... is most of what the horses do in the middle of winter. Here's a twilight view of Brena, Carys and their retired field companion Peaches below a bright moon. (My phone copes a lot better in low light conditions than my camera.) None of them are getting thin!
This is what I had to clean because Brena chose to role in the one muddy spot in her grassy field! At least she had dried out so I could brush out the mud. Somehow, despite the thin autumn grass, Brena has put on a bit of weight too - though we are not yet feeding hay. It's just a few degrees above freezing and our two horses are thriving.
I'm just back from a week in Sardinia, staying at the excellent Mandra Edera riding establishment. Here's my base for reading and writing when I wasn't doing anything else. The hotel stands in a small park, a haven of tranquillity around which grazing horses wander, with a nice swimming pool at the far end. (The pool has a sloping entry, like a beach, nice for people and presumably helpful to facilitate the exit of any horse that might manage to get in.) My reading, somewhat at variance to the rural quiet, included Sholokhov (And quiet flows the Don) and von Clausewitz (On War). Both Russia and strategy interest me currently.
K and I enjoyed excellent traditional food, and lovely wines that seemed to exude the essence of the Sardinian countryside. It was, therefore, a particularly good week.
The horses are trained in a classical dressage style, quite unlike my usual quasi-Western manner of riding. That took a little adapting to. It's a while since I've ridden with relatively short stirrups, short reins, and a contact all the time. Probably about twenty years! The horse that I rode did go forward very well, and was quite keen and enthusiastic.
It was also interesting to watch a Sardinian farrier at work. He arrived in a well-equipped truck, and proceeded to hot-shoe several horses. Two unusual features, compared to what I see in the UK, were using eight nails per shoe (rather than six) and bevelling the upper outside edge of each shoe using an electric grinder before fitting (to reduce the risk of a losing a shoe). The landscape is stony, with basalt rocks of all sizes made into walls around the fields, buildings, and even scattered Bronze Age dwellings. Robust shoeing is a necessity.
The hotel started as a breeding centre for Anglo-Arabian horses, quite some years ago, and the current herd comprises strong, athletic horses that are used for lessons and rides out. I should have asked more questions about the breeding of the horses that are there today.
We drove from the airport to the hotel, two hours along a modern highway in a hired Fiat 500 the diminutive stature of which contrasted with the remote and scenic mountains. However, I did want to fit in even a brief train ride, so we travelled on a 1950s train that provides short tourist trips on a mothballed narrow-gauge line by the sea.
Here's a view through the driver's cab as we approached the exit from a tunnel. The ancient rolling stock, sharp curves, and dense vegetation covering an arid hilly landscape are so typical of the minor railways of Sardinia. The older roads are analogous, only even steeper, more serpentine, and without tunnels.
The train was full of families out to enjoy the scenery, the children inordinately excited by the prospect of going through a real tunnel. It was all rather jolly, finishing in time for lunch on the waterfront and a paddle in the delightfully warm Mediterranean sea.
The seasons have changed to the point where Brena is beginning to change her coat. The picture below shows the result of a moderate brushing of one side. A few minutes later there was twice as much loose hair on the ground. It's been put out where the birds will find it, as they do each spring.
Out and about snow lingers where it drifted, or was piled when clearing the narrow stone-walled or hedged lanes. It's deep as it was simply pushed to the side, neatly compacted, by a tractor. Local government lacks the resources to clear snow on minor roads, so they pay a farmer to do the work (which he has done efficiently during each snowfall). The relics will lie for a few more days if no rain falls, that is probably until tonight when heavy rain is forecast.
Further down the road, we crossed onto a track along a field margin. Without fuss, Brena pushed through a bank of snow as deep as her hocks. Soft ground she tries to avoid, however soft snow wasn't a deterrent. More snow lay drifted behind the walls that separate the fields, however we could avoid those via bare ground still awaiting the plough.
A main road runs along the crest of the westward ridge. Brena likes to stop and watch the distant traffic, visible through gaps in the pervading trees and audible upon the breeze. Movement afar fascinates her. It is good to be high up with a view, and nicer still when the pervading cold wind has abated and warmed a little too.
