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| Photo credit - woopido2 |
Part One
Strong dry and hot easterly winds stirred, they introduced the big black clouds looming on the horizon. White flashes of lightning impressed upon the drought stricken land that a definite change was coming.
Henry was one of seven children. He was the only son of an aristocrat father, who, scolded him the day he decided to leave. Stubborn until his dying breathe - his father blamed him, for abandoning the family legacy and bringing shame and embarrassment to the family name.
Henry broke generations of tradition and defied his father's will. The patriotic longing to serve his country was more profound than tolling the soil of the family heritage and it kept him away for to long.
The old carriage squeaked to a halt, Henry pulled the two tied horses to a stop. Their flanks, from haste, were dripping with sweat. Henry wiped the sweat from his brow, and he scanned the long track that led back to the manor. He noticed the calibre of oak trees had become over grown. The bright white paint of the wooden fences that lined the farm boundary had faded. The wooden panels were broken and in need of repair. The wrought iron gate that he and his father had built, and once proudly displayed the family name, was now rusty and swung from one hinge.
The easterly wind pushed hard and a loud crack startled the horses as a branch from an oak tree snapped off.
“Steady,” his voice, warmly reassuring.
Henry turned his collar high around his neck and pulled his worn hat further down.
A slight tap of the reins on the horse's back gave the signal to move on. Henry let the horses walk at their own pace. There was no hurry now he was back. The clip clop of the horse's hooves on the gravel combined with the carriage wheels, echoed soothing sounds. Henry felt a warm feeling sweep through his body. A flood of childhood memories clouded his thoughts. The years seemed to blend in together, fogging clarity, he realised he had lost track of time and places.
Rounding the last bend in the road Henry smiled, as he saw the grand manor still standing tall. It's grace was a little worse for wear. The gable hung loose and the roof balustrade was missing. The once shining white columns, weathered. The prestigious and vibrant garden beds that laced the crisp cut lawns had become overgrown with weeds. The pristine roses that bloomed annually had withered and died. A sad lonely silence filled the air.
Returning home was not quite what he had pictured in his mind. The last time he had returned five red setter dogs came barking out to meet him, followed by six boisterous boys and two blonde curled girls, the children of his siblings. The fresh perfume of newly budded roses and the sweet smell of fresh cut oaten hay, scented the air. Workers cheerfully whistled, busy in the garden grounds. Henry's heart sank, saddened by reality, that the bustling field activity he remembered had ceased long ago.
...To Be Continued...
Go directly to part two
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| Ranger |
I lent on the timber yard rail and recalled the story the farmer had told me. I was still mortified that people could be so cruel.
I first saw him, in the middle of summer, standing under the shade of a old gum tree. His tail swishing to and fro and his ears flickering back and forth at the annoying flies. For a short stocky little pony he had an appeal about him and when I looked in his eye I could see the pain.
He was named Ranger and his story is amazing.
Ranger was sold to a family. They were green when it came to knowledge of horses. They had an old dirty, rat infested stable and decided to buy a horse to fill it. Ranger unfortunately became that horse and he spent his days standing in the stable. Day in day out. The stable was never mucked out so he stood in his own waste. The only time he was allowed out was when the family wanted to ride him and pretty quickly the novelty wore off.
Their ignorant lack of horse husbandry became Ranger's worst nightmare.
Occasionally they fed and watered him and during the winter months the family put a rug on him. The rug however, was never removed until summer and by then it had rubbed his skin bare, open wounds fested on his chest, wither and rump, he was also heavy infested with lice.
Ranger was stumbled upon by a local farmer and when he unbolted the stable door he was hit with a stench of urine and rotting flesh. The farmer was gobsmacked by what he saw - a saddened stance of head hanging low from despair and rats crawling all over him. They were literally eating him. He was weak from lack of food and had severe muscle deterioation.
When the vet saw him, he said that 'the kindest thing to do was shoot him', but the farmer wouldn't hear off it.
"I'll take him home and he can spend out his life there, peaceful and free,"
It took over twevel months before Ranger's wound's could heal but unfortunately he was psychologically damaged.
He would stand as far away as possible from people and he was impossible to catch. To avoid it he would run into barb wire fences and since the farmer didn't want him to get injured any more, he ceased trying to catch him.
"I had no intenion of riding him," I told the farmer oneday.
