There’s a cat called called Snowy who lives on a farm on the Somerset Levels, in south-west England. He’s only four years old, but he’s managed to pack a lot of adventures into his life, including a trip to our farm as a stowaway. Here’s his story (so far!):
Snowy went to live at the Popham’s farm when he was a kitten. Mr Popham buys and sells straw, which he stores in big barns. Snowy made one of these barns his home. It was warm and dry, and there were plenty of mice to hunt, although he only hunted for fun because Mr Popham’s son Tom fed the farm cats every day. Snowy appeared to have landed on his feet (as cat’s often do).
All was well until the winter of 2013-14, when it rained a lot. In fact, it rained so much that before long Snowy found himself on an island of soggy bales surrounded by water. The Somerset Levels had flooded, and he was stranded!
Every day, until the floods subsided, Tom paddled a canoe to the barn, hauled himself up with ropes and fed Snowy. He did that for several weeks, whatever the weather.
As life returned to something like normal, Mr Popham cleaned out his sheds, restocked with fresh bales and began trading again.
One morning in September 2014, he set off for Exmoor at daybreak with a lorry-load of straw he’d prepared the previous evening, aiming to beat the rush hour traffic in Taunton and arrive at West Ilkerton Farm (our farm) at around eight-thirty.
The journey went well, and he arrived to find Chris (my husband) waiting in the field next to the moor, where the bales had to be unloaded and carted back to our barn because the lane to our farmyard is too narrow for large lorries.
Hang on a minute!” Chris shouted as Mr Popham started to push the bales off the lorry. I think you’ve got an illegal immigrant on board – look!
The face of a white cat peered out between the bales.
Oh no, it’s Snowy! He must have gone to sleep on top of the load last night. I bet he had a shock when it started moving this morning! Mr Popham exclaimed. Tom’ll kill me if I lose him, after all he went through last winter. Can we catch him, d’you think?
Chris and Mr Popham tried their best to catch the cat, but he was obviously traumatised by his unexpected road trip, and as soon as his feet touched the ground he scampered away onto the moorland. The two men searched for him in vain amongst the gorse bushes, but eventually they admitted defeat and Mr Popham drove back to Somerset to break the news to Tom.
“What’s the matter?” Tom’s twin sister asked him when she saw how upset he was that evening.
“It’s Snowy”, he replied.
“Oh no, has he died?” she asked.
“No, it’s even worse, he’s gone to Devon!”
Perhaps Tom was right. Lost and alone in a hostile world, Snowy probably experienced several fates worse than death in the weeks that followed: extreme hunger, terrible weather, being chased by dogs. . .
All our neighbours were watching out for a white cat, and there were occasional sightings, but after a while the telephone calls stopped and we had to face the possibility that Snowy had died.
But one morning, as we were turning our horses out in their field, our daughter Sarah spotted something white moving slowly between the gorse bushes on the opposite side of the farm. Chris fetched his binoculars, and confirmed it was a cat, a very thin, bedraggled white cat. It had to be Snowy!
Chris rode the quad bike to the gorse bushes, and left some cat food there. A few hours later it had gone – eaten, we hoped, by a cat rather than a fox or badger.
Every day, morning and evening, Chris put cat food in the same place, and before long Snowy was waiting for the quad bike.
By this time the weather had turned wet and cold, so Chris used food to lure Snowy back to our farmyard. Soon he’d made himself at home in the same straw bales that had been his downfall in the first place.
With regular feeds, Snowy became fatter and tamer by the day. Before long he was allowing us to stroke him while he ate, and he became very loud and demanding when he thought it was time for the next meal!
The Pophams were delighted that Snowy was safe and well, and said they’d collect him next time they were in the area. We knew he wouldn’t be with us forever, but even so it was a bit of a shock when Mr Popham phoned to say he was visiting friends nearby, and could he drop in to pick up the cat?
Chris caught Snowy easily, with the help of some food, and bundled him into a travelling crate much to his fury! He growled, hissed, bit and clawed at the sides of the crate as he was carried back to the Popham’s car.
I’m really looking forward to visiting Georgeham School on World Book Day this year. The theme of the day is going to be Creating Characters. This has given me an excellent excuse to collect different hats and toys to take with me, and I’ve been writing down some thoughts about creating characters, too:
I’ve put ‘he’ throughout, but the character could be a ‘she’, of course.
Names are very important. Take time to choose the name that seems perfect for the character you want to create. Does the name reflect the character’s age, background and personality? Does his name matter to him? Is it something another character may tease him about, or turn into a nickname? Surnames can be important too, especially if they’re unusual or funny.
Make your character believable. Get to know your characters really well so they become real in your mind. If you believe in your character, so will the person reading your story.
