually the Mutterer decided to try him in a Pelham, as the snaffle just wasn’t working. In the Pelham he was miles and miles better and goes happily in a running martingale, which is only necessary for emergencies when he goes all drama queen and throws his head around. He goes in a nice frame in walk and trot now and a tolerable one in a canter, and is still happy to jump without fear of the bigger bit hurting his mouth, so it seems to be a win-win. I also don’t cling to the reins as tightly as I did with the snaffle, since I don’t have to pull so much to slow him down after the jump.

This has been quite a novel of a blog post, but there you have it. The ponies are still alive and doing awesomely, exciting things are on the horizon, and life is good. Glory to the God Who made them!

Spoilt happy brats

Of Horses and Their People – Part V

The message flickers once and disappears, leaving us all in a stunned silence. My heart is in my horseshoes. I look sideways at B. C. and see sweat break out on his neck with stress. Skye is stiff and motionless on my back. What now?

Behind me, Rain’s ear-splitting neigh of indignation breaks the silence. What?! How dare they kidnap our parents?! THEY SHALL DIE!!

“Rain! Stay calm for twenty seconds and listen to me!” Skye snaps. “We have to stay calm. We have to think. I appreciate this may be a new skill for you,” she adds acidly.

My horse is being mean, so she must be worried. Skye’s never worried. About anything. I shiver.

Okay, okay, let’s think about this. B. C. closes his eyes and sighs. We need to get out of here, but we can’t just leave Firn’s ‘rents here. There’s no knowing… He shudders. Well, I know what they will do. And it’s not pretty.

What… what will they do, B. C.? I ask.

B. C. turns to me, but his eyes are clouded with pain. They want to turn us into centaurs.

Centaurs? Immediately, an image of Glenstorm the Centaur from Narnia flashes across my mind. Well, that doesn’t sound too bad… being a creature with a human’s torso and a horse’s body and legs. Except…

What happens to the horse’s head? I whisper.

Exactly. B. C. tosses his head, fear lending urgency to his gestures. To become a centaur or any beast of man’s alteration, not God’s creation, would be to be half an animal. Living on the loss of another’s death. He adds, quietly, We horses would be the first to die. But I doubt mankind would last much longer.

“It’s like a nightmare,” says Skye.

It’s like a horror movie, says B. C., and we both shudder.

And that’s what they’re going to do to my ‘rents, I whisper.

“Not on my watch.” I hear the click as Skye cocks her pistol.

But Skye, they’re hostages. How can we stop them from being killed?

“Simple,” says my horse. “We turn ourselves in.”

We gawk.

Skye leans down and speaks under her breath, far too quietly for security cameras to pick up, but easily audible for a horse’s ears. “I’d speak in horse language, but we don’t have a word for deceit. We pretend to turn ourselves in. If we work together, we can overcome all these guards, machine guns and all, with the element of surprise. I’m guessing none of them understand horse?”

B. C. snorts. No, or by now they’d know every swearword in the equine language.

There are swearwords in the equine language? I ask.

Firn, you know that look Siobhan used to give you every time you rode out one of her bucking fits instead of falling?

Yeah?

Well… there are swearwords in the equine language.

“Guys!” hisses Skye. “Listen to me! We have to speak to the herd. But that’s our only option if we’re going to save the lead mare and stallion of Firn’s herd. We have to turn ourselves in and, when they least expect it, all strike at once. Unity. We have to work as a herd.”

Will the herd accept it? asks B. C.

Skye shrugs. “I don’t know. But we have to try. You tell them, chestnut pony.”

Pony? Speak for yourself! I’m all of sixteen-three hands, thank you! B. C. turns towards the other herd members and neighs loudly to get their attention. Then he speaks in horse language, simply. We have everything to lose. Freedom, dignity, life, each other. But we can’t just walk out here and leave two of our kind to suffer. We have a plan, but it’s risky, and will only succeed if we work together. And none of us can pretend to be able to force you to go through with it.

The silence is deathly, and my heart stops. Then Rain steps forward, swishing her long blonde tail with way too much attitude.

You know the laws of the horses, she says. Only fight when you must; this looks like a must to me. And always stay with the herd. That means when your herd’s in trouble, you fight for it. She raises her head and neighs deafeningly. Who’s with me?

The resultant chorus of neighs and shouts coming from every horse and person standing beside us almost repeats the Jericho sequence, but not quite. It’s still enough to send tremors of sound and hope into the deepest fabric of my soul.

I AM!

Skye turns to the nearest security camera and speaks calmly into it. “We surrender,” she says, drawing her 9mm and the machine gun at her hip and dropping them both on the ground. Arwen and Magic copy her. Thunder, who was busy chewing on the end of his machine gun to see if it was edible, looks puzzled. “Why are you dropping those, mommy? They’re shiny,” he points out. “And interesting to chew.”

“Put that down, sweetheart,” says Skye. “It’s not wise to put guns in your mouth.”

“Yes, mom.” Thunder drops the gun, to my intense relief.

Almost immediately, a swarm of guards in unitards, heavily armed, appears and surrounds us. One of them lays a hand flat on my shoulder and gives me a shove back down the corridor. “Move along, pony.”

B. C. flattens his ears until his skull and bares his teeth. Don’t hurt her! He jostles between the guard and me and we trot nervously back down the corridor, a cacophony of hoofbeats, some humans riding, some running between us.

Skye runs. It helps her think.

