All By Moonlight

The best my phone can do with the bright moonlight.

Wally is always visible - even in starlight - but he glows in moonlight.

The little house on the prairie - alight beneath the moon.

 It has been uncommonly warm for October and November so far.  It makes for good time to spend outdoors, especially beneath the waxing moon.  I do not wander far from the house these days, or dare to hike the creek in the dark, or even follow the horse paths through the tall grass, day or night.  But I remember, and the magic retains its potency.

A Single White Horse

 Wally in 2013 with his black legs, dark mane and tail, and dappled hind end.

Sometimes you do not "see" someone or something you see every day.  I realized that Wally, the resident rock star of the wild horse herd, has become a white horse.  His dapples have been missing for awhile but I assumed it was because they faded in the sun.  When I thought it through, though, it did not make sense.  Before he came here, he lived in a lot with no shelter whatsoever from the sun or the weather.  He would have been faded when he arrived if that was the problem.  Then I wondered if he was ill with some obscure horse disease, or, at the very least, missing a vital nutrient in his diet.  I finally admitted complete ignorance and googled for information.  Lo and behold, gray horses gradually become white horses.  Sometimes I call him Walter as a term of endearment.  Now that I have noticed he is entirely white, well.... now I call him Walter White.

My horses have no jobs or responsibilities.  They are the supreme beings of this little faux ranch.  They do not even have to behave except when Vince comes to trim their hooves or the vet comes to give them shots.  Vince and the vet are both men.  Men are of no particular concern to Ginger, the little mare.  She has been owned and trained by women.  Her dealings with men have always been under the watchful eye of women, so she has no idea of the abuse that men often inflict on horses.  To Ginger, humans are but mere servants she must tolerate at times, like it or not.  

Wally, on the other hand, has some respect for men.  Not because I think he was ever abused but because men typically deal with horses in a different way.  I gently ask for his cooperation but men demand his cooperation and are not opposed to a physical reminder.  In the long absence of any men in Wally's life - save the few times a year he is attended by vet or farrier - he has come to think quite highly of himself.  Occasionally, he politely refuses to stand still so I can put a halter on his head.  Sometimes he lays his ears back at me simply because I have the audacity to serve hay or oats to Ginger first!  Once in awhile, he thinks he can use me as a scratching post, scrubbing his big horse head against my arm or shoulder, almost knocking me down.  He has long been a well behaved horse but there are times when he misbehaves, just to see what he can get away with... you know, sort of "breaking bad"...  

Disregard the dirt and the dust.  Walter is White now...

My Horses

A misty late summer morning. Cockle burrs in her mane.

Also cockle burrs in Walai Lama's mane.

One of the greatest passions of my life has been horses. It is the one thing that remains brilliantly clear in my childhood memories. I loved them with all of my heart and soul. Any thing I might say now to express how I felt then is only an interpretation - an interface of words - because the heart of a child has no spoken language and neither does the heart of a horse.

When I was too young and physically too small to manage anything about my desire to spend time with the horses it led me toddle all the way from the house to the barn unnoticed by my mother. Our house was located by a county black top road with high speed traffic. There was a creek and a river within sight of the house. There was a deep stock tank full of water. My mother found me in the barn with three horses, two of which were dominant mares that had been feuding for days to determine who was boss. If you have never witnessed this, it is an ugly, powerful dispute with punishing kicks and crushing bites and sudden, violent lunges to avoid getting pounded whenever possible. My mother found me standing with my arms around the back legs of my father's mare, Lady. She was the boss. It was her barn but the other mare had not yet conceded. I am sure my mother could have fainted with fear.

Mom did not dare to enter the barn, afraid that would set the mares in motion - either to kick or to step on me. She stood outside and persuaded me to come away from the horses on my own. As soon as I was out of danger, Lady took a cheap shot at the other mare with a viscous broadside kick to the belly. The horses could have easily inadvertently killed me that day. I believe horses recognize human children as babies to be protected the way they protect their own babies. I would not bet the lives of my children on that belief, though. Nevertheless, I loved that big red mare and she loved me. She would never have done anything to hurt me. I loved her before I could even speak and she understood that. Every horse on the planet should have the good fortune to be loved, heart and soul, by a little girl.

My horses now deal with me as an adult human, an entirely different level. It is more like a superior species tolerating a sub-par race of beings with only two legs. My horses know I love them but it is not the same soul connection I had with Lady. To be fair, there are a few other things in life I love more than my horses if it were ever to come down to a choice. There are things my horses love far more than they love me! Generally, they know I am not going to hurt them and I know they will not hurt me on purpose. This is our agreement.