Care about your characters. If you care about what happens to your characters, your readers will too, so they’ll want to read the story. Readers needn’t like all the characters, but they must care. For instance, they may hate a horrible ogre and want to see him come to a horrible end! (Have you noticed that a lot of main characters in children’s books are poor, have lost a parent or are orphans? This is a good way of getting the readers’ sympathy so they care about what happens.)
All the characters in your story must be there for a reason. Try not to have too many characters in your story because it could become confusing. If there are more than three or four characters in your story, try to introduce them gradually.
Don’t take someone you know, change their name and make them the character in your story. Why not? Because you could offend that person. Also, you know your imaginary characters better than you know anybody. I get my ideas from a mixture of real-life experiences together with things I’ve read about, seen in films or on the TV, heard about and imagined.
Your main character should influence what happens in the story. If there’s a problem to be solved or a heroic deed to be done, your main character should do it. This makes for a far more satisfying story than if, for example, his parents arrive and sort out the problem or a good fairy appears out of nowhere and makes everything okay.
Your main character should be changed in some way by what happens in the story, or he should learn something. For example, he could discover he’s braver than he thought, or learn that he shouldn’t do something if he knows it’s wrong, even if his friends are doing it.
But is a very useful word when creating characters. Everyone is complicated, and the word ‘but’ can help you to make interesting characters and an interesting story. For example, Indiana Jones is brave and fearless but he hates snakes. We know this early on in most Indiana Jones films, and sure enough – towards the end, as the tension builds – there’s a scene where Indiana Jones’ courage is tested to the limit because he has to confront some snakes.
Appearance often reflects character, but not always. It’s fun to surprise your readers with, for example, a tiny dog who wants to be a guard dog, a speedy snail or an old lady with superpowers.
Writing different characters helps you to understand other people. I really enjoyed writing the Horseshoe Trilogy because I had to see the world from the Joe’s point of view, and Joe is a teenage boy. Through writing Joe’s story, I began to understand what it’s like to be a boy.
I’m very grateful to Jenna (Beansy) and Jon Payne for generously agreeing to have Orion during the winter, and to Beansy for writing this: her first blog about Orion’s initial training with them in Cornwall. I’ve found it really interesting, and I’m sure you will too.
We didn’t really know what to expect with Orion. Tortie had been very honest about him, but we didn’t know how he was going to take to any of his new experiences – least of all, how he was going to take to us.
Orion travelled quietly home with his new friend, another Exmoor called Bumbe Bee, and happily reversed off the trailer and led into his stable. We were aware that he might look to ‘pull away’ so we led him everywhere with a lunge rope for the first few weeks, which meant we could be happy that if he did pull we could let the rope out until he settled.
There was little delay in starting work with him; he went for his first walk the following morning. We don’t believe in formal training sessions with youngsters, they rarely go in the school to be worked but rather we much prefer ‘real world’ training and what better way to see what life has to offer than by going for walks around the village? Orion went for a walk daily; he spent lots of time watching traffic pass, greeting walkers, walking out with pony friends or on his own and exploring the endless stony tracks around us in the heart of old Cornish mining country.
He was certainly nervous around us. He would jump about in his stable when we went to feed him, he’d run backwards when people walked past his door and we had to quietly coax him to let us close to him so we could gently pop a headcollar on him for turnout. At first, we just let him follow his friends in from the field, but as we began to build up a relationship with him we soon expected him to be caught before he came in. I’d often spend up to an hour at a time standing quietly, waiting for him to approach & rewarding him with food before he’d let me catch him. This time is much less now and I don’t need a bucket, just some food in my hand.
One of the things we were charged with working on was trotting. I think part of the key with Orion is to have high expectations. Once you start to push the boundaries and get him working a little outside his comfort zone, you see a massive improvement in his confidence in other areas of his training. From the very beginning we expected him to walk beside us. We nagged him to come forwards, never proceeded unless he was beside us and rewarded him with scratches on his wither when he was delivering. He’s a bright pony, quick to pick things up, and we swiftly moved onto trotting. He really was reluctant to go forwards into trot, and when we’d try to encourage it he’d get all sticky on his feet and sometimes have a mini ‘meltdown’, as we’d call it, where he’d want to pull away and get all worried. Once it was clear this route wasn’t getting us anywhere, I led him and asked Jon to quietly walk behind. (Orion hated this to begin with, but within a couple of walks it became the norm.) As I asked for trot, Jon put a little bit of pressure on him from behind. . . He whizzed off forwards but we let him; we went with him and rewarded him with lots of scratches and kind words. He was confused at first, but his confidence grew. Going forwards is something I’m a huge believer in. If a novice ridden pony shoots off forwards, I never hinder them. Forward energy is vital. Orion picked up trotting quickly and we were soon trotting large parts of our walks (it’s lucky we’re fit!).
