The accident

I was laughing, chatting to my friend over the fence while sorting out the hay. I was in the field with the UBF but not present. I wasn't aware of where he was, what he was doing - I casually continued my chores chatting to others as I worked.

A dog was barking maniacally in the car. Young boys were playing on their skateboards above in the municipal car park. We were all giggling at something banal. The UBF was stressed and I didn't notice - or if I did, I certainly didn't give it much thought.

And then crash. A hoof had struck me on my head and I fell to the floor, blood pouring down my face. I stood up willing myself not to be concussed, not to go to hospital - I told everyone I was fine and exited his field quickly to mop up the evidence from my face.

It turned out to be a small cut but a huge shock. I was embarrassed at what had happened, I'd let my guard down and treated this creature as I would my other horses, who were trained and aware of their own bodies. The warning signs were all there but I had ignored them.

This is a two year old unhandled stallion who has seen nothing of the world. He didn't mean to rear up and strike me on the head but he did, a lesson learned. The UBF has now taught me to be present at all times, to notice every flicker of his ear, every swish of his tail and the whites of his eye - and to wear a hat when dealing with him!

Recovery

It's easy to acquire a horse, to feel sorry for a horse about to be put to sleep, it's easy to say 'yes' when someone asks. To be honest I didn't give the UBF a huge amount of thought, I was casually looking for another horse - a project for me and my 15 year old daughter. A horse to be loved by the community where he was going to live. I had a lot of support, contacts, experience and time, but the nerves crept in once the operation was over - I now had a 2 year old stallion who'd had zero training, on my hands.

The years have taught me to live in the present as much as you can. Learn from the past and take one day at a time. So instead of worrying how I was going to back this gangly little creature and whether I had the nerves still left to do it, I concentrated on today.

The vet showed me how to inject the 20mls of thick antibiotic liquid into his neck. She showed me how to pinch the skin and draw back the tube to make sure I hadn't hit a vein. She demonstrated how I needed to clean the wound, how to flush the holes of pus so the liquid would come right out of his mouth. She gave me the pain relief in powder form and I worried how he wouldn't eat it.

But one day at a time. He stood patiently while I injected him, my nerves jangling inside hoping not to hurt his poor, malnourished neck. With some apple juice and mash he gobbled his pain relief and with just the smallest amount of twitching, he let me clean his wounds.

I am amazed at the UBF. His stoic ability to accept what has happened over the last few days of his life. I am proud of myself, to face things which scare me, to challenge myself and to stand up for what I believe in. I am honoured that my friend has given me a field and a stable where he can stay. I am incredbly proud of my daughters who day and night, rain or searing heat, help with the animals without complaint.

So it's not just me raising the UBF. It's a community. It not only takes a village to raise a child, but an Ugly Brown Foal as well.

The Operation

He had one day to settle before his operation. I soaked his pellets so that they were soft and more appealing to his little mouth and sensitive teeth. He ate the grass, all of his hay and broke more water buckets - seemingly enjoying his new toys and food, despite the putrid smelling pus that exited from the holes in his jaw.

The Ugly Brown Foal - let's call him UBF - was born on a huge stud farm of Spanish horses on the island of Mallorca. His owner had bought five foals as an investment, and I suppose when they had grown he would sell them for a decent profit to Germany - where they have a penchant for the breed. Except the UBF had started losing the owner money, the investment was turning sour with little option of returns. He had had a rotten molar removed when he was a yearling - but the infection from the rotten tooth had started to rot his jaw - poor UBF had floating pieces of dead bone and three holes where the body was trying to expel the foreign objects.

He smelt really bad and must have been in pain, but continued to eat with such gusto. I won't go into the details of the operation suffice to say there was blood, pus and a lot of effort to remove the rotten pieces of bone. The UBF swayed, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, unable to protest as the vet worked sensitively and swiftly.

It was a success. What a little trooper, a brave soul, a creature so deserving of this chance. I felt elated I could help him. The children carefully wiped the blood from his face and brushed the matts from his coat while he was still whoozy - taking advantage of the remains of the sedative still in his body, before he woke up fully to be the 2 year old Pure Spanish Stallion that he is.

Everything is new

It's normal for horses to be stressed when they move home, so many new things to get used to - their new stable, their new field, their new companions need to be sniffed and squealed over. But most horses know about the food that comes in their bucket and that the water available, is for them. The Ugly Brown Foal knew nothing. 

After braving his journey and entering his new stable he pawed at his bed of pine- scented wood shavings, he shoved his head in the water bucket and jumped back at the shock. He grabbed a bit of the expensive green hay brought especially from the mainland and looked over the high door, wondering where he was. He had another look around - this time putting his long, lanky leg in the water bucket and splashing himself before pulling the whole thing over. I lugged two more buckets of water out of the well and tried again. I assume he'd never seen water like this, only being used to an automatic waterer - a small dish which turns on the flow as they push their nose against a button. Water was a big game and he broke two buckets on that first day.

He sniffed and recoiled at the apple and carrots the children had chopped for him. He was scared of his dinner and left it uneaten. He had no clue how to walk down or up a hill having lived all his life on the flat. We laughed at his moon-walk attempt as he negotiated the incline. 

That first day he enjoyed his first taste of grass but hated the way it felt against his legs. He whinneyed to the retired mares who were very excited to see a bit of totty in the next door field. He trotted, he cantered, he did some impressive pony gymnastics and then he started to eat - looking up frequently to us and his new surroundings.

Just one day at a time Ugly Brown Foal.