My Top 5 Favourite Horse Parts

This is my Top 5 list of the best horse parts. Whole horses are great, but there are certain bits of them which are particularly appealing.

No 1: The Nose

If you don’t love a horse nose you must be a terrible person. Get away from my blog. Go on, shoo and leave the rest of us to fondle these velvety nuggets of angelic goodness. Not all horses like having their noseys stroked, but those that do are sharing one of nature’s greatest experiences. They’re soft, they make wuffly noises, they nudge you for treats and they’re soooooo silky. Occasionally they blow revolting snot which looks like custard but we’ll forgive them for the sublime moments when you stroke a soft nosey and the horse just looks at you like ‘yeah, consider this a reward for all the hay and carrots’. Tweet with #horsenose and you’ll get a guaranteed RT. That’s how much I love horse noses.

So soft, so silky #horsenose

 

No 2: The Ears

Hahahahaha! Your horse is a sleek, expensive show pony but it still has hairy ears like an old man. Except that old men don’t have such expressive ears, even the ones with giant lobes. Lobes, what a great word. But I digress. Horse ears are all soft and fluffy and you can usually tell what she’s thinking. Ears up and forward – ooooh, an interesting noise/person/dinner. Ears back – what are you doing round there? Ears flat – I might actually kill you. Tally likes being scritched inside her ears, which is a terrible hardship. Mr Sausage has the best ears though, they’re all pointy and elvish, which quite suits an off-duty unicorn like Mr S.

If Galadriel had a horse…

No 3: The Lips

This is really two for the price of one. Firstly there’s the awesome saggy lip dangle when your horse is really relaxed. Mr Sausage does the best dangle. You could probably pour half a pint of tea in there without him noticing.

Wubble

Secondly there’s their amazing almost-prehensile upper lip. It’s like two tiny little fingers in a velvet glove. I love the way they use it to pick up grass and nudge your hand for treats.

Not a moose

Of course the very best prehensile upper lip belongs to the moose and if you want to know what one tastes like here is an article on preparing one for dinner: www.fourpoundsflour.com/the-history-dish-moose-face/. I have no idea what horse lip tastes like but if you ever visit Mongolia, where it’s probably a delicacy, feel free to report back.

No 3: The Arse

So much roundness. Ploughing must have been great, because you got to stare, in a completely non freakish way, at a huge round arse for the whole day. Horses are totally comfortable in their huge arsed roundness which is surely a lesson for all of us.  Plumptious. There’s another great word. Horse baby got back, oh yeah.

Such round.

 

 

 

No 4: The Moustache

None of the horses on our yard have a moustache. Not a single one. I am sad about this because horse moustaches are just awesome. If your horse can grow one you should take pictures and the world will embrace you for bringing joy to our troubled times.

I moustache….do you have a carrot?

There are horse bits I’m less fond of…

Teeth: They’re ugly and brown. They hurt when they bite you on the tit. For some reason I have lots of American followers and readers. You guys take shiny white teeth seriously, right? How can you look your horse in the mouth with those revolting tombstones staring back at you?

When did you last brush?

The rude bits: Horse butt is fine. It’s pleasingly round and I like that in nature (see also: manatees, woodlice, sleeping dormice). Horse bits on the other hand are stinky and nasty. Mrs MASB has told me stories of having to clean under the foreskin of gentleman horses, using a sponge on a stick and rubber glove. Our sweet mare has a special sponge which you don’t ever want to use on your tea mug. My horse care skills may be forever incomplete but not even horse Yoda is going to persuade me to fondle one of those huge dangly OH MY GOD HE’S GOT IT OUT AGAIN, IT’S DOWN TO HIS KNEES lengths of nasty sausage.

Sausage for illustrative purpose only. Contains 0% horse.

 

 

 

A flavoursome mare

When we first heard about Miss Tally Mebanana she had a metaphorical label hanging round her neck saying “I AM A BORING BROWN HORSE”. She had no vices, was docile,

Mk1 Boring Brown Horse

did what she was told on rides and was no bother to look after. In short she was an ideal horse but rather dull. The horsey equivalent of porridge with no sugar.

 

Wrong.

