Just over a week after my previous post and so much has happened, it's difficult to know where to start. Rui has been over and we've had our demo with the boys; in hand and ridden wok for T followed by a session at the long reins for Q and I rode him afterwards: Sid nearly got battered for not taking any pics, the swine. People who came really liked the place and were impressed with the boys, and it gave us a chance to sit and take stock of all the things we've done since we've been here and truly appreciate what we have done instead of dwelling on all the stuff there is yet to do. This perhaps sounds a bit silly but sometimes it needs looking at with a different perspective to really take stock. Nice.
Rui was with us for a couple of days so we had a second session with the boys on Monday; I rode T after Rui and wasn't given much time to contemplate what I was and wasn't going to do - he had us up to canter in very short order which was really nice - need to stop blocking in the transition; a remnant of tension to be worked on. Sid took pics which was very useful from a techical perspective in terms of adjustments to make and very valuable as a training aid. Great ride though, really enjoyed it and must have had my pants on outside my breeches for a moment or two there at least. I was more pleased with the canter work than the piaffe and passage.
And then dawned Tuesday, a day we've been awaiting for Some Considerable Time, the day that our two mares were due to arrive home. Weeeeeeeeeee! It's so difficult to describe the emotions that went through my head in contemplating their arrival: excitement, of course, lots of it, and impromptu outpourings of emotion, like a dam breaking at random moments - but also no small trepidation at what the hell it is we've got ourselves into and whose idea was it to start breeding Lusos anyway? It's no small weight of responsibility, that is for sure.
I had a call from the driver about 10.30 saying he'd be with us in about an hour. Who knew an hour could last so sodding long - arrgghhhh. Eventually that most welcome sight of he light blue livery of a John Parker lorry came into view, accompanied by a flood of emotion that might have carried me off with it had it not been for the half bottle of Rescue Remedy I'd consumed a little while earlier. That and Sid saying "Oh for God's sake don't start blarting Rach". How lovely to see those two familiar faces looking out of the window - our two beautiful girls :mush:
Alfama came off first and a part of me was expecting some sort of unnecessary behaviour, what with her being largely unhandled from the midst of a large herd of mares and after a five day road trip across Europe, but I should have known better. Th true joy and beauty of the Lusitano brain - she stepped off very calmly, walked with me to the field, we had a moment between the three of us to welcome her home, let her off and off she went, head straight down to start munching. Similarly, Xacra came off the lorry very calmly and we couldn't believe how much she has developed! Jesus - although clearly the same horse, she has grown up so much in the past two years and is looking absolutely lovely - notwithstanding the terrible feet, the poo stains and the giant dreadlock of a tail - she is stunning. Into the field, a welcome fuss and off she mooched to join Alfama. Absolutely calm as you like. Had a great conversation with the driver about the all round excellence of the Lusitano brain - needless to say he transports a lot of breeds of horses to and from a lot of locations and like all the JP drivers before him that have brought the boys, they all say the same thing.
We've been spending quite a bit of time in the field with them, just sitting quietly and enjoying being with them. They've taken turns rolling, resting, using the field shelter etc and are looking and feeling pretty chilled. Thus far they've resisted all efforts to imbibe any food, until today when I mixed a bit of apple juice with it and that seemed to go down well.
I worked the boys today for the first time since the girls arrived and they were very good; interest of course and some whickering but nothing out of hand and distraction/work techniques quickly had them back to the job at hand, so very pleased with that.
The Next Big Thing is the girls' first farrier appointent (and I do mean their first) on the 18th Aug so I have to (a) catch them and (b) teach them to pick up their feet for then. Sounds easy when you say it quick. Xacra came to sniff me today so that's progress.
Meanwhile I have been trying to find homes for the meehoos :sniff: A friend of mine is coming on Saturday to take two, and tomorrow we are taking two to their new home, along with Ted who is going to the vets to have his orange orbs whipped off. So this is their last night all together as a family. I feel really sad about this but Sid has reached the end of his ropewith the general meehoo-related melee and it's either rehome them or fling myself off the edge of a cliff. However sad it is, I must keep in mind that they've had a far better start and have much better prospects for a healthy life well cared for than they would have had if they'd been born under a bush somewhere. Still.