The older I become, and the more life experience I have, the easier it is to express the why of things - the what of things. The simple routine task of throwing hay to the horses affords the daily opportunity to see their fluid physical movements as they manage long legs and long necks. I admire the shape of horses, the evolution of their physical bodies, their physical grace. Ginger is not a photogenic horse. She never looks beautiful in photographs but she is a beautiful horse in person. Wally is the opposite. He photographs well but in person he is a bit lumpy and his conformation is not the best. Their personalities are different. Wally is expressive in both his movements and vocally. He loves any excuse to gallop with head and tail high. I loved him immediately but I was always lacking in his estimation. For a long time he missed his former humans and he did not care much for me. That seems to be changing.

Ginger is too serious, too much of a supreme being to be anything but demanding and bossy. Ginger is an American Quarter horse with apparently a lot of the old stock in her genes so she doesn't have the gait or the spring in her legs of the newer AQH lineages. She is also a bit lazy. Galloping requires too much effort, except on certain occasions. Sometimes I worry that maybe she is in some pain because she once loved to race the barn. Wally still thunders to the barn full steam but Ginger often walks when called. Wally entirely, if not enthusiastically, agrees that she is the Supreme Being, so maybe she simply does not need to run. Wally easily moves out of her way whether it is food, treats, water, or grooming. Sometimes he pins his ears back in irritation at her demands. I do not blame him. She really is the boss and no one likes the boss that much. Except me.

This week Ginger developed a swelling beneath her eye. The vet prescribed an anti-inflammatory that apparently tastes like warmed over hell to her. The medicine is in a very large "syringe", to be administered by sticking it into her mouth as far as possible then squeezing a predetermined dosage far back on her tongue. First of all, there were no instructions on the box how to set the syringe for a predetermined dosage. I spent 10 minutes twisting and pulling on the only movable part in a two-part apparatus, to no avail. Then I spent 30 minutes looking for a You Tube video to show me how to do this. Even the pharmaceutical site had nothing so I knew that meant it was soooooo simple even a dumb-ass would be able to figure it out. As it turns out, a very cleverly disguised ring twists down the plunger to create an automatic stop. Then, in addition to everything else that has gone to hell in my body, my hand was not strong enough to squeeze the plunger. I would need to use both hands and Ginger would have to willingly hold the syringe in her mouth. Yeah, that was going to happen. So, I was hiding the medicine in oats and in apples and in maple syrup - all wasted effort. I have never seen a horse react so badly. It was a sight to behold. I had never witnessed a horse spit food out of its mouth and it is an amazing dance of head tossing and curling the upper lip and pacing! Luckily, the swelling was subsiding so the Vet said to continue the antibiotics alone. That consisted of mixing powder into feed she finds irresistible and yes, I "wuz smart enuff to figger it out". The swelling is entirely gone now, but if it comes back after the antibiotics, it is going to get a lot more complicated and expensive.

I wish, sometimes with all my heart, that I could ride my horses. I could ride them - after reconstructive knee surgery, physical therapy, someone else riding the horses for a solid year to make them trustworthy, and a huge effort in several other areas. It is not important that I ride them. It is important that they are here for me to tend to, to brush, and feed. It is good to put my hands on the graceful arc of a horse neck, or stroke a velvet nose. Though I do not do it as often as I once did, I sometimes need to lean against a big warm body and rest my head in the curve of a mighty shoulder, my arms loosely around a neck. They suffer this for a not even a full minute but they know it is part of their job description.

Perhaps the best, the most important is to sit in the bales in the barn in silence and enter into the calm, contented sphere of horse energy as they carefully pick through their share of hay. Their simple happiness in that moment is palpable and contagious. Sometimes in Wall's liquid black eye, I catch a glimpse of a great gentle Spirit. Sometimes in the dark golden depth of Ginger's eyes, the generous heart of the horse nation shines clearly. Horses are a nation of beautiful wild beings that generously came in from the wild steppes to help us evolve, to teach us to be as loving beings as they themselves are.

A Family Tradition

The author on her noble steed, Cricket.

The author's aunt on her noble steed, Cricket.

The noble steed Cricket gave birth to baby Patches on an Easter Sunday!

Patches grown up.

My aunt (sitting behind) and Superman on his noble steed Cricket.

The horse virus infected me surely before I was even born. Had I been born free of that incurable affliction, I was certainly infected almost immediately upon arrival. My paternal grandfather was a respected bronc rider as a young man and he retired a mature, respected cattle man. There was ample room in that time span for the horse virus to spread to those in his family born without natural immunity. The worst symptom is keeping expensive horses (even when the patient is unable to ride) simply because there is a need to see horses every single day. I could never get enough time with horses when I was a kid so I grew up, bought land, planted it to tall grass, built a barn and a fence and now I am the indentured servant to horses every single day. It is a powerful affliction, that horse virus.

