The Farrier

His feet were one of the last tasks I needed to sort out before I could feel happy with The Ugly Brown Foal's health. He had recovered from two operations, a harsh number of drugs, a worm infestation, a castration and his ribs were now covered with condition and fat. He is starting to look fabulous and not ugly at all, in fact he is incredibly beautiful, majestic even.

It was clear that he had never had his feet touched. They were splayed and chipped with hard ridges around the hoof telling tales of a poor diet and stress in his life. It was time to start teaching him how to pick up his feet so that the farrier could come and trim them.

I donned my hard hat once again and ran my hand down his front legs, while my daughter held him on the other side of the fence. He had a haynet to distract him but was curious to what I was doing, I felt him mouth my bum as I leaned on his shoulder and encouraged him to give me a foot. Of course he nearly fell over the first few times but he soon understood how to shift his weight onto the other foot and so that I could hold his hoof to pick out a lifetime of dirt and stones. 

Slowly slowly, poc a poc as they say in Mallorquin, everyday for three weeks I cleaned his hooves and felt confident he would be able to handle the farrier.

The farrier was gentle and patient, the UBF knew this and cleverly held his feet for them to be cut and rasped. He had a few moments of running backwards of course, but between the farrier and myself, with kind words and his favourite hay - he was left feeling proud of the most beautiful, pedicured tootsies in town.

He's clever this boy. To think that he would be 'burgers' by now breaks my heart, to think that so many horses are not this lucky, is tragic - oh my lovely UBF, thank you for coming into my life. I needed you as much as you needed me.

Summer

We have well defined seasons in Mallorca. The winters are surprisingly cold with damp that eats into your bones. The spring and autumn are gentle and pleasant - some say we have two springs here as the plants resurge and lambs are born in November. The summer is predictably, insanely hot. The cicadas scream in the pine trees and the world turns brown, it's not easy for animals, especially the UBF.

Now his operations are over and he waits for his new friend to arrive, the UBF spends his days in his little paddock drenched in sweat and pulling over his water buckets. I visit him a lot. I check on his water and refill the trug with buckets of fresh liquid from the deep well. I wash him twice a day to cool him down and to remove the sweat from his coat. He plays with the sponge and enjoys shaking the water all over himself, and me, in a game. He lets me wipe his face with fly spray and plait his thick mane so that more air can get to his neck. He has shade under the fig tree and the shadow which is cast as the sun passes over him. He lies down but quickly jumps up as I approach. He's always happy to see me. For a wash, to receive cool water, a scratch on his withers or a net full of green hay shipped from the mainland.

I don't use a halter, or a rope. I no longer need a hat as I work around him. He sniffs me inquisitively and allows me touch him all over. We gently practice picking up his feet and squirting him with fly spray. He is becoming a joy to be around.

I'm sure he pulls over his buckets to ensure extra visits from me every day.