Fembat Unhinged :: Pets Corner

Irish Pryde

October 15, 2001

(for those who don’t know Irish Pryde is my horse otherwise known as Dub – named after his place of birth and before you blame me for this method of naming horses – it was his previous owner!)

Yesterday evening was spent with the horses – grooming and trimming manes for the sole reason of spending time pampering them. The yard was silent for the most part which meant I could yatter on to Dublin and Jezabel without being looked at like I was someone who had just escaped from Stanley Royd (an old mental health institution long since closed).

Although both my horses respond well to human contact and speech, it is Dublin who stands out because he is so tactile. He loves to play games with me, and soothes me when I am down. He’ll place his big head against me and clothes his eyes whiffing gently, or rest his chin on my shoulder. He’s amazing.

Mind you, he is no angel. When I bought Dublin five years ago he was aloof, bolshy and stubborn with little to recommend him except for a bold jump and fast gallop. The last five years have been filled with mixed fortune. Initially our problems stemmed from the fact Dublin is like the majority of his fellow Thoroughbred breeds.. nutty!. He had a passion for bolting, rearing, napping and putting in nice big jumps over fences so I flew out of the saddle at ungainly angles. He was diagnosed with a bad back eventually, which does in part explain it all.

In the stable though we were becoming friends. He was playful and cheeky, would steal brushes and fling his head collar about. Worse still when he finished his feed he used to throw the bucket out of its stable, which did little to endear him to passers by who got caught in the cross fire.

At that time we had a love / hate relationship. I loved him but my dreams of competing were slipping into oblivion almost as fast as my confidence to ride him was disappearing.

I didn’t think things could get worse, until one day he collapsed whilst out riding. I was only 10 minutes from the yard because we had only just set off but it took me nearly an hour to get him back. What followed can only be described as weeks of uncertainty and hell. Dublin nearly died several times and no one could find out why. Numerous tests ensued but initially no one could discover the cause, until some tests were done out in the field. My horse had been poisoned.

He was on a drip everyday for a week. He was so weak and trembled constantly. His muscles were stiff and unyielding, he couldn’t even reach down to eat from his feed buckets and needed them raising to his level. I remember stacking straw bails in the stable so the feed trough would be the perfect height to enable him to eat – I would have held it but it was taking me two hours to eat a feed he was so lacking in energy. A walk to the nearest patch of grass which was only 2 or 3 yards would leave him exhausted, even eating took more energy than he could muster. His mouth was red with ulcers so it pained him to eat as well. He was on so much feed, glucose laced water and ryegrass haylage. Anything that would give him that little bit extra to fight.. well whatever it was he was fighting. He lost 50 kilos in the first 24 hours, after which we lost track. He was a walking skeleton in a week.

I was lost.

I’d waited 3 months to find the money to pay for this horse. I had to endure working on yard I hated just to keep the dream alive. I watched potential buyers come and go, each time dreading that they would make an offer. I remember when the money arrived in the bank, and the offer was made and accepted. It was more than I could afford.. a lot more.

After all that he was going to die only five months later. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was only 12 years old. One day when the vet had left, when Dublin had coliced badly and was so weak he could barely stand, I cried.

I never cried in front of horses, just like I don’t believe you should cry in front of a sick person. Horses are too sensitive to human emotion. Dublin was astute, he knew when I was sad, angry or upset. I was all three at that point. I remember saying the one thing that now makes me laugh about the whole episode. I took hold of his big head and said “if you die now after all this I will never forgive you”. I mean what a ridiculous thing to say, what a ridiculous thing to say to a horse. Poor Dublin, he was so ill and still he reached out to try and comfort me.

Steadily though he began to improve, each day getting that little bit stronger. But it was another four months before he could be classed as fully fit. Four months and two thousand pounds later. Hell, he was worth it.

At the end of it all though things had changed. Dublin was not only more affectionate but fiercely possessive. Patting another horse was a crime .

He is still difficult of course, especially to ride because that hasn’t changed. I’ve learnt the key to Dublin’s psyche. Don’t make a big deal out of bad behaviour and it passes by because hell it’s too much like hard work really. Try to challenge it and you’ve lost before you start. Age has mellowed him a little though. He’s 17 now. I can’t say that doesn’t worry me, because it does. When I bought him five years ago he was supposed to be six, he was actually 12. He’s paled from a dark dappled grey to almost white, but he is more beautiful than ever.

