Horsing around

Since we added horses to the Shire today, I figure it's worth writing a second post. One of the days last week, while Cyprian, Clement, and I were visiting family in Wisconsin, Rosemary was out front mowing the grass with Cletus on her back. As she tells it, a guy pulled up in a pickup truck and randomly started talking about horses. I guess having a pasture up front leads to conversations of this sort. That the guy was a neighbor who is in the process of buying a restaurant and who didn't have the time he had anticipated to work with some of his younger horses. He ended up offering Rosemary two of his horses--Tennessee Walkers--for free. Obviously we're aware that horses can be costly to keep and that the horses therefore aren't really free. But imagine Rosemary, who sold her horses when we moved to Dallas and made me promise that someday she'd have horses again. It seemed rather provident.

Well, today was the day, and it was an adventure. The neighbor called in a professional trainer who works with some of his horses. And it turned out to be a good thing. Untrained horses apparently don't like to go where you would like them to. And they especially don't like to cross blacktopped roads. It was quite the sight, with random neighbors and people stopping to watch, smoke cigarettes, and offer advice--and in one case to help--as the horses stalled and balked. Rosemary's filly mare, whom she named Stella, went first. It was difficult but without incident. Mine, a stud colt who will go by the name of Tarcisius, was another story. He was absolutely certain touching the blacktop would kill him and acted accordingly, at one point running all the way back to the neighbors despite the fact we were leading his mother in front of him. So, some scraps and bruises and even some spills later, we finally crossed the road. I think that a horse's answer to the question "Why did the chicken cross the road?" would be something like, "He wasn't as stubborn as a horse." Good thing we were more stubborn.

The horses are now safely ensconced in the back paddock since the trainer said they needed time to get used to our lush pasture. Tarcisius's mother is with them to help him with the transition.

Stella--Latin for "star"--gets her name because there's a white patch on her forehead. Tarcisius gets his name mainly because Rosemary liked it. But, in the interest of having some reason behind the name, I looked up the story I remembered of a heretic, who told St. Anthony of Padua that he wouldn't believe in Christ's Real Presence in the Holy Eucharist unless a horse would genuflect before the Sacred Species. As the story goes, St. Anthony held the Blessed Sacrament in one hand and oats in the other. Sure enough, the horse bent one knee and bowed his head to acknowledge Christ's presence. Be patient--there's another step in this labored rationale for the name... Tarcisius was the name of a boy martyr from the era of the Christian persecutions. Tarcisius was carrying the Eucharist to other Christians when he was ambushed and beaten by a mob of other boys. I believe he's the patron saint of altar boys. So, in this belabored, convoluted way, Tarcisius is an excellent name for a horse in a Catholic household. ;-)

Here are Stella (left) and Tarcisius (right): 

Here's a closer shot of Tarcisius. He's a little shy of two years and hasn't been worked with at all. Earlier this afternoon when we put them in the paddock, I caught him and put some healing salve on the cut he got during the transfer. Tennessee Walking Horses have a calm disposition, and though he is currently skittish, I can tell that he'll be far calmer once the trauma of the move has passed.

Here is Tarcisious acting babyish and hiding behind his mother. Stella is in the background.

Stella is up front in this picture.

All three horses are looking towards the neighbor's pasture, across and a little farther down the road, where a bossy gelding is demanding that they return asap.