Thursday 29 July 2010
Wednesday 21 July 2010
On the cusp of holidays
Today is the first day of two weeks off work. Yay! I love that luxuriant feel of the time stretching ahead like a big stretchy thing and fully intend to actually luxuriate in it today because the next thing of course is that I will blink and it will have finished. Needless to say that being on the homestead with our 50,000 creatures, physically getting away somewhere is almost impossible and besides which there is the small matter of our two broodmares being due to arrive home from Portugal on Monday. In any event, there's nowhere else I'd rather be than at the homestead with Sid and our 50,000 creatures, so that's just as well isn't it. I would say it's cheaper too but when you factor in the cost of shipping the mares home and that of their brand new 23 x 12' field shelter due to be erected on Saturday, well we have been on holiday for rather less on several occasions. In fact the only holidays that were more expensive were the times when we went to Portugal and came back with a stallion. Maybe also that time we went to Vienna and gorged ourselves on the SRS, coffee and cake and stayed in a really nice hotel.
My niece Knickers is staying with us at the moment and as is customary she has been pressed into service with a number of chores about the homestead. She remarked this morning that the sort of tasks she'd been charged with doing (such as raking a load of top soil into a veggie bed and breaking up big clods of earth in what might be regarding as a desultory fashion) were exactly the sort of tasks one might be expected to do when sentenced to 25 years of hard labour. "Ah", said Sid, "but in prison you don't get Nutella for breakfast" which I thought was (a) probably correct, and (b) bloody funny. She's going back on Friday (probably for a rest) then coming back to live with us in September when she goes to Uni. And does loads of stuff about the place. We have a full schedule of activities planned for her and have considered pimping her out to raise some funds for the extra acreage we are bound to need and have already identified a number of local farmers who may have needs that she could meet. We thought we could then write about her adventures in a tome called "Desperate Farmers". Or, we could pimp her ass and as a result of her activities she would marry a rich old farmer, he would die and she would have the magic acreage, and then in a tragic reversal of fortunes she could get me and Sid to do all the unpleasant jobs on her place in an effort to get her to let us use her expansive acreage for our growing collection of Lusos.
Slimy eh?
In other news, the mittens (or meehoos as I like to call them) are growing like weeds and eating us out of house and home. They enjoy loafing about in the wisteria playing lions, and galloping and gambolling in the garden. Binky has cut a swath through the local baby rabbit population in her attempts to teach them to hunt - that's good, it's much more useful for us not to mention ethically acceptable that she keeps the rabbit population down than hunting any of the local birdlife. The other night, I had gathered up all the meehoos for the evening but it quickly became apparent that one was MIA. We all went out in turn scouring the farm looking for him, but no sign. I let Dora out for a pee last thing and immediately heard a high pitched and rather desperate mewling coming from the garage. Binky ran up to me and might as well have shouted "he's in the garage!" from her body language, then ran back to the garage door. I had to go and get the keys to let him out but it was so sweet how she ran up to me to let me know help was needed, and knowing I'd sort it out. She's a wonderful cat in so many ways; still loving on he babies, fiercely protective, friendly, sweet, beautiful - ahhhh :mush:
My niece Knickers is staying with us at the moment and as is customary she has been pressed into service with a number of chores about the homestead. She remarked this morning that the sort of tasks she'd been charged with doing (such as raking a load of top soil into a veggie bed and breaking up big clods of earth in what might be regarding as a desultory fashion) were exactly the sort of tasks one might be expected to do when sentenced to 25 years of hard labour. "Ah", said Sid, "but in prison you don't get Nutella for breakfast" which I thought was (a) probably correct, and (b) bloody funny. She's going back on Friday (probably for a rest) then coming back to live with us in September when she goes to Uni. And does loads of stuff about the place. We have a full schedule of activities planned for her and have considered pimping her out to raise some funds for the extra acreage we are bound to need and have already identified a number of local farmers who may have needs that she could meet. We thought we could then write about her adventures in a tome called "Desperate Farmers". Or, we could pimp her ass and as a result of her activities she would marry a rich old farmer, he would die and she would have the magic acreage, and then in a tragic reversal of fortunes she could get me and Sid to do all the unpleasant jobs on her place in an effort to get her to let us use her expansive acreage for our growing collection of Lusos.