Miss Tally definitely has character. For a start she tried to bite off my left tit. A friend said it was actually an act of kindness, she was just giving me something dramatic to blog about. I’d like to think a horse might be that considerate, but in the Real World it was probably more likely she was protesting against my rough handling of her fleecy rug, the one that catches and pulls on her coat. You can usually tell if Tally is grumping, or ‘doing a moo’ as we call it.  Her ears go back, she shakes her head and starts chewing her teeth.

Ow, ow, fucking hell, ow.

Since The Incident she’s learned that humans are not for biting (my book, ‘Training Horses By Shouting “OH FUCK” Really Loudly’ will be coming out soon) and we’ve learned to be a bit more understanding of the things that annoy her. To be fair there aren’t many of those: not having her dinner ready on time, fiddling about with the clasps at the front of her rug and brushing her neck are about as far as it goes.

Pasture time is another occasion for Tally to show her colours. She’s usually pretty good, but if there’s fresh grass on offer then she’ll scamper off in pursuit, *just* fast enough that I can’t catch her without running. The other day I took her out as usual, removed her collar and she promptly headed straight back into the walk-way, because the grass was better there than in her field, and we played the ‘can’t catch me’ game again.

According to Mrs MASB she’s mostly bombproof on rides, but likes to inspect things that would spook another horse. Ferns, large mushrooms and unexpected joggers in bright

The giant mushroom

orange hi-viz have all been throughly checked out before being dismissed as of no interest. 

Another of her sneaky tricks is cocking her tail and farting while you’re behind her. Although she guffs all the time so that might just be coincidence. She also knows her Green Cross Code and looks left, then right and left again before starting off down the track. My favourite thing is when she finishs her dinner, picks up her bowl and tosses it aside. Oh and her special treat-seeking snaky horse nose, which always amuses me.

Ok, so she’s not exactly cracking rude jokes, wearing a fez in bed or getting pissed on Baileys and doing impressions of the Queen, but our horse is definitely not the bland bowl of porridge we expected. Miss Tally has a flavour all of her own.

Does you have a spare carrot?

Miss Tally goes shoe shopping

Well, not quite. But she does have sparkly new shoes.

Tally Mebanana shoe shopping

Mebanana has only been in Devon for a couple of months so this was her first time with a new farrier. Being a senior lady she needs special shoes to give her a bit more support. Her front shoes have things called heart bars, which basically means they go all the way round, rather than the traditional open ended shoe. It’s not *quite* the horsey equivalent of fleece lined granny boots, but we’re heading that way.

BTW, stop me if this is old news to you serious horsey types. I’m new here, so it’s still fresh and exciting.  🙂

I’d never seen a farrier in action before and it was absolutely fascinating. Watching a master craftsman at work is always a pleasure, especially when they have loads of cool kit and tools. This chap has been dealing with horse hooves for thirty years and it showed in the way he handled her feet. Every flick of the knife and smack of the hammer was precise. You or I would be hacking away like a nervous child carving stale bread. Stale bread that could kick your face clean off.

Trimming Madam’s nails

First the old shoes had to come off. They were very worn down and her front hooves had grown quite long, which was affecting her gait

With the old shoes off he and Mrs MASB discussed replacements. I was curious about the choice of material for shoes. I’m a cyclist, so I’ve seen a change from steel frames, to aluminium and now carbon, the new wonder material. I wondered if horse shoes had ever changed. Apparently you can get plastic shoes, which glue on, but nothing is as versatile as a bit of steel. The biggest innovation is plastic boots, which literally fit over the hoof and do up with Velcro. These really are granny shoes and they’re ideal for horses that don’t go out much but still need some protection. Big hairy pets basically, like Tally will be when she’s too creaky to be ridden.

Granny boots. Not actually for horses.

One thing you don’t appreciate when you watch shoeing on tv is the smell. Oh, the smell! It’s amazing that the horse is willing to stand there, oblivious. Would you stay put if some bloke in leather chaps set fire to your toenails? Well, some of you might. It’s a crazy mixed up world and what a boring place it would be if we were all the same eh? But I’d be off like a scalded cat, not standing still and plucking hay from my net while plumes of cheesy smoke curled around my arse.

While the farrier nailed the shoes on I had a chance to admire his magnetic nail keeper. At first I thought it was a fancy watch or bracelet. Set on a chunky leather strap it looked like a watch face without hands. There were symbols at the cardinal points but I couldn’t make them out, possibly runes of some kind.

