[mewmew.]

Username; Obssessed
Show Name;
Barn Name;
Gender; Stallion
Eye Color; Light Peach
Height;

This stallion keeps showing signs of being anxious and scared. But music seems to calm him down.

Owner fills out;

Code: Select all

        [b]Show Name;[/b]
        [b]Barn Name;[/b]
        [b]Height;[/b]
   

These guys usually range from 12.3Hh-14.2Hh (or .3 depending) and are strong little guys. They used to pul coal from mines, so they needed to have stamina of a quarter horse but power and accessibility- making them muscular and stout. So please when entering, enter by the standards of breed! Thanks all!<3

[Obsessed]

Show Name; Spiegel Im Spiegel
Barn Name; Arvo
Height; 13.2 Hh

I am very excited to start writing! I am so happy with the basic personality of this guy! I love soft classical music, and I named him after one of my favorite pieces, so this ought to be very fun. I'll post my tasks in the next post as I complete them, if you don't mind ♥

[Obsessed]

May edit these periodically


It wasn’t that she didn’t want her very own pony. No, she wanted one, she was just anxious. That was what she told herself, when the event was advertised. All she could picture was a group of ponies that the ASPCA would use in a commercial. And she wasn’t, sadly, wrong when she got there. She had submitted the application and been approved fairly quickly, so she was off to pick up the stallion described to her. She saw him from a distance, a sad sight.
It was difficult to tell what color he might be. She turned down her music as she approached, afraid of startling him more so. He paced endless circles in the pen he was in, flinching away at each noise, and her chest ached for him. So badly, she wanted to run up, clean away the dirt and grime and cradle the fine head against her chest.
But she pushed that away because, really, wasn’t she a little old for such silly fantasies? Instead, she greeted the hands, and together they urged the fearful stallion into the trailer. She watched him a moment longer than perhaps she could have, thanked those at AIWP profusely, and swore to make sure this pony got the TLC he needed.
When she began driving, her mind was already spinning to think up names. About ten minutes, with twenty or so to go, he began to whinny. Not normal whinnies, but high near-squeals that screamed of terror. So she pulled over at the nearest rest stop, and in her hurry to get out, turned on her music, from where it had been playing last. Simple piano notes played a little louder than social norms dictated were alright, and she winced, before noticing that something else had happened.
The stallion had quieted. She assumed it was stopping, turned off the music, and had just finished buckling back up when he began to cry out again. So she got out, and went around to the trailer, where she heard the dreaded and repeated bang of a hoof against the wall. She spoke softly to him, to no avail, and went back to the driver’s seat. She couldn’t take him out or calm him here and now.
What he needed was to settle, and she firmly decided, as she turned her music on and set up the playlist as before, that he would have to settle. She started the car, and drove. The stallion had gone quiet in the wake of the music, and she noticed it slowly. She turned off the sound, and listened intently as she drove down the backroads.
All that could be heard was the wind.
Until he began to kick again. Then it was a percussion that could not be drowned out and spiked her anxiety levels. She turned on the song, Spiegel Im Spiegel, once more, and the stallion quieted.
That was how she decided he would be Arvo, after the composer.