I have written about my first loves - my father's cow pony, Lady, and my own first horse, Cricket. I have also written a bit about my grandparents, and my father and his brothers and sister. (Some links are included at the end, in case you are interested.) My aunt emailed these priceless photos and shared memories of the horses and the wonderful, long ago times. Receiving the photographs was better than winning the lottery! My dreams this week have been filled with the horses, my parents and grandparents, and that wonderful old farmstead on the bank of the Little Walnut River. My aunt and I came to the same conclusion that those were the happiest times of our respective lives. Undoubtedly, the secret ingredients were the horses and the freedom we were given to spend our days roaming the river.

I was the last child to ever love the old mare, Cricket. She was almost at the end of her natural life when she was brought to our barn for me to "ride". I was so young that I was more than content to simply sit on her, which was fine with Cricket. I always assumed she was one of my grandpa's retired cowponies but I found out she was actually purchased as a children's horse for the cousins one generation ahead of me. By default she became my aunt's horse, and shortly after, none other than Superman (my Uncle Jerry) laid claim to the gentle horse.

My aunt shared some wonderful stories. She tells them best: "Now you have heard the story of Jerry and Cricket. We had the yard fenced at the time. But he would ride that horse by himself at 18 months old. He would get up and put on all of his gear, neck kerchief, leather cuffs, pair of guns, cowboy hat, boots, pair of jeans and belt and his cowboy shirt and he would ride that horse till he’d go to sleep on her and Cricket would bring him by the front door and Mom would go get him and bring him in and put him in his bed."

And this: "Patches' dad was a big old horse. And Patches was not a good riding horse either. Rough ride! Oh, I remember Cricket when she was found that Easter Sunday as Daddy didn’t tell us. He just said, "Come on, let's take a ride". He took us down by the river and there she was with her baby colt. Didn’t have a clue she was going to have a baby! They never told us a thing! I think Dad was afraid she couldn’t do it cause that horse was so big and she was pretty old at the time. But she did it..."

So there you have a brief history of the wonderful old mare Cricket who carefully nurtured many, many children, not just those in our family. And there is the added wonderful Easter surprise story of Patches, the horse that grew up to step on my bare feet so many times that it had to have been on purpose. Surely she got that ornery streak from her father, the "big old horse" from next door!

Not only did I get a bit more insight and information regarding my dear Grandpa, my father, my aunt and uncle, but photos and stories about the horses, too! What a gift.

Superman

Bonnie Vista

A Sailor Writes Home

Supreme Beings

Coming home last evening, I saw Wally toss his head up at the first sound of my car and then leap forward into a joyful gallop toward the barn. His head high and his tail streaming behind, he was breathtakingly beautiful in the waning light of day. I wished with all my heart our paths had converged much earlier in life. He and I would have covered hundreds of miles together. He does not possess the most beautiful conformation of the Arabian breed, but he does possess the grace and lightness of all his forebears. "Oh, Wally!" I thought to myself. "You deserve a far better name!"

Of course, the magnificent gallop was toward the barn because I would soon be throwing hay. Wally knows if he gets there first, he can sometimes grab a few bites of extra hay before Miss Thang gets there with her iron hooves of rule. He also uses it as an excuse to run because that is what horses do.

Though I spent most of my childhood around horses, I do not know a lot about them. I am still a rank amateur except in what I have observed of their behavior during the time spent caring for them. Before Wally there was my dear little Orphan Annie. She was a horse with a sense of humor. She thought it was funny to gently knock me over when I bent down to pound the snow and ice out of the feed tub. I realize the idea that a horse might have a sense of humor is impossible for some people, but once you've experienced humor from another species, it is unmistakable. The intent is clear.

Ginger is too busy making sure she is the boss to have a sense of humor. Everyone better do as she says - or else! She and I have had a minor dispute a time or two. Hard to say who won. I am still walking around without any broken bones, so I guess she grudgingly concedes the ultimate title of Boss to me. Some one has to earn money to buy her hay and hoof care, after all. Since I bring home the bacon, that makes me the real boss. Ginger loves me. Of course she loves Wally more but I am her favorite human being. I humbly accept this affection from her highness.

