The weather is at it again tonight, roaring away. Things have been bumping and crashing in the night for more than a week, putting people and animals on edge since no one has been sleeping well. I am sick again, more antibiotics.
Pete mugged me for grapes this morning, the last of a few in the fridge, green and the size of bowling balls. OK, they looked like crab apples but their size was unnatural. Pete doesn't know what treats are, he thought I was trying to poison The Horse. I tossed one in his grain bowl so he might recognize it as food. It only took one and then he was not only taking them from my hand but he shoved the others out of the way and would have climbed over the fence to get the rest if he could have. "Holy cow!" he says, "Those are REALLY GOOD!"
Pete Part II
We brought him home last Saturday during some of the only storm-free hours all weekend. This was to be his second time ever being turned out with other horses and never with mares in the almost 7 years of his life. My sister and I talked about this, speculated on what might happen. I mulled over for hours what would be the safest way to introduce him to everyone with minimum yelling and screaming. I didn't want them to have blankets on to get tangled up in if there was a scene. I wondered if I should introduce him to the fence line or if I should allow the dogs to use their passage into the pasture they use to run around and WOOF at Bad Guys.
In the end, we unloaded Pete uneventfully with dogs all heavy panting wagging, sniffing, and rushing around under foot. Pete looked at them, "What are those?" but only using a pricked-ear stare. We turned Pete out alone in our largest, safest pasture. He slowly trotted a few steps out into the green pasture that, to him, must have gone on forever. He scanned his verdant new surroundings with a brief snort, making sure nothing was eminently about to eat him. This tool all of approximately 3 seconds. Then that black velvet nose went strait to the ground and started hoover-ing leaves like M&M's dropped on the starving from heaven. Pete did not panic, he did not look at the other horses, now staring at him from the next paddock, he did not run the fence or try to kill himself in some crazy horse sort of way. He stood a few steps from the gate and stuffed himself. Pete's bright eyes and flicking ears would pop up for brief moments, checking again for imminent death by predator but down the nose went, sweeping across the grass causing leaves to vanish at a shocking rate. So much for the terrified new comer scene.
We brought his new herd over to join him in order of social rank in order to keep the hollering down. Princess Cinderella was first, as is her right. There was sniffing and then running and bucking across the pasture for the delight of being in the sun and free of wet blankets and muddy paddocks for the moment. Pete hardly noticed the others, he was busy eating.
The large bulk of leaves and grass available for Pete to gorge on left us worried about leaving him out in that pasture over night. Instead, we blanketed him and out him in a smaller paddock. He looked at me intently over the fence, still thinking of humans as his Herd. He swished his tail, thinking. Something brushed his ankles. "OMG! What is THAT?" He stamped his foot to shoo the thing that touched him away from his legs. He swished his tail in irritation. "AHHHH! That THING touched me again!" followed by another foot stamp. I watched Pete throw his head, eyes starting to roll every time he swished his tail, tip whacking him on the legs. Pete had spent his life in a stall with his tail bundled and wrapped far above his hocks, protecting it for that Arabian breed show that he never saw. He didn't know the feeling of his own tail hanging about his legs.
As the sky changed from light steel-grey clouds to black, Pete must have realized that no one was bring him in to his stall. The next morning, it was clear he had spent the night pacing the fence line closest to the other horses until he wore himself out and had to rest. The paddock was stamped into a wet brown froth with marks where Pete had thrown himself flat out on his side to rest. One side of him from ears to tail was covered entirely with caked and wet mud. His eyes were rolling and bloodshot, his dinner untouched. I gave him breakfast where he was, without the other horses and stood next to him while he ate so he did not feel alone but none would take his food. When he'd eaten enough, I lead him over to the pasture and turned him out with the mares.
