Iznt we cutz? "Daddy can I have a pony?"
A warning to the parents of little girls . . .think long and hard before you actually buy them a pony.
I've blogged about this before. When my sister was trying to get pregnant, and nothing was happening other than some mattress calisthenics she decided to distract herself with a new hobby - dressage. Clare, Babysis and I drove around the state for three or four weekends seeking an appropriate charger for her cause. We had the paddock, I was happy to feed in her absence, an instructor was found and a neighbour had agreed to let her use their dressage ring for tuition. She spent a shitload on the gear and even had custom made top boots for competition.
Dressage, for the uninitiated is the 'dancing' that you train horses to do. Unusual and difficult steps such as extended trots and sideways moves - you know, it's the point in Olympic coverage where your daughters won't let you switch to the news because they want to watch the pretty horses and the bank of Orange clad Dutch spectators.
It's particular and difficult for a horse to accomplish. Since a horse uses 75% of it's brain to coordinate it's legs for walking, trotting and running, walking crossways across an arena is a huge task, dancing on the spot almost impossible. Dressage is amazing albeit a little dull to watch unless you're a horsey type. The whole training is done with gentle pressure on the bit and lots of bum moving and leg pressure although the impression you have to give must be seamless. And the judges are harsh. The slightest miss-step or sign of lameness and you're toast.
Anyhoooooo. . . .we finally found a mature horse "Brutus" 17 hands heavy built thoroughbred who knew his moves. His racing name "Big and Fast" had failed him and he'd been relegated to the Dressage world. His mum had tired of him and wanted a more flashy competitor so Babysis bought him for a song.
Not to be outdone at the time, it seemed a rather nice idea to buy a couple of paddock bashers so the three of us could trail ride (there were trails in those days). And, little miss dedication, had never had 'could try harder' on her six years of primary reports so . . we bought a horse. Lasalle Royal Flash (Laurie). Bred by a priest in Orange (the town not the colour), owned first by a teenage boy then by an impetuous girl who wanted to upgrade her Arab gelding. He doesn't like women much.
Problem was, we (read I) bought a horse that I thought I could also ride. Too big for the kid (who was only 12 at the time) and far too temperamental. We had rearing and refusals and teeth grinding and ears bending (and that's just the horse). So, since she'd matched me dollar for dollar, I kept the grinch for myself and bought her a little steel grey dapple Welsh Mountain Pony (Chippy).
For a few years, we had a blast. Me, Clare, Adam in tow (usually dressed as a Pirate) on his BMX bike and a big black lab that once ended up with heat exhaustion and 2 days in the vet being rehydrated, trail rode our little socks off. We joined a riding club (as opposed to a pony club) and she enjoyed weekend camps and we learned dressage and jumping and cross country, bending and all sorts of horsey pursuits and some of the best sausage rolls with tomato sauce ever! Brutus however turned out to be hopeless on the trail. First sign of a green verge and all the racing memories came back he just wanted to bolt!
12 years later Brutus is long gone. Babysis has two beautiful babies and we still have the nags. Laurie at 15.3 and 29 years old, Chippy at 13.5 and just shy of 18 years old. Chips is a little on the short side which means he has attitude. The little shit is like a brick dunny and I defy any emu to knock him down.
So four years ago, when our paddock was sparse, we moved them to Babysis lush paddocks where they thrived on nothing but grass. Se lives on a particularly lush ridge where the Kykuyu grass is prevalent and plentiful. Although last year, they decided to demolish their front paddock fence as a house sale was on the cards and they felt an expanse of lawn looked better. The upshot? A paddock too small to sustain two horses on grass alone. (even though it was about 3 acres).
It was my fault. She offered to feed and did - but not enough. I went over for coffee and a pat on Saturdays but never checked under the rug and at the beginning of Spring, I took off the rug and discovered this . . .
Bear in mind he has his long winter coat but way, way, too skinny. Lethargic and snoozy, disinterested and not bolloxed to fight for his lunch with the marauding Welshy.
So, with the paddock denuded and the Plumber's newly planted Japanese Maples eaten to a crisp, we brought them back to Chez Fairway (or Old Trafford as my brother insists on calling it) and into a very overgrown paddock with a newly taut fence (thanks Ads). We filled the bath with cool clean H2O after scooping out the redbacks and bark we set the boys free on the cusp of suburbia. Two feeds a day for the skinny man and even after 2 weeks, we're seeing some real progress. He's happy, very happy . .I know because he never shuts up. He's eating well, he's aggressive and fighting off Chippy who has a wiley technique for stealing food and after Clare gave him a purple bath on Thursday (fluoro shampoo makes them brighter than bright), he's clean. Actually he's more than clean . . . he's fresh, he's horny! All I have to do is tickle the guy and wham! So if you have little girls looking at the pretty pony be ready for some sticky questions . .yes . .geldings masturbate . .they also get their jollies with a bit of a back rub and they do weird things when you stroke them gently (on their coat of course) like buckling their legs and yep . . flaunting the willy! Or maybe that's Laurie . .he's a bit weird that way . . .
What can I say . .the boy can multi-task . . .scratch and pee at the same time
and he never splashes on his trousers - please click on this one because it's a great shot!
I have a new view