The Infinite Magic of Horses

By Candida Baker

A celebration of our univeral love of horses - their beauty, their strength, their untamed spirit.

In this beautiful book Candida Baker brings together a collection of heart-warming of true stories from horse owners around the world. These amazing tales are just some of the tiny miracles, magical moments, feats of courage and acts of sacrifice that are part of a horse lover's life.

This book describes the extraordinary relationship between horse and human - with all its highs and lows. Whether you are a rider, a reader, or simply love horses, this book will delight, inspire and amaze you. The perfect gift for anyone who has ever been moved by the strength, beauty and wonder of the horse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspired Living
• Release date: Nov 1, 2009
• ISBN: 9781741769104

Book preview

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Candida Baker is a writer, journalist, publisher

and photographer. She lives in the hills behind

Byron Bay with her two children, three dogs and

one cat. She also practises natural horsemanship

and owns far too many horses.

The infinite magic of

HORSES

CANDIDA BAKER

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First published in 2009

Copyright © Candida Baker 2009

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Inspired Living, an imprint of

Allen & Unwin

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone: [phone]

Fax: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

Web: www.allenandunwin.com

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available

from the National Library of Australia

www.librariesaustralia.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74237 100 9

EISBN 978 1 74176 910 4

Author photo by Thomas Ives

Internal design by Nada Backovic

Set in 12/18 pt Centaur by Bookhouse, Sydney

Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

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Introduction

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Iwas eighteen months old when my father first sat me up on a horse.

I loved it so much, apparently, that when I was taken off the only thing that would stop me crying was the promise of another horse ride.

So the next day my father drove around the countryside until he found a friendly farmer out on his horse, and I was once more sat up on this magical creature I’d just discovered.

That was over fifty years ago, and to me horses are still magical creatures.

Much of my early childhood was spent looking for horses to ride, until finally my parents relented and decided I could have one of my own. I think Kim Falconer’s story of her first ride on a young Buckskin filly perfectly sums up the wonderment a child feels in the presence of a horse.

I’ve often wondered about the moment when man stopped hunting horses and started riding them. The horses we know today can be traced back to Equus przewalskii Poljakoff, the prehistoric wild horse of Mongolia, which was hunted almost to extinction before a breeding program from the 1950s ensured its survival.

Once men began to ride horses, they quickly became a necessity for war, hunting, raiding, sport and transport.

Nowadays of course, horses no longer die in battle, but that is not to say that they are always treated as they should be. Several of the stories in the book deal with the poor treatment of the Australian brumby, or wild horse, and with the scars—visible or not—that all abused horses carry. If you love horses, it’s almost inevitable that a horse in need of help will find its way to you. And no doubt if you love horses you will wish you could rescue many more.

These days I have more than several horses, all of which seem to have found their way to me. (Mel Fleming gives a moving description of the energetic connection between horses and their owners.)

Of course, owning and loving horses does not necessarily make it easy to write and compile a book on them. In fact it makes it exceedingly difficult!

During this project, my Shetland was kicked in the eye by one of the bigger horses, which meant several stitches and a large vet bill; and one of the showjumpers decided for reasons unknown to launch himself into the back of the float and get one of his back legs stuck over a partition. Images of instant euthanasia subsided as we realised he was OK, if very sore, but yes, there was another large vet bill.

Large bills are, unfortunately, part and parcel of owning horses. For me, new clothes and visits to the hairdresser and beautician have all taken back seats to bales of hay, feed, farriers and vets, not to mention such specialist items as horse dentistry and must-have horse gadgets.

And every day, I am up early feeding and unrugging, and out late in the afternoon feeding and rugging and checking water and fences and hooves.

Every now and then, when it is pouring with rain and the mud is knee-deep, the tack is growing mould, my gumboots are leaking and the horses are all miserable, I wonder why on earth I keep on going when life could be so much easier and peaceful with fewer horses—or perhaps even none.

But I know the answer: life would be unimaginable and completely boring.

Loving horses is really a lot like marriage. For better or worse, for richer or for exceptionally poorer, in good times and bad, we rub along together. And sometimes—like this morning, when I fed my Golden Girls, Glimmer and Jewel, and one put her head on one hand, and the other put her head on the other hand, and I stood between a pair of golden bookends—come those magic moments to see you through and to remind you of the infinite magic of horses.

Candida Baker

May 2009

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My horse has a hoof of striped agate; his fetlock

is like a fine eagle plume. His legs are like quick

lightning. My horse has a tail like a trailing black

cloud. His mane is made of short rainbows. My

horse’s eyes are made of big stars.