Wally is a different story. He has never bullied me or pushed me around - except for unceremoniously rubbing his big head against me whenever I put a halter on him! He loves Ginger and takes his duties as protector of their little herd seriously, always going forward toward whatever threat they both can hear along the creek that keeps them on point. There seems to be a sadness in Wally. When the vet visited the first time, he came into the pasture wearing a ball cap. At first sight of a man in a ball cap, Wally snorted in recognition and came running only to slam on the brakes when he realized it was a stranger. I was certain Wally thought it was his former owner and that made me so sad. Wally likes me okay but he does not love me the way Ginger does.

I have read about old horse cultures that built their winter dwellings so they could shelter their horses with them. Of course, horses were the lifeblood of their survival so they would go to great lengths to protect them. But anyone who has ever loved a horse knows that if it were just more practical, living together in the same dwelling would be a great idea! They are just too darned big and then there's all that manure... I will settle for looking out the back door every morning to see my horses waiting for their breakfast.

Horse Persons

Ginger and Wally, who insists on rolling in the dirt!

These two equine beings constitute my wild horse herd. They are not genuinely wild but few people have ever ridden either of these beasts. Ginger was ridden a few times by a consummate horsewoman many years ago and returned to me greenbroke, not a finished horse as I was expecting. I fell off when Ginger suddenly whirled around on a dime - as all good Quarter Horses can do. The laws of centrifugal force cast me ignobly onto the sand of my neighbor's riding arena in shame and embarrassment. In my defense, I was riding an English saddle for the first time in my life, with two bad knees. It might have been different had I been riding a western saddle. I was incredibly lucky that I did not break anything, not even my ass. I gave up on my idea of ever riding again after that. The pain in my knees makes it impossible anyway.

Wally is a clever horse. According to his former owners, when inexperienced people attempted to ride him, he simply refused to move. When experienced riders saddled up to make him behave, he would only back up. He refused to move forward. It is possible that he has some form of horse dyslexia because he survived being struck by lightning, amazingly enough. Knowing Wally the way I do, I think it is far more likely that he understands exactly the dynamics of not cooperating with his captors.

There are people who could and would take my horses and "break" them. Wally would know to ride out - or else. Ginger would likely have the worst of it as she firmly believes she is the Supreme Being. It would be ugly and horrible to break her. As it stands, my horses are safe to be around, to halter and lead. They are safe for the farrier. The vet is a bit dicey but that is understandable! (If I thought I could rabbit punch the doctor and get away with it for the pain and suffering he inflicts on my person...) Ginger unfortunately kicked a human being last year, but I believe she was aiming at Wally. Our human friend was collateral damage. If she had intended to kick our friend, the outcome would have been quite serious if not tragic. As it was, there was no bruising or swelling but I continue to regret that it happened.

The best advice is to always pay attention around horses - just in case.

I also did not name these wild beasts! Ginger surely must be named for the fictional mare in the children's book Black Beauty - the chestnut horse of great spirit and suffering who died of ill treatment and heavy work in the streets of 1800's London - the way countless real horses have died of ill treatment at the hands of human beings.

Wally's name is a shortened version of a fancy Arabian name that I was never told. He is a registered Arabian. His former owners kept his papers as a way to insure that I would never be tempted to sell him for instant cash but that would never happen. I might have to find a new home for my horses some sad day, but it will not be for money.

I do not know what names I would have given either of the horses. Based on my track record with dog names (Nuke, Duke, and Jake) and the one horse I named Annie, they would likely be unassuming, unoriginal names but never Ginger or Wally. It is too late now as both horses know their names - either from the sound of it, or from the energy behind it. I have never figured out which it is with horses. Science has already proven that dogs can understand over 150 human words. While horses learn voice commands, they are such an intuitive and sensitive creature that I think their communications with human beings occurs well before a human voices a single word.

I sometimes feel badly for Wally. If I could afford a real barn, with wide stalls and big doors that could be closed against the cold winter winds - he could eat and drink in peace apart from Ginger's constant dominance. If I could build a nice paddock for him to live in, his beautiful tail and mane would grow luxurious and long. I could braid his mane and polish his hooves. He would never be covered with cuckleburrs or mud.

If Ginger had a real barn to live in, she would be the first to enter and the first to exit. She could shelter against the cold and heat, too. Her mane would never grow luxurious, but her tail would. All three of us should have had better fortune in life!

Kind Faces

To get good photos of the mares and colts in this pasture, I had to come to the fence. When I came to the fence, so did the horses. I was lucky to get any photos at all. The world already has too many pictures of horses with their faces over a fence.

The first horses to greet me (get in my line of vision) were babies and youngsters. Should I live to be 300 years old, attention from a horse will never fail to delight me. I petted each beautiful face in turn. Then Big Mamma parted the crowd, coming to investigate. She waited a very polite 30 seconds for everyone to give way then she sped up the proceedings with flattened ears and a threat to bite. Everyone immediately gave her royal highness space front and center. I was allowed to pet her face and neck, but with no treats forthcoming, she summarily ended the audience. With her regal behind moving away, the more timid herd members came to the fence.