It was a little bit of a nightmare, trying to get Arvo into his new home. The pasture she had set aside for him was in sight of her other horses, but separate. The little stable was a single-horse structure that she had set up with fresh bedding, and the water trough at the end closest to the barn. She had opened the gate, carefully backing the trailer up and opening the back.
When she had gotten her first stallion on this ranch of hers, he had been half wild and ripped out of the trailer like a firecracker. Arvo, however, would not leave. He made soft pathetic noises, head low and eye despondent, but he would not exit the trailer. So she coaxed him out slowly, hands lightly guiding him out into the grassy pasture. He did nothing for the first twenty minutes, while she closed the gate and moved the car and watched him.
Then he began looking around, sniffing fence posts and examining his confinement. Any movement on her part sent his eyes rolling, body trembling with terror as he looked around wildly. But he didn’t do much more than that, and she tried to keep exceptionally still. When she left, she saw him visibly relax some, walking down the length of the fence with his head low.
When the sun began to set and she came out to see if she could convince Arvo to go into his new stall for the night, the Irish Pony was sleeping lock-legged inside already, and she merely closed the door. She was going to leave again, honest. The noises of the door had woken Arvo, and she could hear him pacing, snorting and pawing occasionally. She played Spiegel Im Spiegel from her car, and Arvo calmed.
In the morning when she let him loose he danced away out of arm’s reach. But at least, she reasoned, from the not-as-decimated-as-it-could-be look of his stall, he had slept throughout the night. She cleaned it, checked the water trough outside and the bucket inside, and filled both with fresh water. Arvo was watching her with white-rimmed eyes, stiff as a board, and she moved out of the pasture.
If he didn’t trust her yet, she wouldn’t be surprised. She had to earn it.
The next few days of settling him into his new home were quiet ones. He didn’t trust her, not a bit, but seemed more relaxed in his pasture. He called sometimes to the other horses, and she had put a little CD player in his stall on a shelf. At night, she turned on a CD, waited outside the pasture for Arvo to go into the stall, and then shut the door.
When she was sure he was settled enough, calm and cozy enough, she set out on gaining his trust. Her first concern was his health, as she looked at the grime on his coat. Arvo needed to be cleaned, and he needed to trust her enough to let her clean him.

Gaining Arvo’s trust wasn’t easy. He was nervous and scared, of humans and sounds in the dark. She could see that he wanted to be with the other horses, but until the vet gave him the go-ahead, he was staying in his pasture. He was still a grimy thin horse fearful of too much.
So each day, she went out and just sat there. Due to the demands of the rest of her work, it wasn’t always very long, but she did go out every single day, calling his name, speaking softly about everything she could think to tell him of, and, of course, playing music. She went through her whole classical selection in a week, and then switched to the other genres she had CDs for.
Music seemed to calm Arvo, though Spiegel Im Spiegel still seemed to be his favorite. Every day she came out, put in a new CD, and called him. Over the next few weeks it became a bit of their ritual. Arvo was visibly growing calmer, grazing closer and spooking less at her movements.
He went at his own pace, and she didn’t push him further than he was comfortable with. Each day he didn’t regard her with terror was a victory. It took time. She didn’t try and bribe him with treats, and it was slow work. Some days were worse than others.
But time rolled on and his fear of her definitely was dissipating. She sat still, let him see for himself whether she was threatening or not. His anxious grazing was becoming less so as he moved more freely around the paddock.
Music helped a lot during those early days. It kept both of them calm as he adjusted and she tried to make him not afraid of her so she could earn his trust. It came slowly, starting on a good day with Spiegel Im Spiegel playing and her watching the clouds and hardly aware of her surroundings.
A brush against her head made her realize, startled, that he was feeling her hair with his lips, eyes distant and thoughtful. She didn’t move, didn’t dare break the moment until Arvo moved away, walking down to the other end of the pasture.
Walking. Not running or bucking, but walking. She would have sung for him, if she could have found the words she needed. It was longer still before he came over to her again. She began calling his name more, teaching him that that name and her were not sources of pain. He became more familiar with it.
Sometimes she called his name while passing by. And he, more and more, would lift his head in response, with more and more confidence and less apprehension. Some days Arvo came to her, and she cooed to him in the calmest voice she could muster.
One day he came to her and butter her with his nose so hard she nearly fell over, and that was the turning point. She knew no horses started out terrified of humans, and Arvo was no exception. He switched very suddenly, and she found herself petting and stroking him out of the blue one afternoon.
It opened up a floodgate, it seemed. As if all the time starved of affection suddenly came crashing down and he couldn’t get enough. He was terrified still of almost everything, but now actively sought out affection, trying to block her from leaving and rubbing his grimy coat against everything. Slowly, slowly, and then all at once was how Arvo began to trust her.