Filed Under: Pets Corner Tagged With: Dub the Chub

A cast shoe, not so lucky

October 11, 2001

I have had better evenings. Going down the drive I had a feeling something was wrong when Dub was not stood at the gate. I kept looking back when we passed the field, but disregarded it because sometimes he is at the top of the field out of sight. Mum left me at the yard to go see Gran, and I went about usual business, cleaning the stables and filling hay nets.

I had not paid for my hay so I set off walking to the farm which is just up the road from the stables. Walking up the road I noticed Dub was stood about 50 yards back from the gate, he whickered and I breathed a sigh of relief because he looked OK. It is quicker to walk through Dub’s field to get to the farm so I climbed the fence and so Dub wouldn’t go into sulks approached him to give him a quick pat. Unusually he made no attempt to walk towards me.

As soon as I reached his shoulder I realised why. He had cast a front shoe and somehow it has become wrapped around his rear hoof. One side seemed to be implanted into his coronet band (the bit just above the hoof) and there was signs of some swelling. The shoe then went underneath his hoof. I lifted his foot up and immediately he tried to pull it out of my hands. The shoe went underneath his foot and the other side was implanted into the side of his frog. At first it looked rather deep and I shouted for help. Of course no one could hear me as I was now several hundred yards away from the stables.

I knew I had to deal with it myself, and there was no way I could risk walking Dub any further with his shoe in such a place. I tried first to pull it out of the side near his coronet band, but it obviously hurt him a great deal. I then start to prise it out of his hoof, it was firmly wedged and it was quite clear it had been there for some time. Eventually it came lose after 5 minutes of prising. There didn’t seem to be much damage to the hoof itself but there is some damaged tissue to the coronet band.

I walked him down to the yard where I hosed it off to make sure it was clean. Kaye gave me a bute which should ease the pain and inflammation a little. I think I will put him on box rest for a day or two, and get the farrier out.

I have never seen anything like it.

I also got treated to a lecture about having a horses feet trimmed every six weeks. Strangely enough I do know this. I didn’t study equine management for nothing ironically enough. It is one thing to know something, another to be able to persuade a farrier to come out and shoe when you need them to.

Filed Under: Pets Corner Tagged With: Dub the Chub

Return to routine

October 9, 2001

Jezabel and Dublin made me smile this morning. It was windy and as such I decided to put them both out in the field with their turnout rugs on.

Jezabel in true youngster fashion didn’t agree with this decision (she hates her new turnout rug because it rustles – Jezabel doesn’t do unexpected noise without jumping out of her skin). Today she accepted the rug only after jumping 6ft across the stable and holding herself in rigid fashion whilst I placed the dreadful thing on her back. I wouldn’t mind but if she gets wet or is cold there is hell to pay with her subsequent mood swings and stomping!. She is one of the few horses on that yard who can make you smile even when she is being a little cow (well she is black and white, so technically she almost looks like one!).

Our exit from the stable made me laugh too. She has been in the same stable now since I bought her at the end of April. The stables are slightly risen off the floor (about 3 inches). Little Jezabel always looks down at the floor in complete horror before she steps down.. as if she is about to step into the abyss!. Today she marched out of the barn and strutted right up to my Mum who was sat in the car, stuck her head through the window, refused the mint that was waiting in Mum’s hand and tried to steal the packet! Youngsters!!

Dub on the other hand was much more refined in his behaviour. He must have smelt the mints somehow because when I entered his stable he practically assaulted me, stuffing his nose in my pockets, inside my coat and attempting to get his nose up my sleeve. I wouldn’t mind but the mints were still in the car with Mum and I hadn’t even touched them!!. Still he did insist, and pestered me the whole time I was putting on his rug (which can be a strain because I am 5′ 2″ and he is 16.1 of TB gelding! and its heavy rug). He had that beautiful big head turned to face me the whole time. He is so beautiful. He too stepped tentatively out of his stable, but he is a little foot sore at the moment. Didn’t stop him visiting Mum for a mint or two though before setting off to the field in true Dub fashion when it’s windy.. fast!!.

Filed Under: Pets Corner Tagged With: Dub the Chub, Jezabel

Memory Lane

October 2, 2001

Spent the morning with my horses, cleaning, tidying and catching up on jobs that need doing before the winter. Had a gossip with one of the other liveries. She mentioned that her eldest horse is now on phenylbutazone every other day. My heart sank. I didn’t say anything, for some reason I couldn’t formulate a reply. After all having to resort to pain killers and anti inflamatories doen’t spell the end of a horses life, at least not for everyone.