Check out the cool gadget!

Either way, it looked like a prop from a fantasy film. It looked especially cool when he loaded it up with shiny copper coated nails. I want one. I also want a portable shoe furnace so I can keep my tea hot and offer sacrificial burnt pasties to Wayland.

The final touch was a good splash of nail polish hoof paint. Sadly he didn’t have any in sparkly purple or unicorn pink, but Mrs MASB is an ex Goth so black is probably as good a colour as any.

Tally was a very good girl while all this was going on. She knows how to pick her feet up for cleaning so a chap with a hammer and nail file didn’t bother her at all. She did spook at a passing van though and snapped the clip on her lead rope like it was made of biscuit, a handy reminder of how powerful horses are when they want to be.

Blacksmiths have been revered through history (yes, I know a farrier isn’t quite the same) from Vulcan to Wayland. It might be gas fired and you’ll have to leave him more than a silver coin these days but there’s still something ancient and magical about a chap nailing hot iron to a horse’s foot.

PS – I can’t add video to my blog, ‘cos I’m cheap, but there are some clips of the farrier in action on my Facebook page. Check them out @ https://www.facebook.com/middleagedstableboy/.

Educating Miss Tally

It’s been six days since Tally attempted an impromptu mastectomy on me. Since then I’ve been showing my increasingly impressive boob bruise to anyone who can’t escape fast enough. I’m like the Ancient Mariner only with tit pics rather than a tale of seafaring woe. Since The Incident me, Miss Banana and Mrs MASB have been reevaluating our relationship with a view to making sure it never happens again.

We’re pretty sure this was an aberration rather than evidence of a nasty streak. Tally has been known to bite other horses if they annoy her (one poor chap got it on the nose) but it’s not a habit, she’s just telling them to fark orf (she’s a posh girl, so Princess Anne swearing seems appropriate). Basically we think she was reacting as if I was another       horse, an annoying one.

I’m an annoying horse!

Presumably I’d been winding her up (not deliberately) and had missed some cues to back off. Anyway, we’re working on the assumption that having moved to a new stable with new owners Miss Tally is trying it on. Mrs MASB is clearly in charge but I’m fair game in the horsey pecking order.

There is a whole world of horse behaviour stuff out there in internet land. I’m steering clear because my head would probably explode if I tried to make sense of it all. Mrs MASB has been reading up though and we’re going to teach Miss Tally that she is *not* in charge. Stripped of the semi-mystical woo that seems to be part of the whole horse-whispering package it boils down to kicking her hoof when she starts to pull faces (distraction) and making her walk behind on the way to and from the field (domination). The aim is to show that she is Number Three in our little herd. Horses like to know who is in charge and a well established pecking order is a recipe for harmony and order.

Pom pom pom….where are you going?

We’re also being more cautious, using the head collar for rugging & hoof picking etc and being extra careful when working around her chest area. She does have a very big dent in her chest which might be an old injury and could explain why she’s a bit twitchy. We should probably have been doing all of this anyway, but her reputation as a Mk 1 Boring Brown Horse preceded her and we’ve been a bit more indulgent than was sensible.

So far it’s been working really well. Tally seems to have realised that biting the tit* hand that feeds her is a Bad Thing and she’s been positively meek and mild. She’s also started doing things like coming over to say hello when I go down to the field and following me around, which is definitely progress.

I still love my big smelly girl.  🙂

 

 

• – you know what I mean. Breastfeeding horses is way too weird for this blog and is probably not a thing, although Rule 34 applies, as always.

Chomped!

After three lovely weeks, my relationship with Miss Tally hit a serious bump in the road on Sunday. I was rugging her up for the night when she struck out like a cobra and bit me on the chest. The bruising is still coming out but this is how it looks right now. Apologies for sharing an unsolicited tit-pic, just focus on the pretty colours and ignore the hunk of manly goodness they’re decorating.

The last three weeks have been utterly lovely and I’ve been skipping about the stables like a 9 year old girl in a unicorn sanctuary. Not a velvety nose has been unpatted, no mane left unstroked and no horse denied treats. I knew, in a somewhat abstract way, that they can be aggressive and unpredictable but I’d filed that knowledge away at the back of my mind to gather dust. A couple of them have nipped while being scritched and Madam has trodden on my toe, but neither was deliberate or malicious. I’d been tripping around in a bit of a fantasy, but Sunday evening brought me down to earth with a bump.