All the background work never fully prepares a pony for a show. The atmosphere is so different, the ponies can easily get ‘stage-fright’ and there are so many new sights and sounds, not to mention the travelling to and from the event! Orion was hesitant to load. His travel partner this time was our homebred foal, Silky. It was only her second time travelling and her first time without her Mummy, but she’s laid back, trusting of us and good natured; she gave much confidence to Orion.
We hadn’t planned to show Orion, we just took him along for the ride so he could get more experience of life. Off the box, he was quite overwhelmed and looked very much to Jon for support. We spent time walking around, brushing him and generally letting him take it all in. As the ring steward called for the 2 & 3 year-old small breeds Jon said, “Let’s got for it, I think he’ll manage.” So we made a rapid entry and Orion went into the ring. He was amazing. It was quieter in the ring than the outside, but he was still a little hesitant. He had a fright at the judge on his individual show, but got it back quickly to finish in second place behind a Welsh Section B colt.
A second place meant Orion qualified for the championship. We felt it would be good for him to go in the ring again. He was certainly more relaxed the second time, and he gave an even better performance. His confidence grew by the minute and the transformation was incredible. So much so, he was pulled in Reserve Champion! He even had a round of applause for his lap of honour and he behaved like a pro!
We knew it would be the making of this pony, and it was. He’d had so much to think about and was exhausted when he arrived home, but he came back a much more confident pony. He’s more readily caught in the field and doesn’t get worried about people in his stable any more. I’m sure this is a real turning point for him.
We’re super proud of this little man and are really grateful to Tortie & Chris for letting us steal him to Cornwall for the winter. I’m not sure how Orion is going to do better than this for his next blog……….!
After Orion pulled away from me in the field when a pheasant flew at us (see my previous blog) I didn’t dare take him for walks in open spaces in case it happened again. My confidence had gone, and I didn’t really know how to put things right, apart from going back to basics again. I’d always been so careful about not letting him be the first to walk away when I undid his head collar, and preventing him from pulling away when he was tied up or training in an enclosed place, but all that training hadn’t translated into the big wide world. Would Orion know he could get away from me now? If so, I’d never dare to take him to a show, for a walk on open moorland or down a road.
Perhaps I’d pushed him too fast? There again, as Chris remarked, if Orion had been a Shire or Clydesdale he’d have been steady as a rock considering the number of hours I’d spent with him.
Talking of Clydesdales, half way through the summer we had a new arrival at the farm, Ruby the Clydesdale, so Orion had three friends in the field every night. I’ll write about Ruby in a separate blog soon, but here’s one of my favourite photos of Orion with her:
I didn’t have too much time to dwell on what to do with Orion in the long-term because I had the first draft of Katy’s Pony Challenge to write, so apart from getting him in from the field in the morning and putting him out again in the evening we didn’t see much of each other. In the back of my mind I was worried, though.
As I wrote about Katy:
It was impossible to ignore a nagging feeling that she was out of her depth where foal handling was concerned.
I had a voice in my head that said, “Do tell me, Victoria, are your stories autobiographical?”
Should I admit defeat and turn Orion onto the moor with the other geldings, put him in a severe head collar in an attempt to train him not to pull away or send him away somewhere for further training? I realised we didn’t have ideal facilities for pony training (a cow shed in the summer, some large fields and a vast expanse of open moorland) and I wouldn’t be able to give him much time for the next few months. Then it would be the winter, the cows would be taking up all available shed space and Orion would have to be on the moor or in Rough Field with his sisters on the far side of the farm. Next year he’d be four and we’d be no further forward . . . If I did send him away for further training, it would have to be the right place, with people who understood him and didn’t think he was being naughty when he was scared . . .
I can’t remember why I was talking to Jenna (‘Beansy’) Payne on Facebook. We’re in touch regularly because I’m keeping a retired Exmoor of hers called Eddie (Helmantor Hedrock) on the moor with our geldings and she bought two Exmoor ponies from us several years ago.
Beansy and her husband Jon love training and showing Exmoors and Welsh cobs. (Their Facebook page Trekerwys Native Ponies is well worth a visit.) Anyway, I told her I was worried about what to do with Orion, and she offered to take him on for a few months. I was delighted – I couldn’t think of any better ‘boarding school’ for him.
In return we’d keep two of their ponies, Lucy the Exmoor and Eric the Welsh cob, here for a winter holiday out in the field with Orion’s sisters Dora, Demeter and Gaia. It seemed like an ideal arrangement, but heavily weighted in our favour!
Eric and Lucy arrived at the farm, walked calmly from their trailer and settled into the cattle shed overnight. The following day we tacked up the two ponies. Sarah (our daughter) rode Eric and Lowenna (the Payne’s daughter) rode Lucy to the other side of the farm.
Sarah had a broad grin on her face the whole way. “I’d forgotten what fun ponies are!” she said. “He’s so like Kizzy!” (Kizzy was Sarah’s Welsh cob x Lundy pony – the pony who inspired me to find out more about Midnight the Lundy stallion, which led to the story A Stallion Called Midnight.)
