A Scrap of Knowledge
Quarantine Letter #22
Today’s Quarantine Letter is dedicated to my friend Sharon with whom I bonded over John’s horses.
I have but a scrap of knowledge about horses. Before I became a regular visitor and then a resident on John’s farm I only knew that I was scared silly of them. My former husband had been a farrier and had told scary tales of kicks and bites, of broken bones and purple bruises, and of ended careers and lifelong pain. I had ridden a couple of broken-down trail horses a few times as a teenager and decided then and there that they were too far up above the ground and that their feet were too big and too heavy.
Certain that my fear was both visible and palpable, not only to John and the grooms but also to his horses, I determined that my life here would be more enjoyable if I could begin to get over that fear. And, what better friend to make that happen but Nostro Noble? He of the seven big wins; large, white blaze on his face; and the John Wayne swagger as he sauntered across the paddocks. A gelding, he lived with a herd of mares, foals, and another gelding and was clearly the Alpha dude. And the way to Nostro’s heart? Ahhh...mints. Only a certain kind, mind you, and only from a single source: the Caribbean Confection Company. Not a sweet eater myself, I had noticed their packages in the grocery stores and, ever the educator, decided that three mints a visit with Nostro would allow me to establish a pattern so that we might learn to know one another.
Clearly, he could count. I would unwrap each one slowly, cup it in my hand and allow him—with his enormous teeth—to grab it, chomp down on it, and then look me in the eye making it evident that he was waiting for the second and third ones. If I walked away after only one or two he would neigh a convincing “come back here, you, I en done!” It became our joke, part of our story. Surprisingly, if he dropped one, I felt no hesitation in picking it up and re-presenting it. Neither his spittle nor his great size put me off. Over time, I became comfortable enough to go in the paddock with him with nary a rail between us.
Nearly 20 when we met, he became my great friend for several years until cancer took him away. During those early years, just before I headed north each time, I would go to the paddock to say goodbye, wrap my arms around his neck, and shed a few tears. When I returned several weeks later, I would drop my bags then hurry down to the paddock to call his name. His ears perked up, he would slowly amble towards me, just like a John Wayne character in a Western. Had he spoken English, I’m certain that what he was saying was “Hello, little lady, you new about these here parts?”
The other gelding on the farm, Double Noble, was a gentle soul, who turned into a whirlwind of activity and attitude the moment he stepped into the horse box, which became amped up significantly on the race course at the Garrison. He won numerous races and the photos of his wins show all of us trying to manage his flailing about. (Look at this photo and try to see his back legs. Or not.)
I have learned a tiny bit about horse racing—mostly anticipating the winning part—and along with an American friend resident here, am the noisiest cheer-er and Yeehaw-er when John’s horses win. I didn’t know I had it in me! I see the grace, beauty, and speed in a strong, well-trained, well-ridden horse on the track, but at home on the farm, I see obstinance, exhilaration, fun, and fierce maternal protectiveness and love. The photo here shows the first foal with whom I fell in love, Speedy, and his ferocious and aggressive mum, Purr Class. Gentle with Speedy, she would fly at an intruder, ears back and mouth stretched. No one dared to stand up to her.
Below, one of Purr Class’s other foals, Noble Warrior, and Dancing Noble kicking up after lots of rain. I know, empirically, that horses have a sense of fun just as much as dogs and cats do.
Born three years ago, see below, HowULikeDisNoble is now in training for his first race, perhaps soon—if the pandemic restrictions ease up—and is taken to the Garrison regularly to, literally, be put through his paces.
At first, he was super fussy that he would only occupy the starboard side of the horse box, which is where he is in the first photo (red arrow). However, ShakeDemUpNoble utterly refused to go in the box this morning unless she could have the starboard side. You can see their story in the following three photos.
At first I thought that the way folks who work with horses manage these tempers, squabbles, turf wars, and struggles for Alpha status, was far beyond my comprehension. Then I remembered our students’ group-work strife at the college, and in-fighting of all sorts when I was in industry, and realized that these interactions are all part of being sentient beings. These horses are truly brilliant.
Stay safe, friends!