Ms ‘nana has a lovely temperament, something that everyone who meets her comments on. She’s docile, sensible and forgiving with no obvious vices. Myself and Mrs MASB had noticed that she can be a little tetchy when the front of her rug is being done, but only to the extent of pulling the odd face. I wasn’t doing anything unusual or different but for some reason she lost her manners and attacked me.

In my whole life I’ve never experienced anything quite so unpleasant. I’ve come off my bike a few times, which hurts, but I’ve never been struck and hurt like that out of the blue. Staggering to the shed, wondering if anything was detached and feeling nauseous, it definitely felt like something seriously bad had happened. Things had changed. Mrs MASB drove us home while I bawled my eyes out. I don’t cry much as a rule but the shock was too much.

During a lengthy post-mortem we discussed why it might have happened. I was worried that I’d done something wrong, or missed a cue to step away. Mrs MASB, who is the absolute oracle so far as I’m concerned, couldn’t see anything amiss, especially as I’d been a few paces away when Tally attacked. In the absence of an obvious motive we’re just going to be extra careful around her front end and when rugging her. Simple things like rugging her in stages with regular reassuring strokes in between. Using her head collar & rope while working on her. That kind of thing.

The worst thing would be if I was too scared to carry on. Bringing Tally into our lives has been a big deal, especially for Mrs MASB, so it would be awful if I backed out now. Yesterday Mrs MASB clipped her while I stayed at home licking my wounds (not literally, I’m not that flexible). In the evening I went over to see how she was doing (good as gold and a very tidy clip). I don’t hold grudges against animals, but I was more nervous going back in the stable than I’d hoped. Every twitch of the ears had me on edge, just in case it was the precursor to a bite. All was well though and this morning I turned her out while Mrs MASB went to work. In fact I went back down to the paddock to adjust her rug and not only did Tally behave impeccable, she actually came over to let me catch her. I don’t know if horses can feel remorse but it seemed as if she wanted to make up for Sunday. It’s probably just my imagination, but anyway, we’re friends again and that’s all that matters.

Working with horses is a surefire way to acquire injuries and Mrs MASB has plenty of war stories to tell, so I guess this incident is just part of the learning curve. I’ve also realised that horses can’t be taken for granted, even the nice ones, and three weeks experience is *nothing*. I’m also deeply grateful that our naughty ‘nana isn’t several hands shorter…

Learning on the hoof 2

As a total horse novice, the last few weeks have been jolly interesting and I’ve learned a lot. I’m usually a rubbish student which is why I have crap A levels and no degree. Well, that and a fondness for snakebite & black. Pound a pint at the SU back in the early 90s. Bargain. Who needs a BEd? Ahem… Anyway, on the occasions when I’m genuinely interested in a thing and there is someone to explain stuff and answer my questions I absorb information like a sponge. Luckily Mrs MASB knows what she’s doing and is willing to indulge me. Not least because having a properly trained stable boy means she doesn’t have to get up an hour early on work days. Since I embraced my destiny as a middle-aged stable boy I’ve learned how to do the following:

Mucking out. Cats are easier, just sieve out the poo and shovel out the fishcakes of clumped wee. Horses are more fiddly, not least because of the sheer volume of shit and piss they produce. Oh my god, they crap *so* much! Mebanana is on shavings, which don’t clump , so you have to sort of brush away the clean stuff to reveal the filthy mulch underneath. Then you have to use your favourite dung fork (yes, I do have one) to shuffle the crap from the shavings before depositing it in the barrow. Every day madam produces a good barrow load of brown gold, which gets deposited in a steaming trailer.

Walkies! I *love* walking Tally to and from her field. She’s all ‘pom pom pom, soon is grass, yay dinner’ but I’m just chatting away to my big smelly girl and enjoying being outside. Sometimes she doesn’t want to come in, because it’s waaaaaay too early and there’s still grass to eat, but mostly she’s a good girl. She’s lovely and docile (Mk1 Boring Brown Horse) which means that this huge beast, which could probably rip my arm out of its socket and bite my nose clean off, is willing to be controlled by tiny me. It’s a nice feeling.