The mares took turns exchanging sniffs and snorts in order of status. The last was little pony Naughty Dotty who preferred to mind her own business of removing grass from the pasture. With the other exchanges completed, Pete turned his attention to Dotty for the first time, her coat a '70's shag carpet of white with black leopard spots. The black heat came up, eyes huge and starting, ears pricked, nostrils flared, snorting. "WTF is THAT?! It smells like a horse but it has spots and it's the size of a dog, it must be a HORSE-EATING DEMON!" Pete was frozen in fearful contemplation of the possibilities, "A posessed dog? A monster wearing a horse skin???" He must have run out of answers and it hadn't eaten him in those first few moments so it was time to investigate. Dotty's quietly contemplative breakfast in the sun was interrupted by that gangly, rude new horse running at her full speed snorting and determined to get a close up look at her. She was having none of that, out running the stabled bound interloper as fast as her stubby little furry legs would move her.
I brought everyone more than enough breakfast of grass hay and waited to see the interaction. What would happen introducing a completely isolated gelding into a herd of mares?
I watch Pete eat rudely, stomping hay into the mud, throwing the piles around about. I ground my teeth watching sweet summer hay lost and knowing that every blade was far from free. At times, Pete would be distracted from his meal by a near by leaf which he also ate. And then, he'd find another, and another, and eventually loose his food. I went out and stood by his hay and whistled to him when he wandered too far, calling him back to his pile of hay. Pete was used to being fed in a stall, just enough to live, never enough to thrive until recently. Now The Food Pile went on forever without the near-by boundaries of his stall walls. He lost his way, not realizing there was a pile of hay to return to and then not being able to find it once he figured out that's what he wanted. Eventually he stood with his hay, plowing mouthfuls into his his dainty mouth lined with the marks of lips pursed out of anger and fear.
The mares ignored him.
My sister brought Pete a new blanket that fit him better and would keep him more warm with less danger of tangling himself in it. His coat is so thin, not really enough for the winter we see at our old farm house in the mountains. We didn't want to bring him here into the cold but it was all that he had, the only answer. My sister said, "Well...I guess he'll be cold but he won't die." If he did, it'd still be an ending better than the auction yard with a long ride on the wrong truck.
Pete mugged me for grapes this morning, the last of a few in the fridge, green and the size of bowling balls. OK, they looked like crab apples but their size was unnatural. Pete doesn't know what treats are, he thought I was trying to poison The Horse. I tossed one in his grain bowl so he might recognize it as food. It only took one and then he was not only taking them from my hand but he shoved the others out of the way and would have climbed over the fence to get the rest if he could have. "Holy cow!" he says, "Those are REALLY GOOD!"
Pete Part II
We brought him home last Saturday during some of the only storm-free hours all weekend. This was to be his second time ever being turned out with other horses and never with mares in the almost 7 years of his life. My sister and I talked about this, speculated on what might happen. I mulled over for hours what would be the safest way to introduce him to everyone with minimum yelling and screaming. I didn't want them to have blankets on to get tangled up in if there was a scene. I wondered if I should introduce him to the fence line or if I should allow the dogs to use their passage into the pasture they use to run around and WOOF at Bad Guys.
In the end, we unloaded Pete uneventfully with dogs all heavy panting wagging, sniffing, and rushing around under foot. Pete looked at them, "What are those?" but only using a pricked-ear stare. We turned Pete out alone in our largest, safest pasture. He slowly trotted a few steps out into the green pasture that, to him, must have gone on forever. He scanned his verdant new surroundings with a brief snort, making sure nothing was eminently about to eat him. This tool all of approximately 3 seconds. Then that black velvet nose went strait to the ground and started hoover-ing leaves like M&M's dropped on the starving from heaven. Pete did not panic, he did not look at the other horses, now staring at him from the next paddock, he did not run the fence or try to kill himself in some crazy horse sort of way. He stood a few steps from the gate and stuffed himself. Pete's bright eyes and flicking ears would pop up for brief moments, checking again for imminent death by predator but down the nose went, sweeping across the grass causing leaves to vanish at a shocking rate. So much for the terrified new comer scene.