The Paynes were staying on Exmoor for the autumn Exmoor pony inspections, so Orion didn’t go back to Cornwall with them until few days later. I must admit I was concerned because they were taking another Exmoor pony called Bumble Bee back with them as well. Orion would have to load into a narrow compartment in the double trailer with a pony he didn’t know. He’d never been inside a trailer before.
I needn’t have worried. Bumble Bee stood quietly while I led Orion into the empty side of the trailer, and seemed pleased to have a companion. Orion loaded without any fuss, and I knew he wasn’t too worried when he ate the carrots we offered him. He was completely secure and travelling with a sensible friend for his first ever journey. His big adventure had got off to a good start.
I discovered Orion loves being read to – well, who doesn’t?
Vanessa Bee had to go abroad for a week, teaching horse agility, so she lent me the equipment she’d brought to our farm. The plan was that on her return she’d collect it and see how we’d progressed. My homework was to do anything I could think of to make Orion less nervous and more trusting, and to get him moving more freely.
(Everyone has different ideas about using titbits as a training tool – some people have strong ideas on the subject! I’ve found that too many titbits can make horses pushy and bad tempered, but they’re useful occasionally. I only give treats as a reward when a horse has done something really good, and I try to give them in a bucket rather than by hand. When I was out walking with Orion I sometimes pulled some grass for him to eat. Chewing seemed to help him relax. I saved treats like pieces of apple for the end of a training session or when he was very good.)
This is what I did with Orion in the days after Vanessa left:
I sat in the barn with him a read him some books. He really enjoyed that, and stood as close as possible. If he could have sat on my lap to look at the book with me, I think he would have! I was with him but not concentrating on him, he was free to come and go as he pleased and I wasn’t expecting anything of him. His attitude towards me started to change from wary to accepting. (There are photos at the top of the page.)
At Vanessa’s suggestion, I left safe obstacles like the tarpaulin, hoops and cones in with Orion. This gave him a chance to explore them by himself. He particularly liked playing with the cones, and carried them between his teeth to rearrange them!
One of my attempts to allow him to explore a new thing had unintended consequences. I bought a large yellow flag with a smiley face on it, and draped it over the gate so he could investigate it. Horses often explore new objects with their mouths, and unfortunately that’s just what Orion did. He picked the corner of the flag up with his teeth and pulled back in alarm when it slid off the gate. As I’ve mentioned in other blogs, he clamps his jaw tight when he’s nervous or frightened, so the flag stayed firmly between his teeth as he bolted around the barn with the flag flapping all around him – sometimes over his head so he couldn’t see anything. I held my breath, waiting for him to crash into something or try to jump the barriers, but after several laps he slowed to a trot, then a walk, and stopped. I think he’d worked out fairly quickly that if he slowed down the flag didn’t flap so much. Eventually his jaw relaxed and the flag sank limply onto the straw. Orion nudged it, pawed at it and then walked away looking embarrassed. He didn’t mind flags after that. (I never left him alone with flags, as he could have hurt himself on the poles.)
Friends often visit the farm, so I tried to introduce as many different people as possible to Orion.
Soon I was taking Orion for walks away from the farmyard. Every time we went a little further.
Things were going well. Vanessa was impressed with the progress we’d made when she came to collect her equipment.
I began to take Orion for walks around the fields, and he was very good. It was still difficult to get him to walk consistently with his head in line with my shoulder, but he was getting better at it. A few times he shied slightly at things, but I always managed to calm him down and he seemed to enjoy our adventures. As he became more confident so did I – too confident, perhaps.
We’ve got a large, long field called Cow Field. Silage had been harvested from it in July, and now there was a fine crop of after-grass in it, so I walked around the edge rather than through the middle. We were walking along by the top hedge when a pheasant flew up from its hiding place in the long grass with a flurry of wings. I must admit it made me jump. Orion bolted for the centre of the field. For a second I managed to check him when he reached the end of the rope, he pulled me for a few steps and then I could hold on no longer. He galloped around the field, his head high in alarm, while I looked on helplessly, cursing myself for not hanging on. He refused to be caught, so I had to go back to the farm and ask Chris to bring Tempo up to the field to acts a decoy. So much for not trampling the grass!
I went to bed that night filled with self-doubt. I really should have held on to that rope somehow! I wondered whether all the time I’d spent with Orion had been worth it. Would I ever be able to get him calm and trusting enough to take to shows? (Not that I’m into showing, but I wanted to do something with him.) Perhaps I should just let him run free on the moor with the other geldings…
I remember moving to the sixth form at school, going into my first A level chemistry lesson and being told to forget most of the things we’d learned for (what was then) O levels. We’d been taught useful rules to get us on the right track, the teacher said, but science was much more complicated than we’d been led to believe. It was all about searching for the truth, but nobody knew what the whole truth was. The best we could do was create theories based on knowledge and observation and constantly test them to prove or disprove them. A good scientist, our teacher insisted, should question everything. He or she should be open-minded and prepared learn new things. Nothing was set in stone. I found this both exciting and daunting.