Slimy eh?
In other news, the mittens (or meehoos as I like to call them) are growing like weeds and eating us out of house and home. They enjoy loafing about in the wisteria playing lions, and galloping and gambolling in the garden. Binky has cut a swath through the local baby rabbit population in her attempts to teach them to hunt - that's good, it's much more useful for us not to mention ethically acceptable that she keeps the rabbit population down than hunting any of the local birdlife. The other night, I had gathered up all the meehoos for the evening but it quickly became apparent that one was MIA. We all went out in turn scouring the farm looking for him, but no sign. I let Dora out for a pee last thing and immediately heard a high pitched and rather desperate mewling coming from the garage. Binky ran up to me and might as well have shouted "he's in the garage!" from her body language, then ran back to the garage door. I had to go and get the keys to let him out but it was so sweet how she ran up to me to let me know help was needed, and knowing I'd sort it out. She's a wonderful cat in so many ways; still loving on he babies, fiercely protective, friendly, sweet, beautiful - ahhhh :mush:
Tuesday 13 July 2010
Cat admin, and other matters
It had to happen sooner or later, the spectre of rehoming. I've advertised far and wide and no bugger within a 40 mile radius appears to be on the market for a kitten right now. I've just spent some time on the phone chatting to Cats Protection about our situation, the fact that we can't keep them all and of the ones we do want to keep (3, it's just a question of negotiating which 3 - the silver tabby girl and the two runts or the silver tabby girl, the tortie and the black one who's a Binky Mini-Me that are like the three musketeers and always together) is there any help available for the necessary neutering costs. I was a bit loath to go down this road but thinking about it they as an organisation are far better placed to vet and follow up with new owners than we would be as private individuals so would be better placed to ensure that homes found are good ones. Further, they will give us vouchers to get ours done when the time comes and also to take care of Ted and his magnificent if largely vestigial orbs. There is also the possibility of getting Poppy done - that's a tricky one as she's not our cat but the owners don't seem to care about her having litter after litter and unfortunately we are the ones who get to take care of the consequences.
Meanwhile Sid is pressing for them to move to one of the stables not least because he found Dora stressed this morning surrounded for four mittens and Binky standing guard ready to belt the living daylights out of her if she thought of doing anything untoward. The last thing we want is for Dora to snap and attack one of them. Meanwhile Binky has just learnt to use the catflap and the mittens are big enough to be able to get over a stable door so I wouldn't be able to keep them in at night. Arrrgggghhhhh.
On the plus side they are venturing out in the garden regularly and all so far is well.
In other news I am busy making arrangements for the girlz to come home and the arena is much better now with the benefit of a bit of rain. Q and I had our inaugural ride in there while Sid and his mate Rob were putting up an extra line to ensure the electric fencing is on when the relevant gates are open to allow the boys free access to the summer grazing, which involved ladders, rustling and banging. All of this meant that Q had ample opportunity to display a range of impressive spooking techniques and I got to determine just how sticky my seat is when put through a range of impressive spooking techniques. At that stage the arena was riding a bit deep so I didn't do any canter work, so looking forward to cracking on now it's riding better.
Meanwhile T acted as though he'd been worked in there every day for six weeks, bless his glorious heart. He also gets top marks for the mush factor after following me around last weekend whilst I was poo picking and then burying his head in the crook of my neck for a cuddle. I could have died of happiness right there and then.
On the matter of poo picking it's becoming a bit much now having to hump some six-eight barrows per week up the field, a situation which is only going to get worse when we have double the number of horses here. As such we really have no option but to seriously consider the purchase of an ATV. Only thing is, can I be sure that Sid won't do himself some serious mischief on it? Hmmm. If there's anybody out there who can recommend an industrial poo picking solution that is preferably not predisposed to abuse by French people with a tendency towards excess, I'm all ears.