The guards drive us back through creepy door 13 and into the freaky lab, where they have managed to get the electricity going. We trot across the mangled bridge and down a long staircase, stumbling – it wasn’t designed for hooves – until we get to the main floor of the lab. Lit with the eerie blue electric lights, tiled in white, it’s a typical lab. Rats in cages, some with grossly disfigured faces, missing tails and hands like humans, squeak piteously. Machines beep, whir and spin. Things go gloop in long glass tubes and I’m sure there’s a pickled eyeball floating around in a jar on one table.

Then I spot them. My parents. Confined in a strange glass cage, they stand close together, sheltering each other. They couldn’t be more different; Dad is a massive bay draft horse with a neck that looks like it was carved from bronze and hooves the size of cake tins, while Mom is a pretty dappled pony, little taller – but much more delicate – than me.

Mom! Dad! Rain’s neigh shatters the silence. She lunges forward, but B. C. slams his weight into her, restraining her. Shhh! Remember the plan! he snorts.

I wanna kill some guards! Rain whines.

Later, Rain, I say.

Awwww, okay, Rain sighs.

Standing in front of the glass cage is a tall man in a lab coat. He wears half-moon glasses and has the typical slanted eyebrows, thin white hands and weird pointy beard of The Arch Villain. I wonder if he had plastic surgery to look like that. He looks like Voldemort. He probably did.

“Ah, so you have joined us,” he purrs as we clatter to a halt. “Kind of you.”

“Don’t patronise me, human,” spits Skye, folding her arms. “Set them free. You have us now.”

“Oh, I never said I’d let them go, mare,” says The Arch Villain, his smile curving like a scimitar. “I only said I’d let them live.” He chuckles. “As legs and body for a new generation of species.”

I go cold. What if this doesn’t work? I quaver.

It’ll work, Firn. It has to work, says B. C., not taking his eyes off Skye. She will give the signal.

Rain nudges me. Hey, Firn. See that? she gestures at a tall urn full of green fluid. It’s marked “Antidote.”

Maybe we can get hold of that somehow, I say.

Skye snorts at the Arch Villain. “I should have expected it from a slimy double-crossing man like you. Men! They never were trustworthy.”

Hey! squawks B. C.

“You’re not a man, B. C., you’re a colt so you don’t count,” says Skye smoothly.

Hey!!!! squawks B. C., even more indignant.

She doesn’t mean it, I say soothingly.

“Maybe, maybe not,” says the Arch Villain, twiddling with the knobs on one of his machines. “I know I’m not trustworthy.” He laughs. “What a wonderful creature a horse is… Trusting. Gentle. Patient. They can’t lie, they cannot deceive… Perfectly splendid, don’t you think? And that is what sets them so far below humans.” He smiles at her. “You signed your own death warrant by trusting me, little pony. They say there is no secret so close as that between a horse and rider. Maybe we’ll see just how close that secret can get.” He snaps his fingers. “The audacious lady and the little bay pony, immediately,” he orders.

A horde of guards step forward, surrounding me, rough hands grabbing at my mane and tail. I squeal briefly in shock and kick out, but they effortlessly grab my hindlegs and lift me off the ground. I hear B. C. roar like a stallion and a guard screams in pain; but Skye yells, “B. C.! Stop!” and Rain neighs, The plan! and it’s without further opposition that the guards manhandle me up onto a platform just like my parents’ glass cage. The Arch Villain pressed a button and a glass dome slides down over me, trapping me. I’m too scared to move, quaking where I stand.

“And this one?” the guards ask, holding Skye by her arms. She doesn’t resist, but quivers with rage.

“Put her in there,” says the Arch Villain, pushing another button that lifts the glass dome over my parents. They jump aside as the guards wave machine guns at them and throw Skye onto the platform. At that moment, she waves a hand in a sweeping, slicing gesture and the herd goes mad. As one, they turn on their guards, taking them down with kicks and bites too fast for machine guns to counter; the Arch Villain yells, alarms blare and I throw myself against the glass, fighting to break out, terrified, lost. Then a familiar voice neighs, Stand back! and I stagger backwards as B. C. rears and brings both forefeet smashing onto the glass. It shatters, raining splinters everywhere, and we both gallop into the fray, but we have everything to fight for and the guards have nothing. It’s over in minutes. They flee – all but the Arch Villain, who snags a machine gun and aims it at my head.

“Not so fast, pony,” he sneers.

My mom and dad kick simultaneously. He probably never even knew what hit him, but I did: The devastating power of parental love. Skye steps over to the body and nudges it aside. “I’m sorry that had to happen to you,” she says. “But that’s what you get for it when you mess with God’s creation.”

Mom! Dad! I whinny, running up to my parents, who immediately start to nibble-groom me with their teeth. It’s like a horsy hug, and it’s the best hug I’ve had in a looong, long time.

Are you okay, Firn? Mom asks.

I’m fine, Mom, now that you guys are safe, I say.

Thanks for your help, squirt, says Dad, whose 18hh bulk justifies my nickname.

Help? We saved you all by ourselves, says Rain cockily.

Think so? Dad smiles at her, his dark forelock hiding his eyes. Why do you think the alarms failed, the electricity clashed as catastrophically as it did and the guards were so slow to respond? Computer programmers can be hackers too, you know.

You broke into their systems? squawks B. C.

Yes, says Dad, with pardonable pride. And your mom here only prevented certain people with attitudes from being killed, oh, fifty or sixty times?

