Hormone Havoc

Two mares in heat. Even Chloe prancing and galloping. George going off into corners to stomp the ground and kick the air. Everyone madly charging around the field, squealing and bucking.

Having been out all day, I walk into this maelstrom all unawares and park myself in a corner of the field with a grooming box and halter, waiting to see who'll come up.

George comes over and enjoys some brushing. Then I ask him if he'd like to put the halter on, and he agrees.

To George, a glance of the eye is like a taser shock, and so I figure I'm going to work with him for a while without actually touching him, although communicating through the leadrope is ok.

We get a little back relaxation, but George is touchy. I back off every time he looks like he might be getting cross. So he doesn't get cross, although he expresses his anxiety by grabbing my sleeve and chomping the rope.

When I let him go, he walks away but returns shortly, driving Bridget in front of him. They both stick around for a minute, and then the wild rumpus begins.

I enjoy watching them caper and reflect that for a gelding over-endowed with testosterone, in a field with two mares in heat, George was really quite polite when I was working with him.

In a Mood

Today I took Bridget for a saddled walk. Before the walk started, things went rather well, I thought. First of all, she was on the lawn and saw me coming across the field carrying the saddle from the barn. I disappeared around the corner of the house to put the tack on a gate, and then came back around to find my husband in a state of some consternation as Bridget was hitting the house with her feet. I, in my naive optimism, think maybe she wondered where I'd gotten to and was trying to attract attention.

I've shelved the clicker for her and worked on standing still without the clicker, but still offering a treat reward. For example, every time I tried to move down her side to fiddle with the girth, she moved to keep me by her head. It took very little time and effort to show her that I was asking for her to stand still while I moved away from her head and back again, a little longer each time, giving her a treat when I returned to her head. I really don't think the clicker would have added anything.

We started out on our walk fine. But Bridget is in heat right now, and her behavior got more and more pixellated as we proceeded. First, she was all bent out of shape about a fly. I was sure it had to be a jumbo-jet horsefly, but it proved to be a couple of very regular-sized ordinary flies. Then when the cows came into view in the distance, Bridget became more and more agitated, to the point where she was plunging a little and contemplating a small rear.

And then there was the fact that I'd spaced out and put the wrong saddle on her, and it kept slipping out of position, and it was probably quite annoying for her.

When we turned for home, she would not walk beside me and wasn't interested in anything I had to say about it. We stopped about 1,000 times to re-arrange ourselves. Then I remembered that on our very first walk at Raintree in Mississippi, I'd had the notion that I should insist that she walk politely beside me, a notion which I quickly abandoned without regret. It's just that lately she has been quite happy to walk nicely, and I was getting frustrated at her refusal to cooperate.

Then we reached the pasture fence, and I let her go up and greet George and Rose, which involved a great deal of squealing.

And then we went home and I let her go.

As I walked back to the barn with the tack, Bridget followed me and kept nosing the saddle. Which I guess meant she hadn't had a totally horrible time. But I was feeling a little downcast. When I emerged from the house a little later, however, Bridget marched over and gave me a Bridget-hug. This involves her extending the Foreleg of Greeting, which you grab, and then she puts her head over your shoulder and then you squeeze her round the neck as hard as you can and rub her neck with your head while she rubs her head on you. The human can initiate this interaction by squeezing her neck, but this afternoon it was Bridget who started it. Which definitely made me feel better.

What a Difference a Day Makes

The temperature soared to 49F, the sun was shining, and only the lightest of breezes wafted across the field. The horses and I were in a mellow, mellow mood.

I brought out the grooming box, which Bridget wasted no time in emptying.

Bridget is always gregarious, no matter the weather, but the other three's desire to socialize definitely rises with the temperature. George was back to his old self and planted himself next to me, indicating that it would be acceptable for me to brush him. Bridget kept sneaking up, and at one point - marvellous to relate - she reached out and just barely touched George's hindquarters with her nose.

Most of the time, Bridget and George took turns for attention, although Rose did come up at one point while I was talking to Bridget. She intimated that Bridget should please buzz off, but Bridget, of course, ignored the suggestion. Chloe was looking particularly placid and smiley. When I walked over to her and stood a couple of feet away, she sidled up to me so I could scratch her.

George has taken possession of the shelter (finally - now that the worst of the weather is over!) and I did observe Rose venture in once during George's absence. The shelter is very deep, but you can see that the entrance is much too narrow for horses who have to share quarters with a Troll.

Chez George.

Chloe considers her chances.

Chloe wanted to go join George in the shelter but didn't quite dare. When he came out, however, he went up to her and touched her gently with his nose. He and the mares are definitely making progress - I saw him and Rose stand briefly nose-to-tail/tail-to-nose.

Moving on from their little encounter.

George is still very self-protective - especially about his right side. He wanted to be groomed on his left side, but did not offer the right. I experienced something which I had not noticed before - while standing on his right side, I reached out to touch his back and immediately felt the skin tighten and become hard. I left my hand there and tried to relax and think soothing thoughts. He did loosen up, but it is striking that something seemingly so harmless could evoke such a strong reaction from him. My friend has an Arab gelding whom she says hated to be touched for the longest time - he would just tighten up all over. She wore him down, and now he gets ecstatic when you scratch him.

George also (I think) tried to groom me. I encouraged him by sticking out my arm and telling him to scratch it. If he chomped too hard, I tried to under-react - just enough to let him know he has to pull his punches when grooming a human.

Bridget and I played with the tire. I rolled it for her a couple of times.

She and Rose followed after the tire. I climbed on top of it, holding onto Bridget's neck for balance, while she chewed and pawed it.

Then she worked on undoing my shoelaces.

Rose's abscess opening is growing down her foot. Here are a couple of photos showing its progress down the hoof since December. It looks like there's been about an inch of hoof growth in the last six weeks or so.

December 30, two weeks after it
erupted at the coronet band.

Today.

We had a nice time, and nobody once mentioned food. Even the occasional unruly truck roaring past couldn't ruffle the genial tranquillity of the afternoon.

Something's going on in the distance -

but George doesn't care.