During spring, the paddock was a wash of yellow daisies. I was sitting about forty meters from Ranger and feeling relaxed by the sunny day, nodded off. When I woke I rolled over on my side to stretch and there relaxing in the shade of a tree a few meters from me was Ranger. I held my breath and dare not move thinking I would frighten him. But he lifted his head from his sleepy slumber looked at me and let out a heavy sigh before going back to his afternoon nap.
The next day as I walked towards him he noticed me coming and he began to walk towards me. I stopped shocked by what I was seeing, the jewbelation I felt for this horse's break through bought tears to my eye's. He nuzzled into my arm as if to say where's my carrot?
I spent one year working with Ranger and his confidence grew. Before long I knew he needed to spread his wings and made the tough descision to sell him. He was sold to the riding for the disabled were he thrived. He was the favourite among the kids and adults alike. He lived another fifteen years and was twenty six when he died. I never forgot that plucky little pony and one day I saw him at a local show and when I looked in his eye's his pain had gone.
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| Me on Ranger |
Have you ever wondered why you attract certain things into your life?
I have ponder that thought my entire existence and I understand the whole concept now. It brings to the mind the saying, If I had the knowledge I have now, when I was...Yes hindsight, a wonderful invention.
Animal's have a sixth sense. I have seen this for myself several times. But what fascinates me is that animals are drawn to me and always have been. I'm not talking about the type of being drawn to, if you sit down with a nice bucket of hot chips and you get swamped by a flock of seagulls. No this is more profound.
A few years ago I was part of a muster in rounding up about one hundred wild horses. Once the horses had been yarded I over heard a conversation between two blokes about a rogue horse. Rogue horses are meant to be very dangerous and untamable.
I didn't know which horse they were talking about, but I presumed it was in the herd we had just yarded. It had been decided that the rogue horse through no fault of his own would be shot.
I was walking among the herd, and had noticed this lovely bay horse following me. He was tall at least 16hands. He was a very rich bay colour with black markings up to his knees and with black mane and tail. He was striking. I had already envisioned galloping along the plains on him.
"Jul's," I heard Bob scream at me "Don't move,"
Why, I thought.
Then the bay snorted and reared.
What the heck is going on, I said to myself.
The bay continued to snort and stamp his hooves down with a sharp thud. I knew something was upsetting the bay, but what?
I heard someone say to me "Walk slowly backwards,"
Why!
I looked over my shoulder and saw the two guys that had been talking about the rogue horse. It was then I made the connection. The bay was the rogue horse.
The two shooter guys had a rifle and were going to shoot him right there, right then.
I stood staring at the bay, throwing himself around wildly. Trying to intimidate the shooters. He reared and lunged forward, gnashing his teeth. All the while I just couldn't help but think how amazing this horse was.
One of the shooters yelled at me.
"Get out of the fucking way you useless bitch," I was in his line of fire.
I flashed him a look. He tried to justify himself.
"We have to shoot the mad bastard he's gonna kill someone and if you don't get yourself out of there it might be you," In the use of his word 'We', I noticed how shooter number one had made it about being on sides. The shooters side or the rogue killer horses side.
I turned to face the shooters, leaving my back exposed to the killer horse. The shooters screamed and gestured, but no, I was not going to let them shoot him.
I told the shooters to fuck off, I told them to give me a day with the killer horse and if I couldn't ride him they could shoot him.
Smiling to themselves thinking I was a useless bitch they left.
I turned back to the bay and said "You heard that. Stop your mucking about or you'll be the dog's dinner tonight," The bay settled and took a few steps towards me. He sniffed me and then nuzzled into my arm.
I walked away and he followed.
Word spread quickly that I was going to ride the rogue horse. Before to long an audience had appeared. They had come to pay their last respects. I wasn't sure to who? Me or the rogue horse.
One year later I was back at the same place doing the same thing, bringing in a herd of wild horses. The horse I rode was tall with a long lopping gait. He worked effortlessly. It was a pleasure to ride him.
He was a striking bay colour with black marking. His name was Stardust. The rogue horse had turned out to be one of the most well trained and successfully shown horses I ever owned. In fact he was the most popular choice for riders at my riding school.
When given the freedom to choose animals seek out those of us who they know to be pure of heart. Many of the animals that I have had the pleasure of knowing in my life seeked me out. The unseen sixth sense. So who is attracting whom to them? Is it us or the animals.
Either way our lives are enriched.
Me on Stardust
Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/05/kittens-play.html
