Love+horses...always horses

THREE years on a farm with horses and hounds definitely changed me. I bid adieu to my career and journalism and went to the farm under the guise of a sabbatical to work on my thesis. The thesis never got done – it progressed beautifully but it was never completed. Instead I basked in the guilty pleasure of silence and animals, novels and baking. Moving my single horse to the farm, knowing we’d be able to do rescue work – the excitement was intoxicating.  I was very happy.

I had to start work this year – four days per week up in Big Smoke (Johannesburg) and three on the farm. I started work to significantly alter our finances but also so that I could put something away, do something for myself – have something on my CV after three years. Every inch of cash I have had over the last three years went straight into horses, dogs, cats etc. It became ridiculous. Now armed with a salary, I can take care of myself a little AND take better care of the horses. Win/win. It did force me to take stock of what I need though, and upon careful inspection it became clear that Tristan and I were looking a little, well… Charles Dickens novel-esque. Last week I bought shoes for myself, not for a horse… I felt guilty. Yesterday I found a grey hair on my head and today I went to the hairdresser, I felt guilty about that too. I haven’t been to a hairdresser since 2009. For two reasons: 1) it costs far too much money 2) I actually started liking my wild, curly, mousy brown hair, a lot in fact. They must have taken 10cms off the ends! C’est la vie, goodbye curly rats tails.

The shoes need wearing in and the hair WILL look like Bruce Dickinson in the 80s after just one wash – but to me these expenses are so ridiculous and so obscure that it has been worth every cent.

I also took stock of the horses: the feed bills, the grooms, the five-weekly farrier, the dentist, the expensive rugs, the million and one grooming supplies, the supplements, the horse box… they are fairly set in spite of having an owner that resembled a hobo for three years.

I have them to thank, as an eternal student I would never have gotten my arse in gear to work a job like this - high responsibility, constant hard work even on weeknights. My horses motivate me and organise my life, even when I am too lazy to do it.

It has been a rough year so far, our dog ran off and never came back, our Blue pulled a ligament, our Rocky had a colic and I haven’t had time to cook – but in a few short weeks it has turned around beautifully.

I am feeling very light, and very fine indeed.

PS...

Yatan came home two weeks ago - and with work etc I've been too busy to post about it.

My good friend bought Yatan last year, and she stabled him with me in the interim. I was tasked with figuring out his niggles - hind leg drag, wants to take off as soon as you hop on. Yatan is an Arab and did quite well in the Endurance circuit in South Africa until they retired him from the sport at around 11 years old. The lady who sold him did so as he was becoming a pasture ornament too small for her to ride. My friend took him over in an effort to get a calm, bombproof riding pony for herself and her little girl to enjoy. Pretty soon we figured out he wasn't too bombproof and he seemed to have niggling discomfort due to old injuries. He was happy with us - he gained weight quickly and kept easily, he was friendly and well behaved. We never had any trouble with him. We trailered him to my friend when she was ready. It didn't work. She has had surgery to her back, and needs a bombproof pony. This guy wasn't as advertised.

A lady then offered a home for Yatan - pretty soon he was losing weight and she had all sorts of medical complaints. During his brief stay with us he had seen the farrier twice, the vet had been by and he was seen by the dentist - no one registered any serious problems. In short, he lost a mess of weight and trust in people while he was in his 'new home' and his heart was broken - my friend, shocked as all hell, then went to collect him again. He wouldn't load, in fact he wouldn't lead and he dragged her along as he took off when she put the halter on. Eventually this little, injured lady, loaded him up alone and took him back home. She then had to find another home for him, having had her fingers badly burnt. It did seem as if PTS was a good way to ensure he never got passed from pillar to post or mistreated.

This is where we stepped in. Tristan went to load him alone, as we have come to expect from him he was a perfect gentleman. We he got to the farm the groom was already waiting with a big smile and a 'welcome home Yatan!'. Everyone was happy.

He has settled in like a champ and is feeling fresh and full of himself. The minute he got to his old pasture with his old pals they all dropped down for an epic rolling session and a 'hey, how are you'. He'll not be ridden, I think he struggles with that old injury and it leads to stress and sore muscles. He'll wander around in-hand now and again. Welcome home Yatan.

Back at home - see how I run!

Love+horses and hounds (for Wolfie)

The new water hole, everyone had a taste.

Featured here from left to right: Bishop TB gelding, Zita Shar Pei, Nova rescue pony. Front: Adolf Rotti x and Seamus (who we think is a wolfhound x) rescued from SPCA.