What has this got to do with training an Exmoor pony?
When I was a child I had regular riding lessons and worked my way through Pony Club tests. There were lots of rules, like lead and mount from the near side of the horse. I did these things without question, never wondering who’d made up the rules in the first place, or why. There was even a correct way to put on a New Zealand rug. (I know because I failed my Pony Club C test for doing it wrong!)
As I’ve gained more experience with horses I’ve learned that rules are sometimes useful but observation, empathy and flexibility are crucial. Good horse people are open-minded, inquisitive and willing to adapt.
This was brought home to me when a friend called Vanessa Bee came to the farm to teach me about horse agility because I thought it would be the best way of building up Orion’s self-confidence. Also, I wanted to learn more about horse agility for the new Katy’s Ponies book I’m writing, Katy’s Pony Challenge, and I always love meeting up with Vanessa anyway. She’s taught me a great deal about horsemanship, especially handling newly weaned foals from the moor. In fact, for several years she ran foal handling courses here at the farm. Now she’s busy writing books and developing horse agility, which is turning into a mainstream sport that’s becoming incredibly popular all over the world.
Two ‘rules’ Vanessa had taught me when halter-training newly weaned foals were that the foal shouldn’t run past me when being led and it should face me to be caught. I thought she’d be impressed by Orion because he always faced me (I’d never had to teach him, as he just did it every time) and he had never, ever tried to run past me. In fact, one of my problems with him was that he tended to hang back and walk a few steps behind rather than staying by my side.
“Does he always face up to you like that?” Vanessa asked.
“Yes,” I said proudly.
“Hm, do you think it could be that he’s too scared to let you out of his sight? He’s keeping an eye on you all the time.”
Thinking about it, I could see there was a lot of truth in that.
If you look back at my previous blogs about Orion’s initial handling, he was incredibly ‘good’ in that he stood still for the head collar to be put on first time and never moved away from me. The main problem had been getting him to move at all. I said this to Vanessa.
“Yes, standing still is a common response to stress. It’s a good strategy when faced with a predator. Think about walking through a field of sheep with a dog. The dog’s far less likely to attack the sheep if they don’t run away. Movement excites predators.”
I remarked that Orion had the donkey strategy for survival. A few months ago Vanessa had introduced me to Bart and Sue, who own the donkeys at Clovelly, and they’d told me that donkeys ‘freeze’ when stressed.
“Yes, donkeys are famous for it. That’s why they’ve gained an unfair reputation for being stubborn. They’re actually incredibly intelligent, like Orion here,” Vanessa said. “What we need to do is get his feet moving.”
She began to work with him, encouraging him to run past her and around her.
“But I thought one of your golden rules was ‘don’t let the pony run past you’,” I said.
Vanessa grinned. “Rule number one: there are no rules. He needs to become more confident about moving in all directions, and this is the best way I know of achieving that in a limited space.
That was when I remembered my chemistry teacher all those years ago.
In my latest trilogy The Horseshoe Trilogy a Romany lady called Nellie tells Joe that horses mirror our feelings. I often notice this when I’m with our horses. My niece Sophie was staying with us a couple of years ago. She got on very well with our Exmoor pony Gaia, who was then about one and a half years old. While she was playing with her in the barn one day I took these photos. It was only afterwards, when I looked at them closely, that I realised Gaia was mirroring Sophie’s expressions and body language. Fascinating!
Time speeds up as you get older. Anyone who’s old will tell you that, and now I’m in my mid-fifties I know it’s true. I heard a scientist explaining why this is so, and it made perfect sense. The theory is that our concept of time is measured in heartbeats, so as our heartbeat rate gets slower with age the days go by faster. Perhaps, also, that’s why time seems to stand still if we’re in a situation where our pulse quickens for some reason.
Anyway, what I’m trying to say in a roundabout way is that the seasons come around faster and faster on our farm, and there’s hardly time to do any of the things I mean to do. That was definitely the case with my good intentions to handle Orion regularly during the summer and autumn of 2013, before the sheds were filled with cattle and sheep for the winter. I knew the best way to cure his nervousness around people was to spend lots of time with him, but finding the time wasn’t easy.
Orion and his sisters, Gaia and Demeter, had been kept together from birth. Three semi- tame ponies were difficult to get in from the field every day, and there often wasn’t enough time to handle them all, so I separated out Demeter and let her run free on the other side of the farm with her half-sister Pandora (Orion’s full sister) who was in a poor condition having been lost on another area of moor for a couple of years.
For a while, during October and early November, we had a good routine: Gaia and Orion were kept with Tempo (our old bay hunter) and Croix de Guerre (our grey ex-racehorse) and they were out in the field for most of the day and in a shed by night.