I can be convincing when I need to be, says Mom meekly.

What attitudes? chorus B. C. and Rain.

I rest my case, says Dad. Now, let me help that fat brown horse of yours to figure out that antidote.

With Dad doing the thinking and Skye doing the stubbornness, it’s not long before they’ve worked out the dosage for the antidote. Thunder and Magic help to carry the huge urn of green liquid and we all head outside, Dad’s brains and brawn being of invaluable assistance in opening and enlarging the exit hole. At last we’re all back out into the star-studded night with the full moon surfing on silver mares’ tails and the smells of grass and hay bales rising all around us.

B. C., Rain, Skye and I join the ranks of horses and people all standing in readiness as Mom readies the antidote, giving Arwen instructions on drawing up tiny dosages in syringes they pinched from the lab.

“Who’s first?” asks Arwen, holding up the syringe. B. C. groans beside me and buries his face in my mane.

Me, says Mom, calmly.

“What if it doesn’t work?” asks Arwen.

I trust Jon, says Mom. It will work.

Arwen gulps and gently pushes the needle under Mom’s skin. My mother stands still, unflinching, as the quivering Arwen injects the antidote. My heart thumps in my chest. I should have volunteered, I should never have let –

There is a sound like a gumboot being removed from a particularly wet dung heap, and where the pretty grey pony stood, my mom is there; short and kind-faced, but with a wiry strength. (Thankfully, also fully clothed).

MOM! Rain and I squeal.

Is it over? enquires B. C. from the depths of my mane.

Yes! Look! She’s human again! We’ll all be human again!

After that, Mom was in her element, helping everybody as laughing, neighing they transformed back into themselves, injection after injection. The horses ran in laps around the grassy paddock, stuffed their faces with hay or threw themselves down and rolled. Arwen, once again a dish-faced grey mare with a perfect white diamond on her forehead, tore snorting around in circles before attempting to kick anyone in sight. Siobhan, a bay pony, trampled three humans and broke two fences, heading for home. Magic leapt and curvetted, a graceful grey gelding. Thunder, stolid and bay, gave one giant bunny hop into the air before coming to the ground and amiably beginning to lick the nearest person.

Rain, a tall blonde girl, danced in graceful ballet moves that cut swathes through the wavy grass. Dad, once again a bearded man, used a piece of wire, some spit and half of someone’s hanky to fashion a multiple-dose syringe that speeded up the process.

B. C., Skye and I were last. Skye gritted her teeth as Mom injected her shoulder, gasped once and transformed. She was beautiful as a human, but as a horse, she’s dazzling; a collection of sleek chestnut curves that bend and flow like a symphony. She steps over to me and with paralyzing joy, for the first time I experience her as a horse experiences another; her smell, her beauty, her language. We breathe into each other’s nostrils, blowing thoughts at each other, smells, emotions until I would have cried, if I was human.

But I’m not, and then it’s over, and B. C. is standing squished close against me as Mom gently injects me in the neck. The needle pinches slightly, I screw my eyes tight shut and the world spins. My senses blur and fade; smell and hearing all but vanish, touch virtually disappears and the next thing I know I’m lying on the ground, cheek pressed against the grass. Cheek. Wait. I’m lying facedown. I sit up, and realise that I’m human; short and thin and undeniably human.

“That’s it,” says Mom’s voice above me. “It’s all right again.” She hugs me close, then walks away to help Dad doctor the handful of injuries from the fight.

“Being human suits you,” says B. C., and I get up and see that he’s human too – the way he was made to be. I almost break his ribs with one of my epic hugs and sigh deeply.

“I’m glad that’s over!” I say.

“Yeah, it was tough, but it was a pretty cool adventure,” says B. C.

“Yeah…” I watch the horses run laps through the grass, led by their queen, the indomitable Skye who never gave up. “I think I’m going to miss being a horse, though. I know God made me to be human, but it’s weird not to be able to smell and touch and understand the way a horse does. And run. And be strong. I miss that. Humans can’t be powerful and graceful at the same time the way horses can.”

B. C.’s big warm hand engulfs mine, fingers intertwining.

“Horses can’t do this,” he says.

Of Horses and Their People, Part I

“This is just my luck!”

My scream comes out as an extremely loud and indignant whinny, or at least, as loud and indignant a whinny as it is possible for a pony of my size to admit. I have loved horses all of my life, and as a little(r) girl, I often imagined being a horse. Perhaps a splendid palomino mare, or a gorgeous black Arab as fast as the wind. But I had all but forgotten the whole idea when that bunch of mad scientists released species-changing toxins into the water to see if it would work. One sip of water and foom! I am a human by day and a horse by night.

Well, I say “horse”. In disgust, I look down at the ground, which, it has to be said, is not very far away. I am not a splendid palomino or a gorgeous black Arab. Instead, I’m pretty much the horse version of my human self: Small, skinny, rather timid and possessing hair of a depressing shade of muddy brown. Because it’s winter, I have the added disadvantage of being fluffy.

I snort loudly.

“Hello you,” says a beautiful rich voice behind me, and all disgust vanishes. I turn around with my ears pricked and give a soft, loving nicker. My horse, Skye, is stunning as a horse, but she doesn’t make a bad-looking human either. A tall blonde with smooth buff skin and a strong, athlete’s build, her Roman nose only serves to make her profile look sharp and noble, like an eagle’s. She buttons up a borrowed jacket and looks distastefully at the long jeans I put out for her. Spotting my flattened ears, she shakes a lock of silver-blonde hair out of her face.