We brought his new herd over to join him in order of social rank in order to keep the hollering down. Princess Cinderella was first, as is her right. There was sniffing and then running and bucking across the pasture for the delight of being in the sun and free of wet blankets and muddy paddocks for the moment. Pete hardly noticed the others, he was busy eating.
The large bulk of leaves and grass available for Pete to gorge on left us worried about leaving him out in that pasture over night. Instead, we blanketed him and out him in a smaller paddock. He looked at me intently over the fence, still thinking of humans as his Herd. He swished his tail, thinking. Something brushed his ankles. "OMG! What is THAT?" He stamped his foot to shoo the thing that touched him away from his legs. He swished his tail in irritation. "AHHHH! That THING touched me again!" followed by another foot stamp. I watched Pete throw his head, eyes starting to roll every time he swished his tail, tip whacking him on the legs. Pete had spent his life in a stall with his tail bundled and wrapped far above his hocks, protecting it for that Arabian breed show that he never saw. He didn't know the feeling of his own tail hanging about his legs.
As the sky changed from light steel-grey clouds to black, Pete must have realized that no one was bring him in to his stall. The next morning, it was clear he had spent the night pacing the fence line closest to the other horses until he wore himself out and had to rest. The paddock was stamped into a wet brown froth with marks where Pete had thrown himself flat out on his side to rest. One side of him from ears to tail was covered entirely with caked and wet mud. His eyes were rolling and bloodshot, his dinner untouched. I gave him breakfast where he was, without the other horses and stood next to him while he ate so he did not feel alone but none would take his food. When he'd eaten enough, I lead him over to the pasture and turned him out with the mares.
The mares took turns exchanging sniffs and snorts in order of status. The last was little pony Naughty Dotty who preferred to mind her own business of removing grass from the pasture. With the other exchanges completed, Pete turned his attention to Dotty for the first time, her coat a '70's shag carpet of white with black leopard spots. The black heat came up, eyes huge and starting, ears pricked, nostrils flared, snorting. "WTF is THAT?! It smells like a horse but it has spots and it's the size of a dog, it must be a HORSE-EATING DEMON!" Pete was frozen in fearful contemplation of the possibilities, "A posessed dog? A monster wearing a horse skin???" He must have run out of answers and it hadn't eaten him in those first few moments so it was time to investigate. Dotty's quietly contemplative breakfast in the sun was interrupted by that gangly, rude new horse running at her full speed snorting and determined to get a close up look at her. She was having none of that, out running the stabled bound interloper as fast as her stubby little furry legs would move her.
I brought everyone more than enough breakfast of grass hay and waited to see the interaction. What would happen introducing a completely isolated gelding into a herd of mares?
I watch Pete eat rudely, stomping hay into the mud, throwing the piles around about. I ground my teeth watching sweet summer hay lost and knowing that every blade was far from free. At times, Pete would be distracted from his meal by a near by leaf which he also ate. And then, he'd find another, and another, and eventually loose his food. I went out and stood by his hay and whistled to him when he wandered too far, calling him back to his pile of hay. Pete was used to being fed in a stall, just enough to live, never enough to thrive until recently. Now The Food Pile went on forever without the near-by boundaries of his stall walls. He lost his way, not realizing there was a pile of hay to return to and then not being able to find it once he figured out that's what he wanted. Eventually he stood with his hay, plowing mouthfuls into his his dainty mouth lined with the marks of lips pursed out of anger and fear.
The mares ignored him.
My sister brought Pete a new blanket that fit him better and would keep him more warm with less danger of tangling himself in it. His coat is so thin, not really enough for the winter we see at our old farm house in the mountains. We didn't want to bring him here into the cold but it was all that he had, the only answer. My sister said, "Well...I guess he'll be cold but he won't die." If he did, it'd still be an ending better than the auction yard with a long ride on the wrong truck.
No comments:
Post a Comment