At the conclusion of a ride, I saw that Brena was taking weight off her right hind foot. This came as a surprise, as she had felt quite level when we were out. It was a slow ride, walking all the way back to the barn, as the trails were wet and slippery.
After washing the foot to remove mud, this is what I found. The photo shows the right-hand heel bulb of the left hind foot. There was no bleeding or any foreign object (other than mud) in the cut.
The soft, rubbery tissue has separated from the heel, and there is some sign of bruising. First thought was a burst abscess, however Brena still isn't quite sound a couple of days later. Also, whilst she has gone lame suddenly due to an abscess, that was before it burst. So a cut seems more likely. I'm careful to avoid places where there may be wire, such as collapsed fences hidden in undergrowth. However, we did ride across muddy ground which can be stony, albeit sandstone rather than sharp stones such as flints. It seems most likely that Brena stepped into a softer area of mud and cut her heel on a stone or debris that was hidden.
Now Brena is getting several days box rest until she regains soundness, and to allow the wound to heal sufficiently that infection should not be a problem. She does not seem to mind staying in when the weather is wet and windy.
Last week I moved Brena to her new home. I haven't had time to take photos there, however I will soon.
Brena has settled in nicely as a member of a herd of fifteen in a huge field on the north side of a sheltered valley. It's a nice spot, and all the horses are barefoot. With a few days she was lame with an abscess, however that has burst and she seems to be well again. Provisionally I'll put the abscess down to an abrupt change of diet at her old barn, when the herd was turned out abruptly onto a big field of long grass. She put on a bit of weight, and didn't seem quite right the day before I moved her.
In the meantime, here's a photo from a ride a couple of weeks ago. That was such a nice bright day, cool, quiet, and so good to be out and about.
Brena has decided that she likes rose hips. Brightly they dot the hedgerows, providing a healthy snack. She seems to be able to avoid the thorns, or perhaps they do not bother her.
When K met me, she asked how someone with a profile photo showing them leading a big roan horse loaded with trail gear down a steep mountainside could possibly........live in a suburban town and work in an office.
Sometimes I think just the same thing. Why? And what next?
Rather than live somewhere more adventurous, where horses remain a part of rural culture, and far enough from the sea that the sky is often bright and clear. Like Miclosoara / Miklosvar (depending upon one's mother tongue), where I photographed this group back in August.
Here's my profile photo. It sums up just who I am below the veneer of normality put on for the benefit of employers and neighbours.
I try to appear fairly respectable because it's helpful that my employer pays me. And I've just mown the front lawn so that the neighbours don't think that I'm dragging down the area.
Also, my house looks better than the one a hundred yards along the road where an abandoned car graces the overgrown lawn. I win on two counts.
So, looking at my photo, K is well informed. More particularly, about my essence, the soul hungering for open space and hills, the wanderer, the man who delights in a good horse, the traveller seeking a cosy cottage to share tales of the trail, one who appreciates a good journey and a welcome arrival.
One lives to travel, and savours arrival in a lovely place inhabited by good people.
Here are two shots of the mare Roua, owned by me from birth to eight, and by Countess Kalnoky from eight to her current seventeen. The mare is still going strong. It's interesting to see how her colouring has changed. It's also lovely to see a happy, mature and productive horse who is clearly well loved.
This is how Roua looked in spring 2007, just starting work after a long winter, and clearly needing to lose a bit of seasonal weight. Back then she was a red roan, with a silvery base, and her name means 'dew'. Roua even had a hint of dorsal and shoulder stripes, inherited from her Huzul dame, a dun mare with markings reminiscent of primitive horses.
Here she is ten years later, in August this year. She is still using most of the tack that I sold her with, not surprisingly as I equipped my horses with good quality stuff. Roua is still a kind, sensible, but lively mare, and just as popular with riders as she was when I owned her. She is shod on front feet only, despite being in fairly hard work, a sign of the robustness of the Huzul cross-breeds.