When she left I tried to busy myself but it didn’t work, I was already taking my little trip back in time. The memories of Thomas, my beloved second pony, crashing down on me like a tonne of bricks and flattening my earlier good mood. For the first time since I had returned to the yard with my current horse, and had Dub put into the stable that once belonged to Thomas I really wished I wasn’t on that yard. Everywhere I looked there was a memory. I saw Thomas in the stable, on the yard and even in the field. Guilt.

Thomas was special. After my confidence was destroyed by my first pony Thomas stepped in to save the day. He wasn’t that special, his redeeming feature being his beautiful rich bay colour and fantastic character. He wasn’t a good boy either, not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, he could be the bossiest most stubborn pony you could ever meet. He bucked, he kicked (if you stood behind him with a crop that is) and he loved to eat especially when out riding!. But he had a heart of gold. 1 May 1989, May Day Show. That’s when it all began, when Thomas became all mine. I was so proud.

He was 20, with ringbone. That’s why he was on phenylbutazone, without it he was lame, with it he could live a full and normal life. For two whole years our relationship developed, we used to go hacking for hours. I hated it when people criticised him, he was special. I remember him bronking round the school, I encouraged it, I loved him when he was at his worst. It was more fun that way. I remember when people told me he would never hack out alone or canter on the correct lead. He did both. He used to try and steal my Mum’s hotdog when we were at a show, chasing her round in circles. He used to take her skiing, he was so strong she just could not hold him. My little power horse, Thomas the Tank Engine.

When Thomas first starting to go downhill I thought it was just the time of year or a chill. Then I found blood in his stable and my heart sank. Bute fed in excessive amounts like any drug can affect the action of the liver. We didn’t know then. Thomas’s liver was giving up.

At 16 horses were my life, my life revolved around Thomas. I didn’t have friends, at least not human ones. When I was asked to make the choice between letting Thomas fight with the risk of pain, or ending it there I was lost. This wasn’t a decision I wanted to make. I’d always thought Thomas would be there forever.

It was the sound of a gun two days later that confirmed I had in fact made the choice to end it there. For that I can never forgive myself. You probably think I’m mad, that the life of a horse is immaterial to the life of a human. But that isn’t the case for me. Thomas, he was as much my friend as any human, more so, because he could always be relied upon. When people tell you that the feeling of loss gets easier, they are lying, because it doesn’t. You just get better at putting it to the back of your mind and not thinking about it. For a long time after I had Thomas killed I couldn’t cope with being with horses. I kept seeing him and worse still I kept hearing that bullet. A year after his death I had a dream, I was hacking out on Thomas through the countryside. It was peaceful and quiet. There wasn’t any specific event in the dream, we were just hacking quietly along a pathway towards the stables where I kept him. I awoke the following morning and booked my first riding lesson after his death.

Every time I hear a gun, every time someone mentions his name I remember. I just wish it was the good times I remembered more than his death.

When I returned to horses it was to pursue a career with them. I eventually took a place at a well known equestrian college studying a HND Equine Management. On that yard was “Knocker”, a 15hh Cob with navicular (another condition where the use of bute is necessary in order to maintain soundness). Like Thomas, he was a character of some depth, another cheeky cob with a heart of gold. It wasn’t surprising really that I grew attached to him at a rate of knots. I used to fantasise about buying him. When I left for my year in industry it was Knocker I missed, not the friends I had made during my first year. During that year I fell for and purchased Dub who I still own. He’s a cripple too now of course. I am such a sucker.

I returned to college with Dub in tow, and the first thing I thought of when I set foot on that yard was Knocker, and there he was in all his magnificent glory. Each time I went on the yard I would go first to Dub, then to Knocker. I still thought of buying him, I knew it wouldn’t happen. When I first heard that the college was to cut costs on the yard I didn’t think much of it, hey it was just another cost cutting exercise wasn’t it?. It wasn’t. The cost they cut was Knocker. He was put down whilst I was on Easter break, put down, not because he was too ill, or in too much pain. But because he was not financially viable. The bute was too expensive.

Shortly after Knocker was put down I had a Science Lecture. They pulled Knockers leg out of the freezer. Passive as I appeared I realised then working with horses was no longer the job for me. I was, and still am, far too soft. Too guided by my emotions.

I finished the course. I never felt quite the same about the college or the equine industry after that. I can’t work in an industry in which we have to make such choices, finance over a life.