“No, I’m not getting cold,” she says. It’s winter, but she’s only wearing a knee-length pair of cutoff jeans – cut off with my pocketknife two nights ago and hidden somewhre in a hay bale where I can’t find and confiscate them since. “You know I hate stuff on my legs.”

I snort again. I know this only too well; when we were still the right shapes, we almost crushed my trainer when Skye felt the touch of a piece of wire on her hindlegs.

“These are good though.” Skye all but purrs with glee as she pulls on a pair of thick socks and boots. I give her a happy nudge with my muzzle. Skye’s soft soles have been a problem for ages.

Fully dressed, Skye gets up. Most of the human-animals I’ve met so far move awkwardly in their new shapes, unused to the extra or missing pair of legs, but Skye moves with liquid grace – she always does.

Come on, I say in horse speak, which is basically body language of a depth no human could fully understand. Saddle up. Let’s get back to work.

A grim shadow falls across Skye’s face. She pulls her saddle off the side of the lungeing ring and plops it on my back. “Yes. It’s been too long. This ends tonight.”

I stand silently as Skye saddles me up. The two horse paddocks are silent and empty in the full moonlight. For years I’ve kept horses here; my dad and I built the lungeing ring, the two field shelters, put in the troughs. I’ve ridden here for hours, wearing a path around the grass arena, and fallen a good many times too. Even more hours were spent feeding hay and cleaning hooves and grooming horses.

It was just another of those beautiful, ordinary days; I had saddled Skye for a ride and took her out on the farm, galloping up hills and trotting through forests, enjoying ourselves as we always did. In the summer heat we soon grew thirsty and I drew rein at a stream. We both drank our fill.

When we got back, just before dark, we found my house empty of people and the paddocks empty of horses. That was when we transformed.

In the weeks that have passed since, Skye and I have spent all our time searching for our lost family. We have always been close, so close that her herd and my family fused into one family group: she considered my bearded father her own dad, and her tall grey friend, Magic, was my brother. And now they are gone. My father, mother, and sister have vanished; so have Skye’s herdmates, Arwen, Thunder, Siobhan, and Magic.

“It ends tonight,” says Skye, as if reading my thoughts. I open my mouth and she slips the bit in, folding my ears down gently to settle the headpiece on my mane.

Yes, I said. Tonight we’ll find them. We picked up a lead earlier in the day, whilst hunting around in town. One of the mad scientists’ much-abused lab workers (we found out a lot in the past few weeks) skulked out of an alley and into my waiting grip this morning. He tried to escape, but only until he realised that he was not only up against a furious (and pants-wettingly terrified) 5′ 4″ human, but also a livid (and utterly fearless) 500kg horse.

Then he spilt the beans pretty well. We finally know the location of the secret lab where our family is being held, have directions to the cells where they’re kept, and even know the combination on the lock. We’re pretty sure it’s the right one, because I had a bottle of the toxic water in my hand and was threatening severely to feed it to him if we got back and found out that he’d lied.

Now, with the lab worker safely tied up and stowed in my cupboard for the moment, it is time for action. Skye leads me out onto the drive, runs the stirrups down and lengthens them four holes before gathering the reins and leaping on, or kind of stepping over and sitting down.

“Now I know why you complain about riding little ponies,” she says.

Now I know why you buck when I pull the girth up too tight.

She laughs and strokes my neck. “Let’s do this. C’mon, Firn.”

I break into a trot and we’re off. Heading north out of the farm and onto the gravel road, I swing into a canter. I may be slow, but my canter is smooth, allowing Skye to switch on her high-tech spy watch. Inserted inside it is the file we got from the lab worker, which gives us a map to the secret lab. I hear the beeps as Skye connects the GPS.

“I still can’t believe this,” she says, slowing me to a walk to catch my breath as we turn onto the tar road. I stretch my neck and breathe deeply, feeling sweat break out underneath my girth. Me neither. It was right under our noses! Why couldn’t we find it?

“Because it was right under our noses,” says Skye. “Right where we don’t expect it to be.” I feel the shift in balance as she looks up; I’m still amazed at how sensitive my sense of touch and balance is as a horse. “Right there.”

The stacks of hay bales in front of us seem utterly nonthreatening. Excessive, perhaps – hundreds of stacks, each consisting of hundreds of big round bales – but they lie peacefully in the moonlit field, crystal clear in my equine night vision. I take a deep breath and that’s when I smell it. An undertone to the mouthwatering scents of hay and grass, I catch a whiff of something acrid and chemical. It smells like Skye’s spy watch and my cellphone.

Technology.

Skye presses the left rein against my neck. I swing away from the pressure, turning through a rusty old farm gate, and slink – as far as a horse can slink – behind one of the stacks. Skye slips off and sits on the grass beside me.

“Your senses are pathetic,” she whispers. “I can barely – achoo!”

It’s the hay, I tell her, shoving her hard with my nose as she doubles over coughing. Get away from the hay. You know you’re allergic!

“Yeah yeah,” Skye rasps, wiping her nose. “I know, human. Relax. And tell me what you smell.”

Hay. I drool a bit and try to pretend I’m just chewing my bit. Grass. The tar road. The cows across the road. The –

“Firn!”

What? I’m still fascinated by how excellent your sense of smell is.

“Let’s not be fascinated for twenty seconds, okay? What do you smell that’s out of the ordinary?”