Meanwhile Sid is pressing for them to move to one of the stables not least because he found Dora stressed this morning surrounded for four mittens and Binky standing guard ready to belt the living daylights out of her if she thought of doing anything untoward. The last thing we want is for Dora to snap and attack one of them. Meanwhile Binky has just learnt to use the catflap and the mittens are big enough to be able to get over a stable door so I wouldn't be able to keep them in at night. Arrrgggghhhhh.
On the plus side they are venturing out in the garden regularly and all so far is well.
In other news I am busy making arrangements for the girlz to come home and the arena is much better now with the benefit of a bit of rain. Q and I had our inaugural ride in there while Sid and his mate Rob were putting up an extra line to ensure the electric fencing is on when the relevant gates are open to allow the boys free access to the summer grazing, which involved ladders, rustling and banging. All of this meant that Q had ample opportunity to display a range of impressive spooking techniques and I got to determine just how sticky my seat is when put through a range of impressive spooking techniques. At that stage the arena was riding a bit deep so I didn't do any canter work, so looking forward to cracking on now it's riding better.
Meanwhile T acted as though he'd been worked in there every day for six weeks, bless his glorious heart. He also gets top marks for the mush factor after following me around last weekend whilst I was poo picking and then burying his head in the crook of my neck for a cuddle. I could have died of happiness right there and then.
On the matter of poo picking it's becoming a bit much now having to hump some six-eight barrows per week up the field, a situation which is only going to get worse when we have double the number of horses here. As such we really have no option but to seriously consider the purchase of an ATV. Only thing is, can I be sure that Sid won't do himself some serious mischief on it? Hmmm. If there's anybody out there who can recommend an industrial poo picking solution that is preferably not predisposed to abuse by French people with a tendency towards excess, I'm all ears.
Tuesday 6 July 2010
Bloggus Interruptus
So it's been a while since I had anything I felt the need to blog about. Binky has had her op and is doing great; she still has some milk and is feeding her mittens - whose numbers have once more increased by one. Yes, the second mewling from the kitchen roof of a couple of weeks ago manifested itself in a tiny black and white form in the feed room last weekend, which then disappeared again until Friday evening when it appeared with Poppy on the patio. Hmmm. Some while later I let Dora out for a waz and was amazed to see this tiny slip of a cat with its weeny back arched and miniscule tail a bottle brush, standing in the doorway and effctively blocking her re-entry. What a wuss!
I spent part of the weekend wrestling with the desire to ride in the arena on the one hand, while shaking my fist at the heavens in view of lack of rain with which to settle the surface on the other. In the end I decided to give the boys the weekend off in protest so we spent much of the day pimping the garden. I was going to say primping, which would be more correct, but decided I like pimping better, and as it's my garden, pimping it is. If I can't pimp my own garden, what hope is there for anything? Sid sprayed an array of weeds with some weedkiller, and to date the weeds sit there resolutely refusing to be affected in any tangible way. If they had arms, they'd be folded. If they had faces, they'd be frowning. If they had voices, they'd be saying "Non!". Yes, that level of recalcitrance leads to me inexorably to one conclusion: we have French weeds.
Saturday evening Sid and I invited our old YO round for a barbie. Had a message to say she was running late so we cracked on with the starter (glorious halloumi and Wrong Tomato kebabs, coated in olive oil and oregano) and demolished a bottle of Amarone in very short order, followed by a nice Rioja. Meanwhile, still no YO. Eventually we had to eat, although in truth rather too much wine had been consumed by that point and it wasn't long before the madnes overcame us and there was much impromptu music and dancing. With hindsight I should never have broken out the pernod, but it's good to cut loose every now and again even if you do then feel seriously rancid for much of the next day and fall asleep next to the bog as the lesser of a long list of evils.