When all the horses, young and old, were satisfied there was nothing in it for them, they all moved back out of reach of the fence. I returned to my car - down a steep and slippery bank. By the time I was back in the car, these two little guys, most assuredly at the very bottom of the pecking order, had their turn at the fence. If only I had a carrot or an apple or a peppermint on hand! It would have been worth the climb back up the hill to pet these adorable creatures. Because I did not have anything to give them, I did not return to the fence, which was surely just as well. If their boss is as mean as Ginger, they might have been punished for getting a treat when she did not. They stayed close to the fence patiently watching, just in case, then they turned away, too. They looked so sad! I was sad, too.

Merry Christmas

Where's Wallo?

It was a beautiful Christmas Day, such a pleasant day that I thought I would take some special photos of my horses, specifically the one who takes herself very seriously. I could only get a single photo - and it is a bad one. No matter what I did to entice her, Ginger refused to look at the camera again. She knew.

Peace on Earth and Good Will Toward (Some) Men

From the Critters and the Crazy Woman at Spirit Creek

Superior Beings

Her majesty Ginger and the Walai Lama

I have been absolutely demoted to the lowest caste in Horse culture this summer. I am one eye blink away from untouchable status right now. My existence is not even acknowledged unless I have a treat or a brush in my hand. This is because their pasture is six feet deep in big blue stem and I have only been to the barn a few minutes daily to make sure they have water and no one is bleeding. If there is not something in this relationship for them, then they do not even pretend interest in me.

Wally's former people said Wally would be the boss, and they were right - as long as he allows Miss Snot Face to eat and drink first, and hog all the treats, and be groomed first. If he decides it is time to head for the pasture, she follows along even if it means walking away from the curry comb. She can walk away from Wally though, and he just watches her go. He sees where she is going then carries on with whatever he deems more important than following after her fat, grumpy behind.

I am seldom irritated with Wally. He does everything I ask of him. He tolerates (ignores) me calling him: Wallery, Wall', Walter, William Wallace, Walai Lama, Big Teensy, Gooby and a lot of other names so infantile and sweet and asinine that even I, the woman of no self esteem, refuse to admit on the world wide web that I speak them aloud. Wall' is just a big ol' goofy sweetheart and I love him! All I want to do is hug his big neck and rub his soft nose and lean against his big round belly. He does not truly appreciate any of it. He is smart enough to know that all treats come from human hands. If he ever wants a pear he simply must endure the hugging. In his mind it is a fair trade.

Miss Thing, on the other hand, most often hears "Ginger!" and "Goddamn it!" and all possible variants. Oh, she eventually does what I ask, but it must always look as if it is her idea. It is the typical vying between two alpha females. (I'm pathetic but I am a human being - I have one or two advantages over a horse.) Sometimes Ginger forgets her royal self when I am brushing her, and she gathers up the back of my shirt in her rubbery horse lips and returns the favor of mutual grooming. If she is in a very expansive and royal mood, I might get the top of my head nibbled. All the horses did this to me when I was child, and it still makes me laugh. I think mussing a human's hair is an equine term of endearment. I cannot help myself. I love Miss Thing, too.

Years ago Ginger was sent away to Bonner Springs for 60 days of training. (I still held the dream that I was going to ride Ginger.) The young woman who did the training had no trouble with my horse. She said Ginger was smart and brave. The old woman who tended all the horses stabled there did not like Ginger. It was an equal and mutual dislike. Whenever the old woman had the lead rope, Ginger would back up, toss her head, and misbehave. She even reared up once when I was there. Ginger stopped short of bolting away or being an outright bad horse, but she and the old woman hated each other's guts. Well, I did not care for that old grouchy woman myself. My relationship with Ginger is simple: in return for small personal favors, Ginger will sometimes be nice to me. In my mind it is a fair trade.

Proof that Wally Is Better Than Rhett Butler

Though my "barn" has two stalls, both of them large enough to shelter two horses each from the rain and wind, Ginger claims both empty stalls for herself just as you would expect a self-important diva to demand.  My dear little orphan Annie stood outside in the rain and snow all the time.  Only in the most extreme weather would Ginger allow Annie to shelter in the least favored stall.  Though it is difficult behavior for a human being to witness, all of horse society evolved to protect and perpetuate the species.  Besides, humans have more than their fair share of survivalist self-preservation and underhanded, cut-throat behaviors.  (Units in a cube farm bear a remarkable resemblance to barn stalls, now that I think about it.)