Picking hooves. Not my favourite job, on account of the smell of stinky feet, but Tally knows the routine and picks her feet up in the right order ready for cleaning. Again, it’s a moment where fragile human and big strong animal come together.Very pleasing.

Dinner time. Tally is a senior girl, so she gets a good dinner after a long day eating grass. Speedybeet, chaff and senior horse dinner mix, all mixed up into a sloppy soup so she doesn’t choke. She does love her food, so if dinner isn’t ready when she gets back to the stable there are sulky faces and disgruntled noises.

Rugs. OMG, rugs. Sooo many different weights, colours and favours. Mrs MASB is working on assembling every rug in the world a layering system which will keep madam warm all winter. I’m a t-shirt -> light fleece -> heavy jumper type of chap, so it’s getting dangerously complicated, especially when I’m asked to express an opinion. That said, I have managed to make an executive decision not to rug her up on the last few (warm) days, which was apparently the right choice and earned me a stable boy point.

Everything I’ve learned so far is pretty basic, but I’m starting to pick up on the more subtle stuff, like the kind of mood a horse is in. Madam is quite placid, but occasionally (late dinner, fiddling about on her chest) she gets a bit tetchy. The other horses on the yard have very different characters, some are very relaxed, others are desperate for attention but don’t know how to behave and will butt you pretty hard. I’m no horse whisperer but hopefully I’ll learn how to deal with pretty much anything that comes my way.

Tack attack!

Another thing I’ve learned in the last few weeks. Horses = tack. Lots of it.

From the moment Mrs MASB said yes to Tally (Mebanana) the postman has been tramping down our path with monotonous regularity. Dammit, a chap can’t sit on the bog with a Viz annual and a cup of coffee without being disturbed by a courier asking him to ‘sign there mate’. I may have to schedule my leisure poo for later in the day, lest my bowels go in to spasm at the mere sight of a red van. We now have enough tack, rugs, clothes and assorted gubbins to start a small shop. I also know what a numnah is, which is lucky because we seem to have dozens of the blasted things.

When we collected Tally she came with a fair selection of stuff. Rugs of varying weights, leather things, pink hoof protectors, a head collar and other mysterious odds and sods. Mrs MASB has also been raiding Ebay, second hand sales and the internet for MOAR STUFF. The tiny hall in our house has been commandeered for saddles, jackets and leather things. The sofa is groaning with packets and her lady cave is bulging. We also have an ever expanding collection of things that don’t fit: a lovely woollen rug (too short). Jodpur leggingy things (too small). Several pairs of boots. We don’t talk about the boots btw. Mrs MASB has robust calves and most boots seem to be made for spindly legged giraffes. All of it will be either sold or kept until it fits, because that might happen. It’s a girl thing…

Happily there appears to be a roaring trade in second hand horse stuff, which at least keeps the cost down. When Mrs MASB first did horse stuff she didn’t have any money. We still don’t have much, but it’s enough to buy a few nice things that were out of reach several decades ago. Mrs MASB did a skippety little happy dance when she won the retro wool rug on Ebay because it was a such a bargain. Several inches too small mind you, but still a bargain and worth as much when she gets round to re-selling it. I won’t mention the boots again (unworn, good brand, fraction of the RRP, *utter* bargain). She’s also a dab hand at spotting stuff on the ‘bay which has been poorly listed and hence attracts less interest that it otherwise might.

I’m not complaining btw. We’re both cyclists and I’m all too familiar with the way a hobby can rapidly spiral out of control. We have 13 bikes between us, enough parts to build a 14th and mountains of jerseys, shorts, lights and other essentials.

Meanwhile I’m learning how to offer an interested and informed opinion when asked about stuff I know nothing about, like rug colours and layering options. It’s a husband thing… 😉 #yesdear

 

Learning on the hoof

I’ve been a stable boy for just over two weeks now. Here are some of the things I’ve learned.

Horses are great! They’re warm and patient and friendly. Except when they get their arse on and nip you. 

I am the God of Scritchy. Finding a horse’s scritchy spot is immensely satisfying, especially when they return the favour with a grooming nibble.

Horses have flattish backs and sides. Human shoulders and arms are small and round. Being nibbled by an enthusiastic horse with bad tooth coordination *hurts*. Especially when they get you on the man boob.