This gave me a chance to handle them on a regular basis, and we made progress.
Orion didn’t seem to be too worried by the things some horses are scared of – quad bikes, tractors, flapping plastic and barking dogs, for instance – but he was still very nervous of people, especially if he didn’t know them or they were wearing waterproofs that rustled. Waterproofs caused our first major problem. It was pouring with rain one morning when we led the ponies out to their field. Chris was leading Orion and I was leading Gaia, and as Chris reached up to unbuckle Orion’s head collar his waterproofs rustled. Orion pulled away in fright and tanked off around the field with his head collar on and the lead rope trailing. This was too much for Gaia, who pulled away from me and joined Orion. Two ponies dashing around an eight acre field with their lead ropes tripping them up wasn’t a good way to start the day. The next half hour was spent coaxing them to be caught with buckets of food. Talk about one step forward and two back! Orion and Gaia now knew they could get away while wearing their head collars – something I’d been very careful to avoid.
It happened again a few days later, but this time Gaia was the one to pull away. I decided to go back to basics with them, handling them in enclosed spaces where they couldn’t get away and tying them up for short periods while keeping an eye on them. It was during one of these sessions, when my friend Kath was helping me, that I made my second mistake. I’ll tell you about it because it’s a good cautionary tale . . .
We usually don’t let our horses wander free wearing head collars, in case they get caught up in something. I’ve heard about too many accidents, including a lovely horse drowning because his head collar became hooked over an inlet pipe in a water trough. Well, after we’d finished handling Orion and Gaia that day, we unclipped their lead ropes and left them in their head collars while we went to the house to get coats. As we returned to the shed there was a terrible crashing noise. Gaia had been rubbing her head against the mesh of the round pen barrier, and by some fluke had managed to hook the buckle of her head collar through the mesh. Finding herself trapped, she panicked and tried to pull away, taking the partition with her. Luckily, she was sensible enough calm down and let us free her, and she allowed her head collar to be put on again immediately afterwards. It could have been a lot worse, but I’ll never leave a head collar on an unsupervised horse again!
Another person who was a great help was a local girl called Flora, who got on really well with Orion and came to see him whenever she could. Flora’s mum, Celia, was learning how to massage horses, and our riding horses were willing objects of study. They all loved being massaged, especially Winaway.
Soon it was November, and time for the cows to come into the sheds because they were making the fields too muddy. The cows start calving in December, so it’s good to have them in and settled by then. There would be no indoor space left for Orion and Gaia until after lambing in April 2014, so they were turned out in a field for the winter, checked every day and fed a bit of hay (plus the occasional treat in a bucket when Flora was around! Tempo and Croix de Guerre joined them by day but were stabled by night, and they all got used to the new routine surprisingly quickly.
In many ways it was very good for the two Exmoors to have time off and see people for nice things like food rather than being caught and asked to do something. Gaia, especially, became very tame. Orion was always a few steps behind, hiding in her shadow and still slightly suspicious! I think it will take a long time for him to trust people completely, but we’ll get there . . . I hope!
David Percy and his wife, Jackie, run Boeveys tea room and restaurant at Simonsbath, in the heart of Exmoor.
Nine years ago, I sold David a cross-bred Exmoor filly. She’d been born on the moor and had run wild for almost a year before being rounded up, weaned and handled for a while at our farm.
Last year David got in touch with photos and news of his pony, Freyer. We met up, and I was delighted to see that she’s a contented, useful and very much loved member of the family.
David says he thinks Freyer’s initial handling at our farm (with the help the well-known horse trainer Vanessa Bee) had a lot to do with how she took to being trained later on. I think he shouldn’t underestimate the time he has spent with her, his unconditional love and his determination not to give up on her when she contracted laminitis. Freyer obviously sees David as her best friend,and she makes it clear she resents other people joining them when they go for a walk together!
Freyer’s story is particularly wonderful for lots of reasons. It’s about a man with hardly any knowledge of horses buying an unregistered pony from the wilds of Exmoor and forging a close bond with her, but it’s also about empathy, trust, loyalty, courage and much more besides.
Many thanks, David, for letting me share your stories about Freyer on this website:
Last year, I did something I had been meaning to do for some time. It was a simple act: a photograph sent to Victoria Eveleigh, the breeder of my pony Freyer, eight years after they had last seen each other. Victoria’s interest and enthusiasm took me by surprise. It made me realise how difficult it must be for a pony breeders to launch animals into the world and never hear about their lives, achievements or wellbeing.
Having met up with Freyer again and heard my stories, Victoria asked me to write about her for this website. So here is a brief account of the life, so far, of one crossbred native pony.
Having moved to the edge of Exmoor with my wife, I decided I wanted to get a horse to ride. I didn’t know a great deal about horses, but one thing I had learnt was that they like the company of their own kind, so I thought it would be a good idea to get a pony as well.