Wally has also been relegated to sheltering outside the barn.  Poor guy.  His genetics stretch far back into the deserts and blazing suns of the Arab nations.  He is light of bone and carries no extra fat on his beautiful body.  There is nothing that makes him particularly well-suited to Kansas winters. But Wally is smart enough to figure if he must stand in the cold, then Ginger should, too.  He often takes shelter out in the pasture, and because she cannot let Wally out of her sight, Ginger stands in the cold rain as well.

This morning, as soon as I was awake and on my feet, I looked out to visually confirm two horses alive and well.  It is a well-established routine but made much easier by now living closer to the barn, and by the existence of the wonderful screened porch. It has been raining most of the night.  It is cold and dreary and muddy, and though it is May, it is more like November weather.  Through the gloom and mist in the pre-dawn light, I saw two horses in the same barn stall.  Side by side, both sheltering from the miserable cold rain.  I ran to get my camera to record Wally's triumph of charm and equine persuasion.  It was a terrible photograph.  By the time the light was sufficient to get a good photo, both horses had left the barn for their day job of eating grass.

I know better shots have been taken of Big Foot, but here is my proof that Wally is a charming genius, better than Rhett Butler. 

Wally Gives Me a Lesson In Serenity

It is Sunday morning and I brought a folding chair and the only TV stand I own over to my new house.  It is not quite finished, but the phone and Internet service were restored Friday morning.  So... here I am in this wonderful little home, having my morning tea and cream, and writing the first blog from the new office.  The view is to the south and west now, entirely opposite of the old view.  I wonder what will change? 

The dogs are confused.  They know I am in this house, but they are hanging around the old house, not quite sure where they are supposed to station themselves in order to be my constant companions and protectors.  (Well, in Jake's case, the constant Irritant Supreme.)

I can see ALL of the birds who frequent the small feeder hanging in the old "front yard".  There are so many!  I had no idea such a small amount of seed would attract so many, and such a variety of birds.

Building a new house has been a very long and drawn out experience of disappointment and anxiousness.  Though  the end is in sight, there are many things that must happen yet.  Despite myself, I worry about what could easily go amiss, taking this beautiful little corner of the earth away from me. 

Thursday was farrier day for my horses Ginger and Wally.  Ginger was her normal stubborn self.  When you are the queen of the known universe, you do not have to worry about keeping anyone but yourself happy.  Wally, bless his big lovable heart, gave me a much needed lesson in serenity.  As he has grown accustomed to being the apple of every one's eye, he has gradually assumed a regal and haughty demeanor.  He does not even acknowledge me when I bring his oats in the morning!  He has also decided he does not have to move out of my way.  If I crowd him, he moves toward me.  Not in a threatening way - just letting me know who rules the kingdom, in his not so humble opinion. 

He wanted to rub his big head against me because he had to wear his halter.  It must be a fairly significant horse insult.  I finally slapped his neck quite forcefully, and I could feel a spike of self-righteous anger filling my belly.  He got that message loud and clear.  Later when he did not want to behave for Terrie and started crowding her, I was greatly dismayed.  Terrie told me not to start expecting him to behave like that, so I immediately took a deep breath and relaxed.  Wally immediately stopped misbehaving.  As I made a conscious effort to remain unworried and calm, thinking of how happy I was to have Wally and Ginger in my life, and how grateful I was for Terrie's expertise and genuine care for the welfare of my horses, and more such thoughts, Wally's eyes began to droop as Terrie trimmed and filed and sanded his hooves.  I entered into that safe and quiet state of mind that is a horse's preferred and natural state of being.  I once knew this effortlessly and perfectly as a child around my father's horses, but I had forgotten its essence entirely as an adult.  Oh, I knew to remain calm, but I had forgotten what it felt like to enter into that easy state with the horse.  But Wally reminded me.  I have been a little bit high on life since Thursday when Wally showed me once again how easy and desirable it is to be in the moment, and to appreciate the simple fact that we are alive.

Once He Knows She Loves Him...

The Handsome Walai Lama

Her Majesty The Queen

There have been changes in my horses, in their relationship, since last fall.  The thrill is gone.  They spend time apart in the pasture, though I am certain if I were to lead Wally away from Ginger, she would become agitated and vocal.  I am not entirely sure Wally would care if I led Ginger away.

