It's been ‘a lot’…

MANY things have happened. Some happened at once, others in brief intervals between one thing and another, and things keep happening still.

Things happening is good and bad. When the thing happens where I have had too much sugar to focus on working or blogging all in a vain and stupid attempt to stay awake in order that I may work or blog, that is a bad thing happening. When the thing happens when you get food poisoning so bad you are down for three days that too is a bad thing. Eating out when you know you should be cooking your own food, tends to be a bad thing.

When the thing happens where you wake up after three days of being down and in bed with cramps and sore muscles and you wake up and flow into yourself again, scrub off all the sleep and read then you have turned a bad thing into a good thing. When you eat raw food for a week because you feel toxic and lousy, this is also a good thing.

When you stay awake until 2am to finish a company website’s copy and update contents, knowing that you’ll be sleeping late tomorrow and enjoying the camaraderie of a team of people, all in exhausted good cheer and high energy working together like cogs then you have turned a bad thing into a good thing, minus the midnight snacking involving chocolate – but then the jury is out on whether this is good or bad.

When you spend a week or two, perhaps more, in turmoil about whether you should move an old gelding close to the city so you may do horse things in your four days of work things, only to have him stabled three minutes from work with your friend’s horse – this is a good thing. I now have a city horse, he is happy as anything. He thrives on the traffic, the people and the fuss. I think this is good for him too.

When you purchase 16 1.5-meters-high round bales of good grass, that can only be loaded four at a time as opposed to the usual eight – and have it delivered to the farm where a herd of previously neglected, abused, or thrown away animals stand waiting happy, content and fed then you have done a good thing.

When you forget about dessert and remember a few lonely tins of apples, some puff pastry, cinnamon and brown sugar in your pantry, you have the makings of a very good thing indeed.

When your dog looks at you anxiously, waiting for the moment when you cover her with a blanket so that she may sleep during the long winter night, then you have turned bad cold weather into a good warm thing.

Sometimes it helps to group things into two very simple categories. Sometimes it helps to be less cerebral and more impulsive and to try and see all the good you manage to achieve, despite the bad things happening.

This is my living in spite of very long hours of tedious work, food poisoning, tough decisions, bad planning, winter in a summer body and the ever-constant struggle for good grass.

Last-minute pie, anyone?

Love+bitter, bittersweet

I HAVE been quiet for a while as the hard work of many weeks culminated into a semi-final and final round of a musical battle that, surprisingly, ended up leaving a swell of pride in my chest. Yes the sound was dodgy and the engineers were shocking, yes there was limited seating, yes yes yes… But it is the process that counts, the adventure. Well done to everyone. It was a bittersweet ending to a long journey filled with excitement, listlessness, anger and growing pains.

Goodbye the bright lights and the late nights

Our pastures on the farm have officially turned and we are buying bales like mad. The end of summer is also bittersweet, no more grass and balmy nights, but no more AHS, West Nile or other bugs either.

A kiss to build a dream on

Ponies at the bale

Ponies stare me down

Soon to be bleached yellow

The 'forever pasture' turning, slowly

Finally, I have to make mention of the bittersweet passing of a beautiful and talented young ocean-goer. A national-team body-boarder; a Springbok. Sun-bleached hair and youth and talent snuffed out in Cape Town’s icy waters by a white shark. It means the end of filming permits and hopefully chumming, which is a contentious topic, hotly debated by pundits. I don’t like the practice and I celebrate its end in our waters, but mourn a life well-lived but cut short. RIP David Lilienfeld, you beauty.

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.

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.

Creeping doubt...

Every now and again I am seized by suffocating, overwhelming terror. I’d be absolutely fine all day and then just have moments of panic. It isn’t because I need medication, it’s because I take care of 28 horses.