Things in life rarely got easier. One challenge was often replaced by another. So when washing the filth from Arvo was turning out to be easier than expected, she was surprised. He had calmed considerably since he had come here, and she made sure to turn on some music and go slow and gentle as she brought out grooming supplies, soap, the hose, all of it.
Out in the field she bathed him, scrubbing away layers of grime and wiping his sensitive face. She left him to dry and followed up with a thorough brushing. All through it Arvo was nervous, fidgeting and moving away when she moved too fast.
But it was evident he felt better being clean. She hadn’t realized how much of his coat had been dirty until she was washing it away, and immediately felt guilty for not having addressed this sooner. The more was washed away, the more she saw of his natural coloring, and the more her affection for him grew.
He really was lovely under all of the dirt and mud and grime. Skinny, too skinny for her to feel comfortable with, but very clearly showing the potential to be a fine pony. She made a mental note to call her vet, an older gentleman who didn’t know how to scare anything.
It would certainly do Arvo a world of good. She cleaned him, with combs and curry combs, and brushes, and soft cloths and rough sponges, easing out snaggles and trimming away unsalvageable mats. By the end of her cleaning, he looked considerable better and calmer, and promptly rolled in the grass afterwards. His coat was dull still, but visibly grullo instead of filthy. She fell rather proud of both herself and him for having survived:
The first bath.
If he knew how relieved she was to see him clean he didn't show it, trotting around the pasture and calling out to the other horses on the ranch. She heard a cry back that sounded suspiciously like Piper, though she was sure she put him in. The sun was no more than a sliver on the inky horizon and she was tired. Murmuring good night to Arvo, she turned and left the pen and now clean pony.

Her vet came to her. For whatever reason, his nickname was Cookie. He was a tall guy, really, really, tall, toned from the work he did on farms, whether it was vaccinating bulls, helping sheep, or in this case, dealing with scared horses. Cookie wasn't mean and rough. He had a way about him that calmed animals and he referred to as his 'magic touch'. Explaining the music thing was a little awkward, but with her, Cookie, and a soundtrack going he was able to check him over, examining for any signs that Arvo wasn't well. After a dewormer, a vaccination, and a schedule for the rest of the needed ones, Cookie was on his way, and Arvo, ears laid flat, seemed to decide that it was all right and sighed.
Cookie was back every week to give Arvo a single vaccine or booster, and to check on the stallion. His heart, she was told, sounded great. Arvo was a tense anxious mess at the beginning, but whether it was the music, or Cookie's 'magic touch', or even the routine of the visits, Arvo seemed to be calming more around Cookie as well. Not much, granted, but more. Arvo at least did not panic or try to flee, and thankfully wasn't having a reaction to any of the shots. She laughed, when Cookie slipped him treats that last day and announced he had a clean bill of health. And it was true that Arvo looked much better than he first had.

The farrier came after cookie. She was slight, with forever askew glasses that sat on her face, but her face was determined. She said hello, and then moved straight to work. Arvo seemed unsurprised, which was both pleasant and odd, as the farrier set about examining his hooves. She cleaned them, filed them, and shoed them. It was all over in about an hour, and Arvo lifted each hoof cautiously once the farrier stood back, taking a few steps, moving, shifting and swaying like he was going to fall.
Then, as though embarrassed, he turned to look at her the and farrier and walked over, butting Her with his head with enough force she thought she would fall. Now at least Arvo was shod, and she worked with him over the course of the next few months, to get him familiar with the task that would be cleaning his hooves. Many days working with him now consisted of running her hands down his legs, quietly urging him to lift his hooves. And he was getting better.

She called the vet first, just to triple-check that it was OK to start Arvo on a normal horse diet, with the prescribed supplements, and received a weary affirmation. So began adding hay and the special feed into his diet. Arvo seemed not to notice the food, grazing or sleeping when offered anything. So she began to entice him with treats (just a few!)

Wip

[Obsessed]

Res ♥

[Zira.]

This is actually number 092