Jack The Locksmith

Having had what was something of a pleasant winter day yesterday (surely an oxymoron), we are being made to pay for it today with a non-stop snowstorm. As Bertie Wooster once said to Jeeves, just when you think everything is going splendidly, fate is lurking around the corner with a set of brass knuckles.

Jack and I did our three second tour of the run-in, just long enough for a blast of snow to hit Jack square in the face. We beat a hasty retreat, Jack shaking the precipitation from his formidable eyebrows. "Huh", he said, "I shoulda just stood in bed." Ungrammatical, but cuts right to the heart of the whole winter ordeal . We supervised the chambermaiding, Jack licked the dog's winter coat until it was sticky and Sally watched all from the safety of her den. Breathing heavily in that unpleasant way she has, the woman trundled out with the wheelbarrow.

Jack was standing near the door and as the woman pulled it shut behind her, he gave it an extra hard shove. He hates the idea of cold air getting in. The woman plodded off with the wheelbarrow but when she returned she discovered that Jack has somehow caused the door to stick fast and nothing she did could turn the mechanism. There was some muffled thumping and cursing as she fiddled with it and I'm afraid some uncomplimentary things were said about donkeys in general. "Good thing I locked her out", said Jack, " s'obvious she's gone loco."

Her face appeared in the tack room window; no one should have to look at an apparition like that. It was very red and blotchy but we couldn't tell if the cause was frostbite or fury. She tried to lift the window, forgetting that she had locked it in the fall. Then she went to the back doors, but having no implements to work with, was unsuccessful in making a dent in the ice and snow using only her hands and feet.

We used her absence to sidle into the tack room and that's when the horrible face reappeared. She rapped on the glass and said all sorts of frankly threatening things but we just stared at her and politely pretended not to hear. Thankfully the face disappeared again. Jack sampled some of Sally's dry food and declared he preferred the squishy, smelly stuff. I put my head in what turned out to be a bag of the white powder she spreads on the floors of our rooms. A day later the sneezing is beginning to subside somewhat.

We heard a tremendous banging and crashing at the door and she burst in, looking like an early Neanderthal and clutching a chunk of ice in her hand. She had used it to release the lock mechanism - I've heard of this sort of tool-making amongst the higher primates but had no idea she was that evolved. We backed hastily out of the tack room, Jack scattering mouthfuls of cat kibble and self sneezing violently. She spoke at length in garbled and shrewish tones - we bustled into our rooms and stared at the floor until she ran out of breath. It was worth every minute of the inevitable lecture.

She has fixed the door mechanism but Jack vows to rework it into a more user-friendly state for donkeys. I don't doubt he will; he is a true artisan with endless patience.

Happy Birthday To An Old Friend

Although Jack is the oldest equine I know, I have another friend, Mosby, who is celebrating his 34th birthday this month. Mosby is a Thoroughbred horse and every one of his breed celebrates their birthday on January 1st. How orderly. No birthdays dotted randomly around the calendar, just one day when everyone in the extended family officially becomes one year older. Complete mayhem for one day and then a whole year to recover. Now that's organization.

Mosby is a renaissance horse who has had many careers. He was a race horse, polo pony, hunter, tried his hoof at dressage and later changed tack and became a trail horse in western gear. He excelled in all his pursuits and continues to carry his human, Emi, around the forest. He is intelligent, kind and has a wonderful sense of humour. He and I share the same vet, Dr. Maggie, and he can claim seniority over her by several years. He remains perfectly sound in wind and limb, the only signs of age being a growing collection of grey hair and a slight hollowing of the back. The woman took a ghastly photo of him today, which I will post for now, but I have directed her to go back and do it properly. He appears to be looking at the camera but is actually responding to the shaking of a pack of TicTac mints, which he considers to be the equivalent of ambrosia. I wish him many more years of ruling his barn as a benevolent equi-despot.

Our own old man, Jack, has decided that the safest course is to simply stay inside till May or June. On this front we concur. This constant loitering in the barn allowed him to expand his food horizons yesterday and I'm not sure what I think of it. The woman had placed two of Sally's food bowls near the door to be taken to the house and washed. One had bits of some sort of cat pate or food paste and Jack decided to try it. He loved it and cleaned both bowls to a high polish. This makes me very uneasy but I can't quite put my hoof on the reason why. His breath was fishy for the rest of the day.

Jack has also developed a new method of eating his gruel and he is extraordinarily pleased with himself. He fills his mouth with hot food and then spreads it along the metal strip on his stall front. Then he licks if off very slowly, saying "ahhhhhhhh" every few seconds. It takes him forever to finish his meal but if it makes him happy I am willing to put up with the slurping and squishing noises. When he has finished the last crumb, he sighs deeply, turns to his hay and the woman takes his bucket away to be sandblasted.