The opportunity to buy a pony came sooner than I’d expected. As the summer of 2005 turned to autumn, I heard from a friend that there were some young ponies for sale on a farm nearby. My friend, Sharon, was looking for a pony too, so we went over to West Ilkerton Farm to meet Victoria and her husband, Chris. They showed us ten or so ponies corralled in the barn. Victoria explained that she’d turned her pedigree Exmoor mares onto the moorland, thinking that they were in foal to an Exmoor stallion, but they weren’t. An unregistered Welsh cob stallion had escaped onto the moor, and all her mares had given birth to his foals instead – in the middle of winter!
My objective was to get the biggest pony there, as it would be the most useful, but Sharon had exactly the same idea and I ended up with the second biggest.
Gypsy becomes Freyer
So there I was, a forty-eight year old man with his first pony, a head collar, a passport and the information that all the ponies had been handled with the help of a horse trainer called Vanessa Bee. I had no idea of the significance of this at the time.
After saying our goodbyes, we took my pony (then called Gypsy) and Sharon’s choice (Merrylegs, now called Mary) back to Sharon’s yard in her trailer. There we parted company, and I walked Gypsy through the village to her new home – not realising that it was a lot to ask of a pony who’d been born on the moor and handled for a couple of weeks on a farm!
I left Gypsy in the stone-built stable in our field, with water and hay. When I returned, after a couple of hours, she was standing in the middle of the stable, shaking like a leaf, and I realised it was probably the first time she had ever been alone. I went into the stable, took her head in my arms and whispered ‘Ssssh! Ssssh!’ in her ear. She calmed down immediately. The same technique still works today if everything gets a bit too much for her. I kept Gypsy in for the first week, spending as much time sitting with her as I could. Then she was turned out to get on with her life.
We really wanted a name that was a bit more personal, so my wife chose ‘Freyer’, and that’s what we’ve called her ever since.
It was almost two years before I found myself a horse to ride, so Freyer had quite a lonely life for a while. I took her on occasional walks around the village, and she had great fun playing chase with our dog. They developed an intriguing love-hate relationship.
During this time all she really had to work on was a talent for escaping. I had numerous calls from people who’d seen her wandering up the lane or running with the horses and sheep next door. I would then spend hours trying to catch her, and even longer trying to discover how she’d made her escape in order to put a remedy in place. Eventually I caught Freyer in the act of putting her head under a fence rail and lifting the fence post effortlessly out of the ground, like a crane, and I realised that what she needed was a reason to stay put.
I was right. As soon as she had company she didn’t stray from the field – unless I left the hook out of the eye in her field gate, in which case she’d waste no time in making straight for the herb garden. Perhaps she liked herbs, or perhaps she knew that it would get me into trouble!
I think the next three or four years were Freyer’s happiest time. Tuff the thoroughbred became her great friend. Although Tuff was much taller, Freyer was the dominant one. Tuff was so meek that she even let Freyer share her food. This was a problem, because thoroughbreds need to eat much more than native ponies.
Tragically, Tuff broke her leg and had to be put down. Freyer seemed to know something terrible had happened, and for a few days stayed very close to me. Since Tuff there have been a few loan horses, which Freyer has accepted but hasn’t liked nearly as much, and now I have Lem, another thoroughbred. This time the underdog is Freyer, but she’s building a good relationship with him.
In 2008 I thought it might be a good time to get Freyer broken to ride. I certainly didn’t have the skills to do it myself, so I took her to a local lady who I knew would be up to the job.
A week passed… nothing. Another week… still nothing. I was getting anxious, I admit, and then I received a video clip by email. First there was a shot of the sky, then the camera panned down to a familiar mane and a pair of ears. The penny dropped: the person making the film was riding Freyer! I was delighted, and picked her up a few days later. Apparently the task had been unusually straightforward. Personally, I believe the halter training she was given before she came to me was crucial in making the job as easy as possible. Throughout her life her behaviour has changed from feisty and independent to compliant as soon as a head collar or bridle is fitted.
They say you never realise how much you love someone until something happens to them. Well, that was certainly the case with Freyer.
I hadn’t had much experience of illness in horses, although one hears horror stories all the time, so it was a shock when I went to get Freyer in from the field one day and found that she could hardly walk. She just stood there, rocking her weight back onto her heels. It was early winter, and there didn’t seem to be much goodness in the grass, but it was obvious she was suffering from laminitis.
I put her head collar away and called the vet immediately. He confirmed laminitis and, with wonderful bluntness, told me to work Freyer or lose her. The disease, he explained, is similar to insulin intolerance or type two diabetes in humans. He prescribed Bute to reduce inflammation and numb the pain she was clearly feeling, and said she should have as much exercise as possible.