Filed Under: Pets Corner Tagged With: Memories, Thomas

A set back

May 7, 2001

Jezabel has had a major set back in her development, and at a point when all seemed to be going well.

This morning we turned her out in the field with Dub and three other horses. It was done with some trepidation because some of the other horses are extremely big and known for aggressive behaviour. As it turned out we were quite right to be worried.

We have been wanting Jezabel to go out in the field now for sometime, but have been holding back because the only field available according to the yard owner was the field in which Dub currently resides. Eventually we gave in to the fact Jezabel is getting fit and is need of some socialisation. This is a crucial stage in her development, and always being one to allow horses to have as natural a lifestyle as possible, I could not see any way forward but to surrender to the inevitable. As it is, it nearly cost Jezabel her life.

With another girl from the yard persuading everything would be OK we led Jezabel up to the field. The four horses including Dub immediately circled the field. Of course Dub knew her, and was ready to take her under his wing (he’s been extremely attached to her since the day she arrived in April).

We finally released Jezabel, and she ran off with Dub straight away. It was a lovely sight, watching Dub perading her round the field as though showing her off to his old mates. You could almost see him saying “look at my friend, isn’t she wonderful!”.

We stood there for half an hour watching the horses, and all eventually calmed down. I wasn’t all too happy about a certain chestnut horse, who is known to be a bully and is a huge 17hh hunter. I say huge because Jezabel is only 12.3hh and still a little on the fragile side.

Eventually when all seemed calm and the horses had taken to grazing we left the field believing the excitement of a new person was over.

We arrived home only 20 minutes later to the sound of a telephone ringing. It was Dick, the yard owner.

Jezabel was in a state. He had been called out from the house by two fisherman, who had seen a large chestnut horse attacking a small coloured (Jezabel) . The fisherman had said the large chestnut had “kicked her through a fence”.

We dashed up to the stables expecting a bruised and battered Jez but nothing prepared us for the sight we came to see.

My poor weak and still undernourished baby was laid out on the floor, panting. Yes, before I get a multitude of comments explaining in no uncertain terms that horses cannot pant I would just like to add I already know. But there is no other way of describing what I saw in that stable. She was flat out, her sides heaving, the whites of her demonstrating all too clearly the terror she still felt. The least I expected was a good dose of colic. The worst, well, lets not go there.

It took nearly two hours for her to calm down. We called the vet and he gave her something just to ease the pain. The poor mare was covered in sores, cuts and bruises. She was a mess.

All because of that bloody Chestnut. Horses will be horses, but you should at the very least accept when your horse is a bully and not try and pass off his behaviour.

Filed Under: Pets Corner Tagged With: Jezabel

Jez Progressing Well

May 1, 2001

It is amazing the difference a day or two can make. Jezabel, you will be pleased to hear, is much improved. Today I spent a throughly pleasant and productive day at the stables.

Dub was full of energy and bounced (literally) out to the field on his toes. Unfortunately poor Jezabel is still confined to her stable. Her youthful vigour, sweet countenance and friendly nature is winning her more than a few champions who are willing to fight her cause. This has enabled her to be turned out for some grass and exercise once or twice since she arrived at her new home. She is coming on very well though, and has gained approximately 10 kilos in a week.

After spending some time with the smaller pets I then returned in the afternoon to exercise Dub, who despite being fed Development Phase 2 Mix (the feed for Jezabel) instead of his usually low energy Leisure Mix behaved tolerably well. He still cannot seem to control his legs when we come across large expanses of open grass fields however.. still very hot headed despite his increasing years. When I returned I immediately took Jezabel for a walk, who unfortunately due to the bad weather and lack of a field had been confined to her stable all day (hardly ideal for one so young). She was much more energetic than she had been a week ago, and even put in one or two bucks when we went for a run together.

Its wonderful to see that now, although I imagine I will have a difference attitude in a few months when I come to training her for saddle!

In the evening one of the other liveries fetched in her two horses early and allowed me to turn Jezabel out in the field for an hour or so. This is the first time we had seen Jezabel in an open field since before we purchased her, and it was at this point we realised just how much she has improved in a week. For the trivial amount we paid for her, and unknowingly so (for I did not realise the quality of the animal I was buying at the time) she has the most beautiful active and straight action. Her trot work is free, straight and elevated; her canter work is beautiful; but her gallop is most exquisite and extremely fast. I am quite taken with the young filly and have abandoned all notions of selling her on.