The most striking change has been in Ginger, in her unwillingness to kick or bite Wally.  She no longer angrily enforces his adherence to the dictates of good horse etiquette.  He was even allowed to eat oats at the same time she was eating oats from the same bucket one morning!  I stepped back expecting an outraged squeal and a bite, maybe a kick.  All she did was flatten her ears and toss a half-hearted warning that she could bite him, if he were just worth it.  (Women, we all know that feeling, don't we?)  He casually walked to his own bucket as if he had just scored.

Wally's behavior toward me has changed, too.  I am the at the very bottom of his list of peasantry, even lower than I am in Ginger's estimation!  I am not allowed to pet his neck when he is eating oats - the very same oats I toil in the cube farm to purchase by the 50 pound bag, which is almost too heavy for me to handle - the oats I bring to his royal pain-in-the-assness every morning regardless of the temperature or weather conditions. 

According to the horse experts on RFD, the dominant horse is the one who makes the others move.  So, I was trying to brush the dirt from Wally's royal hide, something he clearly cannot do for himself, and he would not move his hind end to give me room.  I told him to move and he ignored me.  I pressed my thumb into the muscle of his hip and kept the pressure on.  Instead of moving away from that pressure, he leaned into it.  I pressed harder and he stepped toward me!  I slapped his rump for such an affront.  Instead of just stepping over, like he knew I wanted him to do, he spun his rear end entirely 180 degrees away from me.  Oh, he is thinking quite highly of himself these days!

But the most remarkable change is Ginger's total refusal to correct Wally at all.  He is always threatening to cross the clearly established line of who eats first.  Between the fence panels and the round pen, there is only about a 20 foot space, so Ginger can defend her right to the first bucket easily by standing there with her hind end pointed at Wally.  He cannot get around her.  She bucks up and threatens to kick, but does not.  He dances away, but he is always crowding her, always pushing his luck, and constantly scheming how to get his way.  What a ying yang he is!

The other day I witnessed Ginger repeatedly bucking and threatening to kick Wally.  He did not even move out of range, confident she was not going to clobber him.  He just tossed his head and mane around like he was handsome, and desirable, and well loved, and she did not tell him differently.  Poor Ginger.

Oh Delicious Hay

The horses, Ginger and Wally, have been getting hay daily for a couple of weeks now.  The quality of the pasture is mostly devoid of nutrients even though they still spend time grazing.  This is the first autumn with Wally and it is an adventure to discover his "table manners". 

While watching me walk up the path to the barn both horses behave as if they are retarded in the old fashioned, politically incorrect sense of that word.  One or the other will call to me.  Ginger paces the fence with her head turned so both eyes are directly facing the fence.  Wally stands in one place and tosses his head about in a bizarre imitation of sparring giraffes.  What is wrong with those two nitwits?  They belong on the short bus!  (The short trailer?)

You would think they are starving, but that is not so.  Wally lost some of his big belly due to the earlier illness, but Ginger is still fat - too fat according to the farrier and my neighbor who owns five horses.  I do not recall my father's horses, or grandpa's horses behaving like idiots at feeding time but maybe they were not waiting on such delicious hay.  Maybe the brome hay baled just down the road is so delectable that it makes my two horses loco.

As soon as I throw the hay over the fence for Ginger (of course her majesty the Queen is served first), Wally's antics kick into high gear.  When he gets his serving, his entire body relaxes and if he could speak, he would be crooning, "Oh hay, oh delicious hay, oh delectable hay."

One amazing thing - Ginger and Annie had to be fed at least 75 feet apart or Ginger would run back and forth trying to eat from both servings.  I discovered 75 feet was far enough away that it made her antics impractical and Annie could usually eat in peace.  Wally can eat his hay just a few feet from Ginger.  Wally does not know how good he has it in the Kingdom of Ginger.

Silly horses!

    

And Then I Call My Other Horse....

First, he stops in a cloud of dust!

Do I want to make the trip or not?

Maybe I'll gallop over and slam on the brakes at the last moment - make it worth my time. 

It would be bad form to scare her.  She is pretty old.

What ridiculous contraption is she holding in front of her face?



Doesn't look dangerous. 

Humans are soooooo lame... but she might have a pear...

Waaaaaaait a minute.... Did I hear a booger?

Yes, I heard a booger.

Oh, OK.  Now let's see if what's-her-name has a pear.

If she thinks I am going to stare into that contraption...

So do you have a pear or not?

I do not see a pear. I'll save face and nibble at this plant.  

What a wasted trip!

When I Call My Horse

This better be good!

I was eating, you know!

Taking pictures again?

That does not impress me.

You called me over, so here I am, Sweetheart!

You better stop bothering me unless you have something good to eat.

Is this close enough for you?

How about now?

You are so lame...

Farrier Day

WTH?

Stop Right There! 