With difficulty, I drag my thoughts away from the intriguing medley of smells and sounds around me. Technology, I tell her.

“I hate that smell.” Skye snorts. “So perhaps the guy wasn’t fibbing.”

I don’t think so. But where is the opening he talked about?

Skye checks her spy watch. “Behind that stack of bales, if I’m not mistaken,” she says, pointing.

Looks like all the others to me, I say.

“Exactly,” says Skye.

Huh?

She’s not listening. Crouched low in the overgrown grass, she breaks into a slow, smooth jog; I can’t help thinking of the slow Western gait she uses as a horse. “Come on!” she whispers.

I can’t hide! Worried, I give a short, muffled whinny and flatten my ears.

“Then run!”

I bolt across the distance between the two stacks of bales, skid to a halt, and almost fall over in my panic. I pin myself against the bales, shaking like a leaf. Skye appears seconds later and her expression softens at the sight of her quivering human.

“Hey!” she says gruffly, giving me a rough shove with her hand. “You’re okay, girl. Trust me.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the sweat running down my muzzle. I do trust you.

“You’re doing fine. I’m here.” Skye grabs my mane and gives it an affectionate shake. “I won’t leave you.”

I know, I say, and I mean it. Once, on an outride in our proper shapes – years ago – Skye tripped in an aardvark hole and we both crashed to the ground. Terrified, she leapt to her feet and took off, only to hit the brakes and return to stand over her shocked but unhurt human.* She has never left me.

“Okay,” Skye says, giving my neck a last pat. “He said it would be next to the thirteenth bale on the east side.” With a wary glance around in case of guards, Skye starts to walk down the stack, counting. “One, two, three, four, six – ”

I whinny.

“What?”

You missed a number, I say.

“Which one?”

I snort with frustration. Horses have no words for numbers. Shaking my ears until they flap audibly, I use my front hoof to scratch an awkward 5 in the dust.

“Five,” says Skye, rolling her eyes. She wipes her running nose again. “Look, you do the counting.”

I trot down the stack, touching each bale with my nose as I count in English in my head. I stop beside the thirteenth bale and take a bite of it for good measure because the smell is driving me crazy. My teeth snap shut on something that kicks me in the mouth like an angry carthorse, making me leap back, slip and sit down on my haunches like a dog.

“Firn! What’s wrong?” Skye runs to me, dark brown eyes wide with concern. “Are you all right?”

I can only quiver in reply.

“That sounded like electricity.” Skye peers cautiously into the bale and sneezes loudly. “Ugh,” she mutters, mopping her nose on her sleeve again. She never could get the hang of tissues. “There’s a wire in there. Let’s hope you didn’t break it or the door might not work.”

Sorry, I say, hanging my head and letting my ears flop to the sides.

“It’s okay. Now get off your butt, you look like a disgrace to horsekind.”

I get up and peer over Skye’s shoulder as she kneels in the grass, feeling cautiously through it with her hands. “I’m looking for the lock,” she whispers. “It should be here somewhere.”

Can I help?

“Yeah, you start over there, feel with your nose. And for goodness’ sake don’t bite any more wires.”

The ringing in my head makes me extremely adverse to biting anything very much, but I feel through the grass, trying to resist its amazing scent. I nearly jump out of my skin when Skye gives a strangely whinnying yelp of pleasure.

“I’ve got it!” Still on her hands and knees, she grips something in the grass. I see her pause thoughtfully for a moment as she remembers the combination that has to be tapped into the lock in Morse code. It’s a complicated one, but my horse is smart. Especially when she’s human. I tip an ear and listen to the tapping, my equine senses easily picking up the faint sound of Skye’s fingernail on the touch screen of the lock. I can hear everything. I can hear Skye’s breathing, the rustle of a mouse family in the hay, even the buzz of a tiny midge flitting around my legs.

And then, deep in the earth, I hear the loud, grinding noise of something moving. Something artificial. Something huge.

 

*True story, by the way.

 

***

In response to WordPress’s Creative Writing Challenge, I wrote this. It’s more of a character study than a story, but I am absolutely loving it! Expect more soon! 😀

Weekly Photo Challenge: Up

No points awarded here for my photography skills, but this theme touches a cord in me right now.

See, last Saturday the Mutterer very kindly brought his annoying little tagalong student, viz., myself, with him to watch the President’s Cup showjumping. I sat and stared at the amazing horses and riders all day, coming home looking like a drunk with a face sun-fried to deep crimson and eyes bloodshot from staring longingly at the giant jumps and equally giant horses that sailed effortlessly over them.

I loved the Junior President’s Cup because I would have loved, loved to be one of those teens riding so brilliantly over gigantic fences on awesome horses. The Pony Rider President’s Cup  was a strange mix of inspiring and adorable. Those little ponies are firecrackers! Only about fourteen hands high, they flung themselves over enormous jumps and were twice as fiery as some of the horses.

But my favourite class had to be the real President’s Cup, the last of five rounds. 1.40m high, the jumps looked huge, even compared to the mighty warmbloods that strutted their stuff there. I got to see some of the top South African showjumpers in action – Anne-Marie Esslinger on elegant Alessio, Lorette Knowles-Taylor on Nissan Udokes, this year’s winner Jeanme Engela on a beautiful mare called Cloof Wines Chanel, and the breathtaking white stallion Capital Don Cumarco with his rider Nicole Horwood.

