Nightmare

Slept in very late this morning and am angry with myself; I hate doing that. Had a sleepless night.

Friend N, whose Dales pony died of colic earlier in the year after surgery a few years back, has finally got herself a new horse. Sweet guy, Irish sports horse but more tb than anything else, and they clicked straight away. It was good to see N with a smile on her face at last, as she'd taken the loss of the pony particularly hard. Last night the new horse went down with colic.

Leahurst said he had an impaction and displacement. As it was, a twist was avoided and the impaction, thought to be caused by eating straw, began to move - but what a horrible, cruel thing to happen.

He's being allowed out for a few hours on grass this afternoon - will see how he goes. Bastard, hateful colic.

Rain

There is nothing quite so infuriating as a smug horse.

We got the whiplash tailend of Hurricane Katia, which came from nowhere out of a cloudless blue sky. I had just finished laying the Ed bed, stringing haynets, filling his snackball and putting down fresh water for morning. Vicki had barely left the yard to do some work with Ed when shavings started whirling around the stable - and the rain came! It blew horizontally across the yard, and in the few seconds it took me to close the door I was soaked through. Vicki and Eddie reappeared on the yard - Ed sixteen hands and bouncing on the spot, and the only course of action was for the three of us to take shelter in the stable.

Ed was delighted, as he wolfed down tomorrow's breakfast, emptied his snackball and laid into fresh haylage all over again, while we shivered in wet clothes and glumly watched the rain coursing off the gutters outside. He got away without doing any work either, as by the time the weather abated we just threw him out for the night with a full belly and went squelching home.

Leave Me Alone

Ed had the equine dentist yesterday, which left him in a thoroughly bad mood, making faces at everything and everyone all afternoon. It's about the twelfth visit he's had from the EDT; he's always been impeccably behaved but he wasn't keen this time, and even hid behind me like a small child. Did he think the man with the electric file wouldn't find him if he hid his head behind my backside?

He'd brightened up by turning-out time and did a little dance on the spot before walking off. I think that may have meant, "No fillings this time, Mum."

It's Your Life

Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself.
Harvey Fierstein

Those Were The Days

Ed went beautifully this afternoon. Canter both reins, full length of the school without getting tired. Starting to re-introduce a bit of flatwork without tight circles, and he remembers it all. You wouldn't think he'd been out of work for so long.

Watching him today I was choked by the realisation he'll never jump again. He loved jumping - I remember him carting Ian off to pop a filler, with Ian hauling ineffectually on the reins and shouting, "No, Eddie - NO!" and Ed taking him over it anyway, because to his mind it was there to be jumped. There was the time he jumped over into the dairy herd next door, and ran around in a celebratory fashion with Buttercup and Bluebell; the farmer said if he clapped eyes on him again he'd shoot him.  Of course, the most satisfying thing was when people sneered at him doing unaffiliated jumping classes, and said, "That can't jump!" So he took great satisfaction in lumbering in there and beating the pants off  'em all. He cleared intermediate height quite comfortably. He understood jump-offs; he watched the opposition go before him and knew to go up a gear.  Seems sad that we can't ask him to do it anymore - but hey, there are things that he  can do that we didn't expect he would.

Just good to see him regaining fitness and confidence.

Summer's Gone

Summer, as rainy and dull as it was for the most part here in the north-west of England, seems to have finally tucked itself into bed and gone into hibernation. Yesterday, August Bank Holiday, saw the farmers cutting silage early morning before the rains came again, and sweeping Ed's stable last night the swallows in the roof were noisily feeding their final brood. I'll miss their  chatter, and having to duck as they fly in and out of the doorway.  I hope the babies are fit and ready to face the long flight to Africa - it's not long now. There are only eight weeks - ten absolute max if the weather is unseasonably dry come autumn - before the fields shut. I am dreading it this year more than ever, now that Ed needs to keep moving with his arthritic joints.

I'm getting the stable ready  for winter this afternoon. Clearing the cobwebs from the ceiling and walls with my corn broom, and then tomorrow I shall take a trip to Homebase and buy some black paint to refresh the lower part of his walls; the white above can be done at any time. Then when it is dry I shall put down a winter bed - last night Ed was reluctant to go out because the fields were flooded. I always say that Ed tells me when he wants to be in at night, and usually he is happy to go out at night, in all weathers, right up until the fields close. He is, however, getting older. Last night he wanted 'in'.

Where has the year gone?  I can't bear to look at Christmas cards in the shops.

Here Comes The Blog

Yes, I know I have several blogs kicking around cyberspace. One is accessible only on subscription, and the others have fallen by the wayside somewhere. So here I am, again.

Why Bay Horse Tales? Well, 'Bay Horse' has been my internet identity since... ooh... before the turn of the century. The name is taken from our Irish cob, Ed, who has been in the family for 12 years and who is the apple of my eye. (He likes apples, too).  This blog is meant to be mainly about Ed, but also about life in general, and its little ups and downs. :)

On with the blog...