As someone who has been referred to as an "old soul" since I was five hands tall, I have the greatest respect and admiration for my ancient acquaintances. Long may they dwell amongst us, imparting their knowledge to the younger generation.

Winter Abides

We are stuck in some sort of time/space nightmare where it is always winter. There can be no other explanation. It has been snowing and blowing for eternity. Every morning Jack and I take one turn around the run-in and are back in the barn before the woman has the door halfway closed. We find the air just a tad too fresh to be healthy.

Being inside has allowed me to observe Sally the cat more closely, so at least there is that silver lining to the snow cloud in which we currently dwell. Sally is very, very small and of a fastidious nature; she keeps her brown fur coat tidy at all times and even though she has been starved, she never bolts her food. We all wondered how her introduction to Penny the dog would go and it went just fine. Sally sits regally ensconsed in her blue igloo and regards Penny with amusement tempered with a hint of disdain. Penny performs a clean-up operation on the floor and ingests any spilled cat kibble. A state of symbiosis is obviously evolving.

Jack is obsessed with the idea that Penny wears a coat like his and he insists on examining it closely at every opportunity. The dog has given up trying to evade him in the close quarters of the barn and allows him to run his nose all over the material. "Huh" he says " I never seen such a thing as dogs in clothes before." When I point out that he himself is wearing a larger version of the same coat he just shrugs and says that's different. You simply cannot reason with someone that age who has made up their mind to ignore logic.

Doc is rather subdued owing to the fact he is outside on his own all day. Molly on the other hand, is the belle of the ball and rarely has fewer than six or eight people clustered outside her stall inflating her already supersized ego. She'll need an overlarge trailer to return home - one with room for her ridiculously swelled head.

Animal Ice Sculptures

I am one of the above-mentioned ice sculptures. And that's just from being inside. Well actually, Jack and I haven't been outside in two days - we are given the choice each morning and flatly refuse - but I must reluctantly admit, the barn is quite bearable. This is in spite of the fact that the invisible but relentless Jack Frost has now painted the inside walls with his demonic rime. He did the windows before Christmas and they have stayed frosted. He's a complete lunatic. I loathe him.

Our Jack insisits that I mention his new accomplishment. He's very pleased with himself. Earlier this week, we were outside and he decided he wanted to go back inside. The woman was cleaning our rooms so he honked politely and tapped on the bottom of the door. When she didn't answer immediately, he began to work at the horse-proof latch on the door. Within five minutes he had it figured out. With that, he threw the door open wide in a dramatic fashion and marched in. The woman was dumbstruck (well, dumberstruck - she's not that bright to begin with). Jack may have only a handful of teeth left but he has positively prehensile lips that are a match for any hardware.

As for Sally, my new cat friend, she is slowly settling in and beginning to relax just a little. The woman can pat her all over and Sally even bumps the woman's hand onto her head when she stops. Sally stays in her heated cat den because the barn is so cold but she's quite toasty and warm in there. I'm very anxious to make her acquaintance and am leaning so far over my stall-guard, straining to see into the tackroom, that the woman says I will topple over and do myself an injury. She's threatening to put a helmet on me to avoid a concussion. Jack is much more phlegmatic on the cat front. "Ya seen one cat ya seen em all", he said.

Molly's ego is swelling to Hindenburg-like proportions. Every human at her winter barn stops by her stall to hug and kiss her and give her tasty morsels of various foodstuffs. "She's so keeee-yooot" they rant. "We can't let you take her home in the spring". Hmmmm, I'm sure that could be arranged - everything has a price. Now the woman is glaring at me.

It's Official - Hades Has Frozen Over

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. We have reached a temperature so low that I fully expect to see penguins migrating through our paddock any moment. The device that records temperatures this morning announced that it was -28 degrees.

We breakfasted inside but then Doc became so agitated with the idea of staying in his room that the woman put a second blanket on him, Jack's checked coat on him and let us out into the elements. We all immediately grew a heavy frost coating on the side away from what passes for the sun these days. Doc and I were quite comfortable but Jack grew more and more upset, stamping his feet and trotting back and forth to the barn door. Finally, he began rapping on the door very sharply with his hoof whilst making loud honking noises. The woman let him in. I didn't wish to go in and loitered in the run-in. Jack didn't want to be inside without me and the woman tried to coax me in but I feigned deafness and stared into the distance. Eventually she gave me a lecture about letting the heat out of the barn and chivveyed me indoors.

Jack was still quite upset and shivery so he leaned on the woman for a bit and she rubbed his ears warm and convinced him to share a pile of hay with me. She decided that the heated pet mat bought for Sally simply wasn't up to the job and brought out a quilted, pillowy heated rectangle used by humans. She installed this in the bottom of a plush cat bed and surrounded the whole thing with a blue blanket. Sally is very taken with it and has consented to move out from under the saddle rack.