And my old hero Barry Taylor on a brave grey horse called Nissan Animus. I held my breath when they cantered into the arena. I was probably eight or nine years old when I picked up a Horse Quarterly with a picture of a huge bay horse sailing over a mighty jump with his rider on the front. The rider was Barry Taylor, and that was the moment that I decided to be a showjumper.

Most small girls at some stage in their lives decide to be showjumpers but I think in my case it’s incurable. I’m addicted to that floating moment in midair, that amazing feeling when half a ton of horseflesh rises into the air as weightless as sunlight, when for just a moment you realise how wonderful it is to live in a world where a 50kg human and a 500kg horse can be one. And fly.

I spent Monday afternoon riding like an idiot and getting refusal after refusal after refusal from Arwen. Thereafter I crashed poor Magic into a jump and got refusal after refusal from him as well, and I deserved it.

But yesterday I sat on a 16.2hh stallion and we went over an 80cm jump (which looked WAY bigger from where I was sitting) and the world was perfect. And Magic and I jumped a tiny cross today and he pretended he was at the President’s Cup and jumped it accordingly and the world was perfect. Yeah, I’m gonna bite the dust pretty often and deserve it. I’m gonna have falls and refusals and rails down and run-outs and it’s gonna be a rollercoaster ride, but there’s only one direction I’m aiming in. Up.

That’s where my Lord Jesus is, after all. He’s the one Who made a world where humans can ride and horses can fly. He’s the one Who listened when I pointed that stallion at the jump and begged silently “Oh Lord, help me!” He’s the one Who boots me off the edge of the cliff so that I can learn how to fly. Because of Him, no matter what, at the end of it all, there’s only one way I’m going, too…

Up.

Barry Taylor on Nissan Animus

10 Ways to Fall off a Horse

For the Daily Prompt.

I’ve often said that I’ve fallen enough times to be able to ride a little, but I’ve also fallen enough times to be pretty good at falling. An ignominious talent, I know, but everyone’s gotta be good at something, right? So here follows ten methods to fall with the most pain, precision and embarrassment, and the advantages and disadvantage of each. These methods have been tried and thoroughly tested by yours truly for your unsafety and dissatisfaction.

Timo Vee, the beautiful stallion owned by Faeriewood Friesians

1. Be invited to ride a newly-backed Friesian stallion. Leap onto the aforementioned stallion with great gusto and discover that he is about as forward-going as a geriatric donkey. Succeed, by supreme effort, in kicking him into a trot. Be so shocked at the very idea of forward motion, and the giant exploding movement that Friesians have, that you start to slide down the horse’s side. Cling on determinedly, spider-like against the side of the horse with your short legs as far around his belly as they will go, for several strides before belly-flopping to the ground. Bonus points for having an audience of five or six people and several dogs, and a shout-out to the owner of the stallion, who is actually a quite amazing horse and, I’m betting, a cool ride once he had some training: I’m looking at you, Faeriewood Freisians.

Looks can be deceiving

2. Mount a pony who has only ever been ridden three or four times. The saddle doesn’t fit, so you decide to ride bareback. The pony refuses to go forward. Your instructor stands behind her to discipline her with a whip when she reverses. She does so, he gives her a flick on the bum, she leaps into the air and you remain effortlessly seated. Upon coming to rest, the pony waits a split second for you to relax before taking one slow step forward. You pitch over her shoulder and land in a heap. Bonus points if the pony runs away with her tail in the air, highly impressed with herself; extra bonus points if you land almost on your instructor’s feet and if said instructor is a straightforward type and comments, “Well, that was stupid.”

Bestest buddies

3. Take your favourite horse in the whole entire world for an outride. She is your favourite horse in the whole entire world, so she will never ever throw you off. Hence, you decide to do the bareback thing again, being a slow learner. Gallop off happily until you reach the southern end of the farm, when suddenly a pair of white rhinoceros stampede out of the bushes. Your poor horse nearly jumps out of her skin and the next thing you know, you are minus one horse and plus a few bruises. Bonus points if you land on your feet and stand there holding the reins and staring stupidly at the rhino, which are making off at their best pace, terrified.

4. Whilst riding around with your friend, spot a wayward donkey chewing the grooming kit. Kick your horse into a gallop to stop the donkey from destroying all your friend’s stuff. Don’t realise that the ground is wet and corner a little too sharply. Your horse slips and lands on its knees and you do a slow slide over its ears and into the mud. Bonus points if your friend is slightly paranoid and almost falls off herself in shock. I didn’t try this one personally; all the credit belongs to the Cowboy Dude who was, thankfully, none the worse for his little crash, but possibly the worse for the embarrassment I have just caused him. Another shout-out: Do yourself a favour and click the link to his blog. This guy writes action-adventure flash fiction like nobody else. It’s powerful, terrifying, and touching.

The awesome Romeo

5. Ride a beautiful, smart, slightly absentminded two-year-old horse in front of his owner, his owner’s family, the yard owner, your instructor and some other horse owners. Feel proud of the progress you’ve made with this horse. Ask him to canter whilst going round a corner, forgetting to get his attention first. The horse obliges but his legs go in different directions, cross, and trip him up. Horse and rider crash to the ground and slide several metres in a cloud of dust, dismay and concerned cries from your audience. Bonus points if the horse’s owner comments that they should install a camera to film all your rides as you would make some very interesting action shots, and also if your instructor is more concerned about the poor horse – who has only a few superficial scrapes – than he is about you.