NAVAJO WAR GOD’S HORSE SONG

Storm’s Arrival

We had it all planned out. Ten days before Glimmer’s foal was due to be born, we would put her in a smaller field with safe fences, away from the other horses, and give her time to get used to her surroundings before she gave birth.

But Glimmer, my beautiful Palomino Quarter Horse mare, had other ideas. Two weeks before her foal was due, I’d just finished feeding the horses when Imogen, who keeps her pony with us, said to me—‘Look, there’s something strange sticking out of Glimmer!’

She was absolutely right—what was sticking out was the sac with the foal in it, and Glimmer was still nonchalantly eating her dinner.

I rushed inside and got my camera, and Imogen and her dad and I went down to the field and stood near the fence.

Almost immediately, Glimmer lay down and her foal began to appear. Halfway through the process, with half a foal in and half a foal out, she even decided to get up and eat a bit more. But then she thought better of it, lay down again, and in a minute there he was—a beautiful little Paint colt, and not just Paint, a tri-coloured Paint, with brown and black and white on him. I just kept clicking away, and I got everything, from the sac to his first steps.

By then my daughter Anna had arrived back from school, and I decided we would see if Glimmer was happy for us to imprint her foal.

Imprinting is a somewhat controversial method of handling foals that was created by horse specialist Dr Robert Miller about twenty years ago. The idea is that before the foal’s flight instinct has kicked in, you handle it, a lot. You do just about everything from rubbing your fingers on its gums to picking up its feet. I didn’t want to go that far, but I did want to see if Glimmer would let us stroke her baby and how the foal would feel about it.

We went in very quietly and just sat on the ground near him, and I just lightly stroked him and then Anna did the same. Glimmer didn’t mind at all. She even joined in, giving him a few kisses and licks. Before long, we could stroke him all over. We did it for only about ten minutes, but from that moment on he was so easy to handle.

We called him Storm because he was born between summer thunderstorms. I was grateful that we spent the time with him, because when the rain got fierce I could put Glimmer in the stable and Storm was very happy to walk beside me.

As soon as Storm was born, all the other horses crowded around, including his bigger half-sister, Jewel, and gazed at him for hours. The geldings all stood in a row against the fence line. It was the funniest thing to watch.

Now he is six months old, a beautiful Paint colt, and he runs and gambols—he is very independent. He managed to get separated from his mother a few times, and neither of them panicked, thank goodness, although she was walking like a nursing mother who was desperate to give her baby a feed by the time I got him back in with her.

Every morning when I give them hay, Storm asks me for scratches. Then Glimmer always manages to drop hay on his head, so that he looks rather goofy instead of like the noble steed I hope he will one day become.

Candida Baker

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A stubborn horse walks behind you,

an impatient horse walks in front of you,

but a noble companion walks beside you.

ANONYMOUS

Ducking for Cover

My horse, Shilo, is a 14.2 hands chestnut Arabian mare. She’s sixteen years old.

A couple of years ago, something really unusual happened. I was having lessons with my riding instructor, which I’d been doing every week for the past three years. On this particular day in the sand arena, I was doing figure-of-eight circles, and Shilo refused point blank to go down the centre of the arena in a straight line. She would just side-step when I got to the middle, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Once the lesson was over, I came to a stop in the middle of the arena and waited while my instructor came over to talk to me. ‘Gee, she really didn’t want to step in the middle today, did she?’ she said with a laugh.

We both thought it was a good joke until I asked Shilo to move off so we could go home. She wouldn’t move. Not even one step. She just stood there, ears pricked, head tilted to the side, staring at her feet!

That’s when we saw what all the side-stepping and fuss had been about. A baby duckling had found its way into the arena and hadn’t been able to get out again. While my instructor and I were talking, the little duck must have found its way over to Shilo and sat very snugly between her front hooves. I can only imagine how scared that poor little duck must have been, especially with Shilo and I charging around it.

All that time Shilo had been trying her best not to step on the poor little fluff ball, even while I was on her back unwittingly trying my best to get her to walk straight on top of it!

I will never forget how cute both my horse and that little duck looked as they both stood there staring at one another.

Mykaella Gosper

A good trainer can hear a horse speak to him.

A great trainer can hear a him whisper.

MONTY ROBERTS

In the Dark Hours

There’s not a whole lot of fun in having depression.

Especially when you are busy hiding it from the world and making out you are OK—telling friends and family that you aren’t lonely and that you don’t