I left her for an hour or so for the Bute to start working, then off we went on the first of our many daily walks. Apparently, walking not only provides much needed exercise but also promotes blood flow to the hoof and improves hoof growth.
For the first four months we walked every single day – for at least an hour and sometimes two or more, whatever the weather and often in the dark after I came back from work.
To begin with it was clear she was uncomfortable. She hated stony paths and sought out the softest ground all the time, but our reward for all our hard work was a gradual improvement in her soundness.
And then, just when I thought we were winning, she became terribly lame again. I had to tug hard on the lead rope just to get her to move. Eventually we negotiated a circuit of the field with her leaning on me, twice falling in a pile in the mud. I ended up pleading with her while tears ran down my cheeks. We had failed. Was this it? Would she have to be put down this time?
The vet arrived, and we hurried out to the field to see Freyer, but she wasn’t where I’d left her. She was moving around, hardly lame at all! The vet soon found the reason for her extreme pain and miraculous recovery: she had a huge hole in the coronet band of one of her forefeet, accompanied by the unmistakeable smell of a burst abscess. He explained that laminitis produces voids in the white line, which can pick up dirt and become infected.
Since then, with careful management, Freyer has been sound. Her weight has been reduced and kept down with work, and I’m just a bit more sensible with her food – although she still gets an occasional treat.
I came to carriage driving by accident. I’d always admired a nicely turned out team of horses and had enjoyed seeing the power of a big working horse, but I’d never imagined that driving a horse was something I’d be able to do. It was really Freyer who taught me to break a pony to harness and drive.
As I’ve mentioned, I spent many hours walking with her to reduce her weight and improve her circulation. To begin with I held a lead rein and walked beside her, but as she became more confident I used a pair of long reins. Having been led and ridden, I could steer and stop Freyer easily, and she quickly became responsive to verbal commands to walk on, trot on and whoa.
During these walks behind Freyer, my mind often wandered. I thought about how much good all this exercise was doing me…Actually, it was hard work! How long could I keep this up? What if I could rig up some way she could pull me along? Then dawned on me that people had already thought about this – it was called driving, and what I needed was a wheeled vehicle that Freyer could pull.
Hours were then spent looking for something suitable. Eventually I found a proper gig, did the deal and brought it home in the horsebox. I didn’t know it then, but this purchase was a great move. The gig had large wheels, a high seat, a swingle tree and storage. Also, it was adjustable for weight distribution and could be dismantled if necessary.
It was time to have a think about what to do next. Freyer was fine as far as we’d got but it was a big step to go out on the roads with her pulling a cart. And I didn’t have any harness. Luckily, a local man who was used to getting horses going, driving them and working them on his farm agreed to help me.
The first thing was to get Freyer used to traces. To start with I just let the reins drop as we were walking, purposely rubbing them up and down her legs. She never once reacted badly, and in fact was just as happy long reining with the reins running between her hind legs. Then I spent some time getting her to move away from the whip in order to allow a bit more control, and also to trotting on command. Tyre pulling came next. I made traces from some old rope and attached them with more rope to a Land Rover wheel and tyre. This is not recommended; on our first outing she performed faultlessly but the equipment didn’t. The tyre bounced about all over the place, and it wasn’t long before it flew forward and hit Freyer’s rump. Luckily, she looked round briefly and didn’t even break pace.
It transpired that the bits of harness I had been borrowing were parts of a complete harness. Furthermore, it was surplus to my mentor’s requirements, so I bought it. Now I had all the kit.
Putting the carriage to Freyer was done very carefully, quietly and gently, but with absolutely no adverse reaction. With someone by her head holding a lead rein and me in the cart, we set off. After 45 minutes she was happily pulling the gig on her own.
One thing Freyer had never experienced properly before was the feeling of breeching, which is the part of the harness that runs around the rump, underneath the tail. Driving horses lean back into this to brake or back up their vehicle, and as our gig had no brakes we had to make sure Freyer knew what to do. We pulled uphill, then turned to descend. As we did so, the breeching made contact, pushing her on until she broke into a fast trot, head up and eyes rolled back, trying to see what was happening but blinded by her blinkers. I feared we were heading for a bolt situation, and tried my best to soothe her. Thank goodness she seemed to listen to me, and soon she’d worked out what she was supposed to do – she walked down the rest of the hill, accepting the weight on her breeching and slowing the gig down.
So that was it: forward, left, right, away from whip and whoa. Back up would come later, and practice was still required, but we were driving!
A pony for life
Freyer is ten years old this year. It’s unlikely she will ever compete in a gymkhana or win a rosette, or have a young lady dote on her, grooming her for hours and sharing all her secrets.
That doesn’t mean to say she hasn’t had a valuable life. She has learned to be ridden and driven, and she has patiently and forgivingly taught me a great deal about horses.
Even though I am a man and in my 50s, she brings me as much joy as she would have to any schoolgirl.