6. Aged nine years old, be so small and short that you can’t pull your pony’s girth up properly. Ignore this fact and go riding with your girth so loose that you can see daylight between it and the pony. The pony spooks at a duiker, whirls around and charges off; the saddle shoots down her side and sends you flying while the pony heads for the horizon with the saddle under her belly. Bonus points if you are trying to show your friend from one of those smart riding schools in the city how brave you are. This one is courtesy of Rain.

I’m innocent!

7. Ride your beautiful jumping horse towards a manageable jump. Commend yourself on how nicely your horse is approaching the obstacle. Forget to actually ask the horse to jump. The horse brakes and you sail gracefully over its head and into the jump, completely dismantling it. Bonus points if your instructor bursts out laughing.

8. Hold your newly-backed pony next to your instructor’s car while he gets a saddle out of the boot and tries it on. It seems to fit, so he tells you to hop on. Put a foot in the stirrup, lift yourself up and be taken completely by surprise as the pony suddenly rears up on its back legs and flips over. Crash into the back of the car, missing the tow hitch by a miracle, and watch the pony fall about a centimetre from your leg. Bonus points if the pony shatters the rear light in the fall.

Enjoy your new home, big guy

9. Ride out on a large and badly behaved stallion, your instructor accompanying you on a sweet little mare who unbeknownst to either of you is in heat. Unfortunately, the stallion notices. He bucks you off once. Bounce. Get back on and ride 10 metres further before he starts bucking again. He chucks you off in the middle of the first buck and lands on you at the second. Fail to remember any of this due to your concussion. Bonus points if your instructor is forced to fend the stallion off his mare with a deft right hook, and is worried about you for the first time in living memory.

And the winner is…

10. Ride a highly unpredictable little pony in the company of your friend the Cowboy Dude. Feel secretly surprised and pleased that the pony hasn’t put a toe out of line all day. Decide to try a canter. The first two go well. At the third one, the pony begins to buck like a bronc whilst galloping. Stick on for a short while and then, as the pony hits the brakes, turn a somersault over her head and land on your back, knocking the wind out of yourself. Bonus points if your sister catches the fall on camera. Extra bonus points if the Cowboy Dude then posts it on Facebook with the caption “Firn’s final moments”, getting more attention than your Facebook page has ever had.

And Firn goes splat in the background

A Noise of Horses

For the Lord had made the host of the Syrians to hear a noise of chariots, and a noise of horses, even the noise of a great host: and they said one to another, Lo, the king of Israel hath hired against us the kings of the Hittites, and the kings of the Egyptians, to come upon us. 2 Kings 5:7

Benjamin, our donkey

If I were the captain of the Syrian host, I too would have fled when I heard the sound of the Lord’s army on the hills, the rumbling of the chariots, the snorting and stamping, the thundering of hooves, and the warlike eagle’s scream of a proud stallion. Splendid indeed is the mighty horse clothed with thunder, who mocketh at fear and is not affrighted. When Jesus rode up to Jerusalem, knowing that the time for His crucifixion was nigh, He rode a humble and patient little donkey, to show the world that even the Prince of the world can be strong in His humility.

He has shown His patience, kindness, gentleness, and self-sacrificial love, and part of that was done on the back of a dusty little donkey colt. But when He comes on that wonderful day to fetch His people and conquer His enemies, He will come on a shining white charger. He will ride a great white horse all made of flowing curves and straight lines like blades, that will snort steam and dance on its hindlegs in the joy of being alive. A thunder-clad horse, with lightning in its eyes, that leaps and dances in the boisterousness of its spirit.

On such a beast will my King come to claim His rightful throne and devastate His enemies with the bright two-edged sword that proceeds from His mouth. For when He comes, He will come with all power and might, and that is why He rides a horse and not a donkey. A donkey symbolises humility, pure and true; but a horse signifies power, strength, and courage.

You and me, girl

I can only think that that wonderful white destrier will bear some resemblance to the little chestnut mare I love so dearly. She doesn’t always look like much, but Skye’s a mighty white steed on the inside, and she knows it.

Her fitness is getting to a level where she is even better able to prance about than before, and Skye is making the most of it. We’ve progressed from half an hour’s walking in early December to an hour’s outride with a mix of walking, trotting and cantering, probably about 10 or 20 minutes of trotting, 5 of cantering and the rest in walk. Well, I say cantering. I’d forgotten how good it feels to point her up our favourite hill, plant my hands in her mane and feel the world explode. She’s faster than she looks, but probably not as fast as she believes she is (she believes she’s faster than Secreteriat); but under the singing sky with the golden mare stretching up and onwards, leaping joyfully up banks and accelerating with every stride… I believe it too.

Arwen staring aghast at a 1m upright she popped over without any trouble. “You mean I actually JUMPED that?”

Arwen is also working on her fitness; despite her holiday, she’s probably just as fit as Skye right now. Jumping is the only thing that really gets to her and makes her tired. To be fair, we jump around 80-90cm for most of the session, going up to 1m at the end to practice the bigger heights, so it’s not like she’s trotting around a training show course.

Speaking of training show courses, we had better hurry up and get on one. I think her training’s at the stage where she could cope with it. At home, she would pop around the average track of training show height and standard without thinking twice. It’s the unfamiliar surroundings that I fear will get to her, Arwen being who she is.

The only thing that will really solve that, though, is going out to strange places and riding her there and working on it there, so I think it’s time to bite the bullet.