Sally has been very badly treated by humans and expects to be struck every time she sees a hand attached to a person. I find this most puzzling; she is a shy and retiring sort who desperately wants to lead a quiet life. She is slowly coming around and has begun to eat a bit of tinned food. She is the smallest feline I have ever seen but I am assured she is full grown and is in fact the mother of two. She has had some sort of procedure to prevent further offspring but I don't care to know what that involved. She still has a bare midriff, which must be a tad chilly in this weather. Because she is so frightened, I am trying to be patient but ruffling cat fur is one of my favourite tactile sensations.

This weather nonsense is supposed to continue for the forseeable future. I'm looking into the process of hibernation as an alternative to living in an arctic air mass for days on end. Our local bear is slumbering in a cosy den at the moment but next spring I will quiz him on the finer points of remaining catatonic for the winter months. On the bright side, the woman says I have enough body mass to hibernate non-stop for several years straight.

I Have A CAT!

This morning the woman bustled around, carrying strange items out to the barn, including foodstuffs that, judging from the smell, had a high fish content. Doc wanted to try them, of course, but she said no - of course. She even brought in a heated bed, which I foolishly hoped was for me, even though it seemed a touch on the small side. It wasn't for me.

Awhile later, she appeared with the cat transportation cube and there was a cat inside. The cat was somewhere at the back and seems to consist of a pair of enormous and horrified eyes. We are all cat fanciers to the core and clustered around to welcome the new feline. We blew welcoming hot breath into the interior and nudged the cube with our noses. The cube and contents were hustled into the tack room where the eyes promptly disappeared under the saddle rack. Thus far we have no idea what the new arrival looks like but hope for a sighting in the next week or so. I can't wait to meet the feline attached to the eyes. Her name is Sally. We are overrun with mice and I now have a faint hope we can sleep through the night without constant scratching and rustling coming from the tackroom. It won't solve Jack's eighty decibel snoring but I've grown used to that.

Meanwhile, we are in a deep freeze and it's about to plummet even further. When the thin, wintery sun makes an appearance, I plaster myself against the front of the barn to absorb the reflected heat. The woman says my back felt like a radiator but she's notoriously prone to exaggeration. I've attached some images so you can see how dire my situation has grown.

My Barn Rules

As usual, Doc was very sorry after the fact (undressing Jack) and to make amends, he washed him from head to foot. Jack didn't necessarily want to be washed but he knows Doc well enough to recognize that the offer was meant in good faith, even though it's a bit cold for a full-body bath. He also knows that sometimes a little discomfort is better than a more physical Doc apology . The woman later spent ages brushing Jack to try and flatten the collection of cow licks that occured when his hair dried. She reassured him that he didn't look peculiar with his new disheveled style, but was sporting the very trendy "bed head" look. He appeared dubious.

The next day, when the woman was off visiting Molly, Doc felt compelled to carry all the rubber mats from our run-in to an area at the back of the barn. He piled them in the snow and was viewing his handiwork when she returned. She seemed to understand that it was some sort of sublimation of his desire to undress Jack and she just patted him and said not to worry, spring would be here in six or seven years.

After this week of drama, it seemed a good time to discuss the list of barn rules that I had posted in the barn a couple of years ago. The humans went to an exhibition on Catherine the Great of Russia and came back with her list of rules to be followed by anyone attending her salons. They are so perfectly thought out that I have adopted them as my own. I mean, even such luminaries as Voltaire had to follow them. If he ever comes to visit me, he will already understand the ground rules. They are as follows.

1. All ranks shall be left outside the doors, similarly hats and particularly swords (Doc disputes the sword rule)

2. Orders of precedence and haughtiness, and anything of such like which might result from them, shall be left at the doors. (A touch of donkey aloofness will not be frowned upon, however).

3. Be merry, but neither spoil nor break anything, nor indeed gnaw on anything. (Twigs will be supplied for guests).

4. Be seated, stand or walk as it best pleases you, regardless of others. (Guests may also lie down and roll if they so choose).

5. Speak with moderation and not too loudly, so that others present have not an earache or headache. (Braying is permitted).

6. Argue without anger or passion. (Doc says what's the point,then?).

7. Do not sigh or yawn, neither bore nor fatigue others. (Molly is not allowed to expound on her "great beauty" adinfinitum).

8. Agree to partake of any innocent entertainment suggested by others. (Except Twister - it overstimulates Doc and makes Jack too stiff the next day).

9. Eat well of good things, but drink with moderation so that each should be able always to find his legs on leaving these doors. (Doc disagrees violently with the second part).

10. All disputes must stay behind closed doors; and what goes in one ear should go out the other before departing through the doors. (Although donkeys never, ever forget anything, especially disparaging remarks about their ears).

The punishment for infringing on these rules was to drink a glass of cold water and read a page from the "Telemachida" out loud. I find this puzzling - it sounds like more of a reward to me, but I seem to be alone in this sentiment.