Bishop dug that hole - it took him a while but he did it. When he was done Nova and the dogs came to sample the fresh water, the fruit of his labour. We let him go at it - he was having an absolute blast though working eerily meticulously for a horse. Also he was covered in mud head to toe afterwards and our brave photographer, Tristan, had his fair share of the muddy fallout flecked all over him too.

I'll get it done.

A note about Nova: she has grown out now, and isn't as tiny as in the photo. She was standing with her mom, and her asking price was about US$80 - well below meat value. She is as cheeky as she is smart, and possibly the most curios filly we ever had on the farm - she would come say 'hello' at night when we went out with the flash-light to check-in on everyone one last time before we go to bed. We'll have to move her on - as no one is small enough to bring her on for riding safely, but we'll do in-hand work with her first when she has grown some more. Hopefully she'll make one lucky child a happy person.

Do something for your friends - like Bishop. You won't regret it.

Revenge+... love?

WHAT can you really read on someone's dating profile (where I am sure people tend to wax just a little lyrical about themselves) that will put you off meeting strangers alone at night and inviting them home? For some, I found out to my surprise, it would have to be something very obvious like:  

• Age: Sexy Age (check) 
• Gender: Sexy Gender (check)
• Occupation: Rapist Man of your dreams (mmmmm - revert to facebook for clarification. Ahhh good it says he is a plumber, check)

If you are the sort of person who likes reading juicy bits of trivia about other people’s personal lives, you’re in for a treat. Bring out the popcorn ladies, Landers has a bit of soap-opera for you on this fine Friday afternoon.

This tale starts with my best friend looking for love. Being a classic nerd (I say this with love in my heart) he immediately filled in a profile on an online dating site (and that was the extent of his search). When he gets a response, the young lady has similar interests and it all seems pretty good. He went out with her a total of three times and then he let her know that he doesn’t see it going anywhere or feel it working out. He had his reasons, which I will discuss (while praying furiously to all the gods that he doesn’t read this blog).

She took it well at first, saying she completely understands where he is coming from and that she will walk away and leave it at that. Then the text messages started. She wasn’t happy, she felt this thing could work… (all of this directed at a boy from the internet that she has met three times in total). As bad as he felt about it, he proceeded to delete her as a contact off all social media and also delete his dating profile from the site.

Now, my mate isn’t much of a talker so I had to literally remove these small benign growths of information surgically over several daunting procedures. It started with, ‘well you saw her three times, surely you were a little into the whole thing’. ‘No, actually it just felt weird.’

Here is some background: my mate has zero social skills due to the aforementioned nerdsmanship. To him bridging this topic with her civilly has two possible outcomes. 1) escalates into raised voices or other forms of confrontation. 2) tears and remorse followed by him feeling wretched. For these reasons, every time he saw her he felt too bad or was slightly too inebriated to say ‘no’ to meeting her again. This lead to the three-date scenario. Also he was creeped out by the fact that she had confessed to meeting other men off the web numerous times, and yet she was happy to escalate the relationship into something more intimate on the third date. She has probably had a string of romantic encounters from the internet and that isn’t the sort of lady he wants to be with. In short, he is a prude – though a perfect gentleman. And I assure you that if she had postponed her advances by a month or two while dating him she would have had better luck.

 All of this aside, this young girl spends her time meeting men off the internet in a third world country in a city that is infamous for its staggering crime rates and boasts a rape every seven minutes. She meets these men and almost immediately invites them to her home. This is so dangerous and illogical that it has sat with me all week. I properly worry about girls such as this one, who act so outrageously irresponsibly with their lives, their reputations and their sexual health. The only thing higher than our crime rate is probably our HIV/Aids infection rate – which has escalated to epidemic proportions. We are encouraged by government through the vehicle of the media and through other health-conscious publications to have ourselves tested for HIV/Aids regularly and especially before becoming sexually active in a new relationship. What is even worse is the attitude that a middle-class white girl who meets men of the same background is somehow impervious to the ravages of sexually-transmitted diseases or will never be assaulted or endangered. It is a short-sighted, racist malaise that will only shatter once the unspeakable happens. For her, meeting men online probably has two possible outcomes. 1) Meet the man of my dreams 2) Meet the man of my dreams.

As for me, I’m proud of my friend – a young man with beer in his veins who said ‘no, thanks’. I am more proud of the fact that he used his reasoning and thought it through before leaping headlong into a relationship with someone who he doesn’t want to be with, only to break her heart at a later stage. I am proud that he felt upset over it, and guilty about possibly having hurt her feelings. 

Take care of your daughters, teach them about health and self-respect because beauty and happiness follow naturally from here. You will not regret it.