Creeping doubts accumulate and seep through my mind unabated. Things I stubbornly refuse to let myself dwell on suddenly leap up to haunt me. Fears about the failing economy, African Horse Sickness, the cost of keeping old TBs. But then, as always the balm of thought: These aren’t riding horses, they are pasture ornaments here to have a happy retirement. I am organised and most of all I have been doing this since three years ago. The thing is, there are too many homeless horses in the world. I cannot afford to keep more. It is hard work taking care of us. I sincerely don’t hoard horses, I try to take care of no-hopers until they need to be PTS due to failing health.

Of course, these things are sparked by new developments. An old boarding client of mine has come up homeless. It is literally a question of take him on or he gets PTS. I love him, I’m terrified of him dying before his time without a gentle and relaxed retirement. His owner has tried for months to rehome him, no one wants him – even for free. He is a sensitive soul, his heart is easily broken. He likes treats and a wander about on lead. He should not be ridden. He is quiet and gentle. Yes, I am a bleeding heart. I know that arguments about whether or not we should just let these horses die in peace (PTS) or rescue them are heated and numerous.

It’s hard in Africa, I have heard stories of owners and breeders losing up to 20+ horses to horse sickness in a single season. We have tick-borne diseases, horse sickness, West Nile virus – you name it. Making the decision whether or not to pour resources into poor communities and help them properly tack, dip, care for their working animals or rescuing like I do is a very hard ask. It would be cheaper and easier to pour money into cart horses and help there. But I don’t think that form of help is sustainable, as opposed to literally and meaningfully reaching in a changing the lives of animals who’d otherwise be PTS or live neglected. Maybe I am misguided?

There is an upside to Africa too, our weather is rarely severe (apart from the heat) and as long as you have shade and shelter horses can live out all year long. That cuts costs tremendously. We still rug in winter – even though some local horse owners think we are mad. We also stable some horses who are older, who are more delicate. Loads of the ponies who have come to us are hardy, they stay fat on grass and need little extra feeding. Our vet is kind and lets us pay her off, our farrier helps us at a massively discounted rate. Our grooms take good, loving care of the animals in their charge. These are the people we all owe so much to. These are the people who make it all happen. Go team, all the way!

Our glow-ponies at green grass

 I think sometimes I just want to know I am doing the right thing.

What, dear intertrons, am I going to do about our homeless bloke? 

Here he is, sorry for the rotten cellphone picture:

Having a visit on the lead, I'm watching from the porch

Love+horse stories

As a child my dad bought me the most beautiful illustrated Black Beauty from a tiny, but magical, German children’s book store. It is the didactic tale of a horse’s journey through life. He bought the book on one condition; he gets to read it as soon as I am finished. My dad had read the book before and loved it. I loved it too, I laughed and cried and traced my hand over all the beautiful illustrations over and over again.

Anna Sewell taught me a very important lesson: circumstances change. When you breed a horse you need to be very careful about where it goes. Ideally we should be responsible for our animals forever and we should take good care of them while we are at it.

The film, though a little Disney, was certainly also good. I cried watching the film years and years later. Admittedly though, my favourite horse film of all time has to be Phar Lap, the inspirational tale of an Australian race horse. Second to this is the Black Stallion franchise and National Velvet. As a 14-year-old I saw The Horse Whisperer and enjoyed it too – though when I watched the film again later as an adult I had mixed feelings about it. The book, which I also read as a youngster, was far more serious and far better than the film.

A lovely film (however loosely-based on reality) is Hidalgo, which I consider a must-see for all horse lovers.

Recently I saw two films that let me down. I had high hopes for the film-adaption of the story of the great American racehorse, and unlikely winner, Secretariat. I own horses with Secretariat in their lines as early as four generations back, and while this is not a singularly impressive boast seeing as many horses have famous achievers in their lines – it does make this horse’s story one that is a little closer to my heart. Simply because I can relate to this horse. I own some of his great great progeny. What disappointed me about this film was that it was very Disney and not at all horsey. I wish they’d recruit only horse-lovers and owners to make films about horses. You didn’t get the shavings-and-muck feel about the film that you got from Black Beauty, for example. The central drama of the film was really not about the horse at all, and more about the people. Unlike Phar Lap, where you really had a feel of the horse and the animal was the central character of the film.