Being trodden on isn’t nice.

If your horse gives you a sideways look before scampering off down the field, give up and go home. Seriously, she’s not coming in. Chasing her will just result in you tripping over a tussock of grass, landing face down in poo and looking foolish.

Horse’s feet smell of cheese. Bad cheese. Nasty cheese that even a French cheese pervert would reject as being too gross.

Horse owners are bit like parents. They all have Views on how well the other horse owners are bringing up looking after their horses.

I have a favourite dung shovel.

Poo is good. Especially when it’s a cold day and the poo trailer is kicking out so much heat that it steams. Mmmmmm, warm wellies. Just try not to breathe in, because if you pass out in the poo trailer you’ll probably dissolve before anyone finds you.

Sitting on a bale of shavings drinking a cup of coffee before mucking out is one of life’s great pleasures. At that moment all is right with the world.

Your horse is great/sweet/friendly/handsome/whatever but *my* horse is best.

I like horses. 🙂

 

Welcome to the lady cave…

Men! We all know the importance of a proper shed. A haven from the outside world, both literally and metaphorically. Screws, sorted in order of size. Shelves groaning with assorted odds and ends. The Precious Things of the shed which we preserve ‘just in case’, because that’s what Grandad would have done. We’re more likely to witness the world serpent swallowing the sun than actually use them, but on those magical days when the muttered chant of ‘I’ve got something that’ll do’ actually bears fruit we bask in the wizened approval of our forebears.

Anyway. What do this have to do with being a middle-aged stable boy? Well, life at the stable revolves around the tack room, which is to horse ladies what the shed is to the old boys at the allotment. It’s a lady cave, where spare rugs jostle for space with tack, horse food, grooming kit and the dozens of mysterious odds and ends which are vitally important to keeping a horse. A proper lady cave is *always* a work in progress. No matter how carefully designed and executed, the lady cave is a free spirit. That hook which was sooo perfect for dangling field collars on? Suddenly it looks better with a Sunday best bridle hanging off it. The shelf you built out of old pallets and filled with hoof oil, saddle soap and other exotic unguents? Yeah, the stable cat totally owns it now. There’s no final version of the lady cave, although the ones owned by leathery old horse women have evolved into something akin to the yurts owned by nomadic Mongolian tribes. A second skin with everything in its place and a sense that all is right with the world. Maybe not impeccably tidy, to the untrained eye, but if you need it, she knows where it is and where there might be a slightly tatty spare, saved ‘just in case’, to hand down to a novice. Magical spaces with healing powers.

I’m burbling.

All any lady cave really needs is a kettle. If you can make a cup of coffee (tin of evaporated milk, bucket of cold water as a fridge) then you can cheat nature, turn a draughty old shed into a cosy living room and watch the rain in total comfort.

We already have a kettle in our lady cave. Everything else is small print.

 

Mk1 Boring Brown Horse

This is Tally and she likes hay. According to Mrs MASB’s intensive research she was originally bred by the Rothschilds as a polo pony, but was too crap to make the grade, so she ended up being sold on. Probably for the best as apparently polo ponies tend to have short and hard lives. As far as we’re concerned she’s a Mk1 Boring Brown Horse, which means she’s pretty bombproof, possibly as a side-effect of being trained to gallop about while posh blokes shout and wave sticks at each other.

Being somewhat senior and very laid back she doesn’t like to rush, so walks to and from her paddock are conducted at a leisurely pom pom pom pace. The only exception is dinner time, in which case she wants it *right now* and will make impatient ‘hurrrrhurrhurrr’ noises until it turns up. At that point our classy mare turns into a snuffling pig, spilling mash everywhere and making a sound like a hoover in a bucket of Angel Delight.

Horses can be temperamental, especially thoroughbreds (ooooh, get him and his newly acquired horse wisdom) but we’ve found a horse that doesn’t jump sideways at gusts of wind, unexpected leaves, distant tractors, cows or OMG A PLASTIC BAG, ARGH IT’S GOING TO KILL ME. Mrs MASB is an experienced rider, but it’s been a long time since she rode regularly and she’s not keen on finding herself upside down in a hedge. That said, she’s no riding school dobbin (the horse, not etc…). She loves jumping and being ridden so hopefully she and Mrs MASB will have many happy years together without anyone coming a cropper.