Some time during the evening, with Poppy and her little one loitering on the patio and Poppy seeming very uninterested in feeding the little tyke, Sid took pity on it and scooped it up to join our growing brood of felines. As a result we now have 8 MITTENS. ***Sid's choice, not mine***
Needless to say I was (a) curled up asleep on the sofa, (b) bog eyed and bleary, and (c) still predominantly in my jimjams when Pheel arrived on Sunday afternoon with a large consignment of haylage for next winter, some 10 large round bales which we have perhaps rashly opted to store in the empty half of the muck clamp. There are only so many places you can physically store that much haylage. We had a coffee and discussed the options for a field shelter for the girls, and then he went again. For a short while afterwards I entertained the possibility of doing something with the boys but quickly recognised this for the act of purest optimism that it was and merely put them back in the summer paddocks, the remainder of the electric fencing remaining undone for another week as a result of general levels of unwellness within the household.
Should get our chain harrow this week, which I am looking forward to almost as much as finally being able to get in the sodding arena with the boys, who incidentally (touch wood) have settled down lately in terms of mullahing the fence every five minutes.
I actually had a call today from a very posh sounding lady called Sarah wanting to know if I had any tabbies available. I felt myself getting very cagey because we do have a tabby but we plan to keep her, but was saved by the fact that she was specifically after a boy. I said to Sid, where there's one call surely there will be more.
I spent part of the weekend wrestling with the desire to ride in the arena on the one hand, while shaking my fist at the heavens in view of lack of rain with which to settle the surface on the other. In the end I decided to give the boys the weekend off in protest so we spent much of the day pimping the garden. I was going to say primping, which would be more correct, but decided I like pimping better, and as it's my garden, pimping it is. If I can't pimp my own garden, what hope is there for anything? Sid sprayed an array of weeds with some weedkiller, and to date the weeds sit there resolutely refusing to be affected in any tangible way. If they had arms, they'd be folded. If they had faces, they'd be frowning. If they had voices, they'd be saying "Non!". Yes, that level of recalcitrance leads to me inexorably to one conclusion: we have French weeds.
Saturday evening Sid and I invited our old YO round for a barbie. Had a message to say she was running late so we cracked on with the starter (glorious halloumi and Wrong Tomato kebabs, coated in olive oil and oregano) and demolished a bottle of Amarone in very short order, followed by a nice Rioja. Meanwhile, still no YO. Eventually we had to eat, although in truth rather too much wine had been consumed by that point and it wasn't long before the madnes overcame us and there was much impromptu music and dancing. With hindsight I should never have broken out the pernod, but it's good to cut loose every now and again even if you do then feel seriously rancid for much of the next day and fall asleep next to the bog as the lesser of a long list of evils.
Some time during the evening, with Poppy and her little one loitering on the patio and Poppy seeming very uninterested in feeding the little tyke, Sid took pity on it and scooped it up to join our growing brood of felines. As a result we now have 8 MITTENS. ***Sid's choice, not mine***
Needless to say I was (a) curled up asleep on the sofa, (b) bog eyed and bleary, and (c) still predominantly in my jimjams when Pheel arrived on Sunday afternoon with a large consignment of haylage for next winter, some 10 large round bales which we have perhaps rashly opted to store in the empty half of the muck clamp. There are only so many places you can physically store that much haylage. We had a coffee and discussed the options for a field shelter for the girls, and then he went again. For a short while afterwards I entertained the possibility of doing something with the boys but quickly recognised this for the act of purest optimism that it was and merely put them back in the summer paddocks, the remainder of the electric fencing remaining undone for another week as a result of general levels of unwellness within the household.
Should get our chain harrow this week, which I am looking forward to almost as much as finally being able to get in the sodding arena with the boys, who incidentally (touch wood) have settled down lately in terms of mullahing the fence every five minutes.
I actually had a call today from a very posh sounding lady called Sarah wanting to know if I had any tabbies available. I felt myself getting very cagey because we do have a tabby but we plan to keep her, but was saved by the fact that she was specifically after a boy. I said to Sid, where there's one call surely there will be more.
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