Another, slightly less disappointing film I saw lately was War Horse where Spielberg really tried to create a story about a horse and his people without anthropomorphising too much. What let me down about this film was that whoever put the preview together should win an Oscar. The preview was magnificent, the film however was decidedly less so.

I like the didactic school of horse films, I like the lesson ‘take very good care of him’ above the boast ‘he is amazing’.

But enough of fiction, here is a slice of reality. This is my Sweet Woman (or Special, as we call her). Her five-across pedigree (which shows her pedigree five generations back on her dam and sire’s side) shows that Secretariat is fourth on her sire’s side. I didn’t buy her because I was desperate for another horse. I bought her because she was damaged goods who wouldn’t race well and was selling for a song (indeed for as little as just under $600). For this price I was unsure about the quality of home that she would get and worried about the fact that she lingered in the market for months. I bought her to give her a lovely quiet country life, with little riding and plenty of love and care. She has capped hocks – cosmetically awful, practically only synovial fluid built up around the hocks caused by injury to the area that wasn’t treated properly (in my opinion).  Though nothing serious no proper competitor or avid rider would have bought her. This added to my concerns about the quality home she would get. 

Now: Special with her groom, John, and her best mate Captain Crunchy on the farm

Then: Being loaded for her long journey home (before the farm) - capped hocks obvious

Love love love

I can’t abide arm-chair parenting. I really dislike this culture of television and gadgets designed to numb the minds of kids. When my nephew first met a horse he was terrified – all city living, all class but no (agri)culture. I grew up in the company of horses, I walked barefoot and stepped in glass, thorns, bees. It taught me how to look where I was going. There wasn’t such a ‘television culture’ back when I was a kid, so I read books and played outside. It taught me how to spell. When my cousin visits over the holidays with her kids, we’ve two channels showing cartoons all day and you’re knee-deep in kids in any room in the house. When I was a girl, we’d be admonished for lounging about, with a short, stern ‘go play outside’. Our skins were sun-hardened and our soles were battle-ready. We grew like poppies to love the sun.

I've two beautiful nephews who work hard to keep me in touch with all the kid-ness I can take. No small helpings, you understand. To them, my name is ‘when are we going to go swim?’ and they call me by that name whenever they see me. They’ve called me by that name even when I am in an evening gown, power suit or pyjamas. They are all energy and raw nerves.

As cliché as it sounds, so much of the future depends on the way we raise these kids. Be aware, cook your own food. Eat well, love animals.

These are the impressions I try to make on them. At six and four they aren’t impressed by the fact that I know that those pale daisies are in fact osteopermum, and they haven’t taken heed of my lectures on a horse’s digestive system (though they will suffer for it later on, when they receive the same lessons, revised with extra chapters on nutrition). What does impress them, however, is the rapport I have with domestic animals, the fact that I can walk on my hands in the swimming pool and my mad skills at baking delicious cakes. Actually my second name is ‘is it ready yet?’. If this is all I ever teach them (eat well, play outside, love animals) I’d consider it a great success.

Must love dogs

When it rains...

Ah okay, so now Blue has pulled a ligament. She went lame yesterday – we rested the leg, hosed her down and applied herbal cooling gel in addition to a NSAID and when she didn’t look better by the morning we had our vet out.

A pulled ligament is a worse diagnosis than I expected, but it is also not nearly as bad as it could be. I had some riding lined up for her, but hey, I am blessed with enough horses to ride. Her recovery will be my biggest concern and I like to give horses with this sort of injury a long time off. Tampering with an injured ligament seems like a rotten idea to me. She’ll just have an extended vacation.

Here is a photo reel of Blue Blood (Blue or Blooka Palooka), also a TB. She is turning seven this year, and she has never been raced. She has been with me for about a year and a half.

Isn't she gorgeous?