Freshly Trimmed Hooves - Aren't They Beautiful?  

Wally's Hooves Need A Few More Months Of Terrie's Magic

Pausing to Check for Invisible Boogers

Wally Taking Off At His Usual Rocket Speed

Saturday morning was farrier day.  It is always a big deal because it is so exciting to have visitors in Pastureland!  I call the horses up if needed but usually they are already hanging around the barn.  They are haltered and given a little treat, then I begin brushing them, hoping to have them as calm as possible before Terrie arrives.

Terrie is a natural "barefoot" farrier.  Some wise people at the AANHCP (Association for the Advancement of Natural Horse Care Practices) researched the mustang hoof and developed a way to trim the domestic hoof to match the mustang.  Even though my horses are not working horses, it makes sense to me that their hooves should be trimmed to match what is natural.  I am grateful for Terrie's knowledge and skill, not to mention her patience with Ginger who insists on misbehaving most of the time.  She does not kick but stubbornly insists on putting her feet down whether Terrie is finished or not.  Terrie always wins after a tussle.  And Ginger always exhales in surrender.  I assume it is a game Miss Thing enjoys playing.  That does not mean I do not want to whack her with a big stick for being such a pain - Ginger, not Terrie.

It was the second time Terrie trimmed Wally's hooves, and after just a little struggle - until he figured out what we wanted him to do - Wally was the perfect gentleman - far better behaved than Ginger.  I swear horses are the most sensitive, psychic animals in the universe.  Though she did not say anything, I think Terrie was a bit relieved that Wally was so well behaved.  I was so relieved and outright happy that the morning had gone so well that both horses sensed the change and were suddenly spirited and rejoicing, too.  Wally was prancing, tossing his head, thundering up to me and slamming on the brakes, only to spin away in a cloud of dust.  He actually forgot himself and thundered up to Miss Thing, who squealed in warning, sending Wally back pedaling in a flurry of mane-waving head tossing.  You would have thought Wally ruled the universe, which of course, he does.

The Wally Lama

It took such a long time to find another horse after losing my dear Annie because I was waiting for the Wally Lama.  He is the one.  In the first place, Ginger lo-o-v-e-s Wally with all of her bossy little horse heart.  Of course, that does not mean she is necessarily nice to him.  He clears out with all speed, even to the point of walking backwards if need be to stay out of Ginger's reach.  I have never seen Ginger actually kick or bite Wally, but he is a peace-loving guy, and practical, choosing to let Miss Thing believe she rules the universe.  Wally knows if mama ain't happy, ain't no body happy.  Ginger's meanness toward him only applies to treats, food and water. She magnanimously allows Wally to breathe all the air he wants. 

In the second place, I l-o-v-e Wally with all my crazy old horse lady heart.  He has a "yummy" spirit.  I want to pet his velvet nose and rub his wise forehead, where surely the energetic pattern remains from the ancient, mysterious past when horses were unicorns.  He is kind of goofy and funny and the product of his Arabian genes, tossing his head and lifting his front hooves in alarm, ready to thunder away at the merest hint of alarm.  He is so much taller than I am, especially when he lifts his head to intently watch and listen for danger - like cows grazing in the next pasture over or a guy on a bicycle pedaling along the road.

Wally is also mysterious.  He survived being struck by lightning.  Human beings who survive lightning strikes sometimes become lightning shamans.  As they heal, they realize they are clairvoyant or clairaudient.  Some can see and hear spirits, and almost all become natural healers in one way or another.  I wonder if the same can happen to horses. 

Horses are naturally sensitive and empathic.  They have an inherently gentle and healing nature.  Once a human being experiences a horse as a fellow sentient traveler in life, it is almost impossible to want to dominate, ride or otherwise subjugate a horse.  It is important to me to simply love my horses as they are and for them to peacefully spend their days in my keeping.  It is a small gesture of gratitude in recognition of the enormous debt human beings owe to the horse.  We became "civilized" upon the backs and sacrifice of the horse nation.

Wally is no fool.  His previous owners told me that when inexperienced riders tried to ride Wally, he simply refused to move.  When experienced riders were called in to correct Wally, his answer was to only move backward.  No one had the time or the patience to convince Wally he is supposed to ride out at the bidding of human beings.  A dedicated trainer could turn Wally into a fine riding horse but Wally apparently believes in a different destiny for himself.  His choices eventually landed him in my life, so perhaps he knows exactly what he is doing.

Mysterious Wally

Post Script:  Ginger is actually far nicer to Wally than she ever was to Annie.  Both Ginger and Wally have spots along their necks where their manes are rubbed off because they spend so much time grooming one another.