Is anyone really surprised?

Filed Under: Pets Corner Tagged With: Dub the Chub, Jezabel

The Journey Home

April 28, 2001

Jezabel was worse than I had expected. In the few days since we first saw her she has lost condition. I didn’t think that was possible. The spark I saw on our first meeting has gone. On collecting her today I discovered, to my dismay, that her eyes are now expressionless and blank. This is not a good sign.

I was expecting trouble loading her, but she followed me meekly up the ramp. I aren’t sure I am happy with that or not. There is no response from her when you speak, and nothing going on in her eyes at all.

I am trying to hide how worried I am.

Mike, the transporter driver, doesn’t hold out much hope. He said if she survives I can take her to him for some grazing.

We arrived at the yard. I had hoped no one would be there, but there were several other liveries present. As I led her down the ramp some people barely managed to conceal the look of horror. I cringed inwardly, dismayed at their reaction. Knowing full well that they saw the same as me – a baby of a horse, with skin pulled tightly over a carcus waiting to be.

I put her in the coral until we got the stable ready. I gave her a little hay which she chewed a strand at a time. No expression. No reactions. Dare I say, no hope?

I didn’t want to mess too much with her but her coat was riddled with lice. As a priority they had to be treated. I think that is the only time I got anything near a response from her.

I sit here now, typing this post and I hold not one shred of hope. I firmly expect to find a dead filly in the stable tomorrow morning.

Filed Under: Pets Corner Tagged With: Jezabel

A Piebald Filly

April 26, 2001

It all started when I was reading free-ads. I was looking, but wasn’t actually interested in purchasing another horse. I have enough problems feeding the one I have. But something stood out about this particular advert.

“Yearly Colt. Blue Roan. Will make heavy cob”

I have always wanted my own youngster and, having broken them in for other people, I thought myself suitably qualified.

I made the call. He had actually sold that morning, but the owner informed me of another youngster he had for sale. A two year old coloured filly. I admit curiousity got the better of me and so we arranged to go see her that very day.

I then proceeded to make a fateful error of judgement. I purchased a Piebald, 2 year old, pony cob filly. I mean, she will only make about 14hh. But, there is more…

Hull. Arrived on time and found the field straight away. I approached, and saw to my horror a sight I was not prepared for. In the centre of the field stood a poor, thin, and weak little coloured. Suddenly the term “built like a hat rack” made sense. She was made up of skin dragged tightly over a carcass, there was nothing to her. Her only saving grace was the long coat she had grown in an effort to keep warm. My heart string twanged.

I quickly applied my “professional mask”, I couldn’t show too much feeling. I am not a rich person and as much I would love to rescue I do not have the wealth to purchase an animal only to have it die a day or two later. It was hard, looking at this poor animal who returned my stare with eyes encircled with white. She was nervous. Her eyes at least showed signs of life. Her frame, although weak, was not badly conformed. Her neck was a little concave but that could have been her poor state.

I proceeded to stay all the right things. I looked at her not really knowing whether I should condemn them or not. They contradicted themselves endlessly. I’ve only had her a week was shortly followed by a “this is the first time I’ve had her out since December ” as they roughly pointed to a hut no larger than your average garden shed and muck so high even the little coloured’s head would have touched the ceiling.

I turned away and left the field. I didn’t want the burden of knowing that if I didn’t take this mare home she would be dead in a day or two. But I could not afford to buy her.

I approached the gate. Mum stood there. I asked her what she thought, and she replied with a very decisive “Do we have the money?” I should have seen this coming. Despite my dismay I smiled, I had hoped Mum would have been the cautious one, the voice of reason. That was not to be, but for good reason. It wasn’t the pity than won me over in the end, it was the knowledge that above anything else my Mum had an eye for a horse.

I returned to where they stood, and knew immediately they hadn’t expected it. I offered them less than they wanted but far more than they deserved.

My heart felt heavy, my head condemned me. What had I done?. As I stood, shaking my head with disbelief at my actions – knowing that I would be taking home a corpse if I did not get her home quickly enough, something happened.

They let her go. The most remarkable change took over the little filly. She trotted off and, free of her rope, she showed a real spark of life. Her paces were extraordinary. My god I thought – what on earth have I bought?. If she is like this now, what is she going to like in a few months.

Assuming, that is, she survives that long.

Filed Under: Pets Corner Tagged With: Horses, Jezabel