Festive horrors

Our dog (not one previously mentioned on this blog) ran off. We opened up for them to do their ablutions and he disappeared somewhere into the night, on the 1000+ hectares of farm. We searched everywhere, shouted his name, drove around until the sun set. I even contacted a psychic. Emails went flying, telephone calls were made.

He hasn’t come back and it’s been days now. We are in pieces.

The solar energy that we use to power the farm (my foot print is plenty green enough thanksverymuch!) went and gave up the ghost.

Monday morning my gelding went down with a colic. Luckily Kyle was around to help and we were out walking him with the groom, hosing him down because of the heat and motivating him vocally to keep walking on and not to stop. Our groom who worked on the day was a superstar. By the time the vet made it out over the rough, water-logged road an hour and a half had passed and he was bright, perky, grazing and walking of his own volition. The vet thought I was mad, but witnesses (Kyle and the groom) couldn’t believe it.

We burnt to a crisp out in the sun with the man.

I accompanied Kyle back to Johannesburg to complete what I had started in terms of job hunting. In the post-chaos malaise today it took me some time to realise I need to take it a little easier. Have some vitamin C, and a beer.

Gladly I don’t celebrate Christmas, but sadly New Years’ Festivities have always been big ones for me. This year started off bleak, let’s see how we can improve it.

Be careful out there.

{I'll update festive cooking things later, right now I need to 'take it a little easier'}

Love+horses

I have attempted to start a small, private horse sanctuary. I take care of 28 horses all in all (all shapes, sizes, backgrounds). To help me do this I employ three full-time grooms. I have worked out the costs to roughly under a ton of horse feed monthly (minus grass and supplements), plus three salaries and constant vet bills/ farrier bills/dentist bills.

 

We belong here...

I sound like a complete nutcase, but it is worth it, I promise.

I have spent about 15 years of my life in the company of horses, and without them, nothing in my life seems properly defined. It is a strange sense of need that is also organic: I need to eat, I need to pee, I need horses. Luckily, for my troop of happy equines who reached me in various states of starvation and despair, they seem to need me too.

Win/Win.

To do all of this however, I have been relegated to the small-town nether regions, which is mostly just fine thankyouverymuch, but it does threaten to get incredibly lonely sometimes.

Social networking doesn’t help…

I am sick of horse people preaching: horse people, on a soap box, dictating to horse people. How many of you who make your money off of horses have rescued, donated, shared a part of your life to help horses in trouble? Not very many at all. Charity is not for profit… simple as that. How many of you who make a living from horses have a responsibility to contribute to their welfare? Every+single+one.

How many have ‘helped’ horses, but then sold them for profit? This is not charity. How many have taken-in old horses and then made them work hard for every inch of grain in the trough and hay in the manger? This too, is not charity. How many can account for every life you have bred? Not many, if any at all.

I have never, and will never breed horses. Of all those I have taken in, I still have every single one, and I still take care of every single one – and tell you what, it’s been a few years. One day perhaps that will change, some of our horses are very old, some have a score of health troubles. When their time comes we hope to have the presence of mind to make the right decision.

More than this, while unsolicited breeding is to blame for so many animal welfare issues, let’s not hear horse breeders condemn a litter of puppies or kittens – not that I am condoning this either, don’t be silly! Horses are, and will always be, more expensive, more resource-intensive animals to take care of. They will always cost more time, energy and money. They need big spaces and specialised care. They will always be bigger than a dog or a cat; this means that they will always require more space, more food and very careful handling.

Meet my gelding, my knackered TB, my unbelievably complex soul, my thinking horse, my heart:

 I am sentient

Love horses, you won’t regret it. But more than this, help horses – they really need it.

Live, Love, Cook

The key ingredients to happiness varies. It depends really, on who you are. I live knee-deep in horses and hounds, I cook (most recently chocolate cake) and I try to get on with the business of living in spite of everything.

This blog is a journal, a record of everyday. I hope you enjoy it :)


Baking this makes me happy!

 Cake: dark chocolate ganache