Thunder hasn’t had much work this week, I’m afraid. It’s just been a crazy week; I’m not

Not interested in abnormal human poking cameras in my face

entirely sure why. He was only lunged once and properly ridden once, although yesterday I did take him for a five-minute wander. It was time for the horses’ fly masks to come off (otherwise the silly things destroy them in the night) and they were scattered around their paddock and I was feeling lazy, so Thun, who had just had his grooming, was called upon to give me a lift.

He’s a special little guy. I can just slap a bridle on him, hop on bareback (OK, so that’s not so easy, but he stands still and I’m getting there) and trot off, newly-backed two-year-old and all. He’s an immensely trustworthy sort. I still haven’t let anyone else ride him. I tell Rain that he’s still too green and might buck her off, but the truth? I like the idea of having this horse that no one else has ever ridden, just me. I’ll get over it. It’s cool for now, though. 🙂

Magic is now two-thirds mine. Only a few more payments to go! I can’t wait to bring him home. His paddock has been fences off, and the supports for his roof planted, but it still needs some work before he can come over here.

He needs a lot of shelter, being a thoroughbred. My native lot are spoilt with a corrugated iron roof, under which they hide when it’s rainy or epically hot, but these indigenous types and crossbreds don’t really need anything. Magic is a bit different. He’s getting a roof all to himself, with walls made of shadenetting or rubber 1.5m conveyor belting (still finalising that) to act as windbreaks.

Then there was the dilemma of feeding hay. Skye and the rest of her Horde are greedy gutses and scarf a big round hay bale in less than a week (perhaps more if they have very good grazing), but a big bale would just rot if put out for one horse. I hate haynets (mostly because of the effort required to fill them and the hay seeds, which go EVERYWHERE), so we came up with a sort of improvised hay feeder. We’ll pour a slab of concrete on the floor and put an old tractor tyre (with holes drilled in the bottom for water to run out) on top of it. Fork the hay into the tyre, problem solved. I hope. I prefer feeding off the ground anyway, it seems more natural.

Magic will also have a self-refilling water trough in his paddock, because lugging water

Showing off his movement

around is another pet hate of mine. Much easier to have a ball valve and just check the thing for algae and leaks every day.

It’s fenced off with two-strand electric wire. I know electric tape is better for horses, and post-and-rail is really the best, but both are a bit out of my budget. The others live in a paddock with exactly the same fencing and it’s been far the safest – better than barbed or plain wire, that’s for sure. They don’t pull their manes out or destroy their fly masks on it, either.

Magic himself is doing splendidly; he’s still struggling to get his head around leading with the right foreleg, but all in good time. I simply can’t wait to bring him home and ride him every day. I’ve been riding him about twice a week, and he’s already improved, so I can’t imagine how nice he’ll be once I see him every day and ride him about four times a week. I definitely bond better with them when I do the feeding and cleaning up myself. The more consistent exercise will also bring out some muscles in his neck. It had better – the poor guy hardly has a neck at all and Skye with her proud crest might laugh at him.

I rode Sookie-Lynn on Thursday, too; the Mutterer gave us a lesson and we made some progress. Sookie is a really, really sweet newly-backed. But only when I have a dressage whip. Just carrying it seems to let her know that I mean business.

Her trot is improving; if I push her to a real extended trot, she goes in a proper rhythm, but in a working trot she still tends to flop along at her own beat and go 1… 2, 1-2 instead of 1-2-1-2. I originally thought she was lame, but it turns out that she’s just a bit young and lazy.

We also cantered for the first time. Sookie has never cantered under saddle before, and it

Pretty German princess

took a bit of kicking and waving the whip around before she finally got the idea and off she went. Eeep! She can move! She moves like she just has to put her feet down for the fun of it! She moves like a cloud! She moves like a rainstorm! When she moves. I just have to teach her to move whenever I ask her to and not just when the mood takes her. Anyway, she was suprisingly good; no bucking, no plunging off like a demented mustang with a pack of wolves on its trail (lots of youngsters do that), and she cantered about two laps without going back into a trot. Not bad at all. I need to remember to sit up straight and keep my hands up and shoulders back, and with a bit more work she should get a decent canter.

Maybe I should learn to speak German. She’s from Germany after all; perhaps she won’t listen because I’m asking in the wrong language. The only German I know is “Heil Hitler”, and somehow that doesn’t seem quite appropriate. 😉

She also has a really nice head position for her training level, bringing her nose in nicely whenever I ask her to, and a good soft mouth. She’ll make a capital horse with some more work. I’m looking forward to putting her over her first jump, too. She’s to be a showing horse and not a jumper, but I’d like to see how she feels over a jump. Warmbloods are supposed to be good at it.

Another upside: I think I’m finally learning to get on her without looking too stupid. Sookie is about 15.2-15.3hh, which is just an inch or two shorter than the top of my head. In short, she’s big, especially for me. To her credit, she is very patient and doesn’t protest at my clumsily clawing my way up her as if, in the words of Bree from The Horse and His Boy, she was a haystack.

I am blessed and delighted to live and work with these amazing animals. I think God had horses in mind when He made me, and I will try hard and study hard to have a career in horses so that I can spend my life with God’s most fearless beast. I want to serve God, and I think He’d like me to do it through horses, among other things. If I can spread God’s Word and serve my Lord the King and keep His commandments of love and have Him by my side, then that is all I should wish for. And blessed am I to do so in the midst of a noise of horses.