CWHR Mustang Makeover ~ Progress Journal

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Wᴇᴇᴋʟʏ Pʀᴏɢʀᴇss

1. Homeward Bound
& Arrival
2. Patience Makes Perfect
3. Introduction To Halter
4. On The Lunge Line
5. Introduction To Bridle
6. Groundwork And More
7. Introduction To Saddle (I)
8. Introduction To Saddle (II)
9. First Ride
10. Fine Tuning
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xxxxxxxxMɪsᴄᴇʟʟᴀɴᴇᴏᴜs

• First Impressions
• Trans-Atlantic Terror
• A Pile To File
• Loose Horse! And Other Mishaps

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xxxxxxxxOᴛʜᴇʀ Aʀᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ

• Born Free
• He Called Me Pretty
• Colour Photography
• This Is My Home

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Nooo posting please!

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My Dearest Elizabeth,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, as I recall the weather was not favourable before our departure. Do try to keep indoors and avoid the rain. Again, I must apologise sincerely for my poor English, though I hope it has improved since our last contact. Here in America, we find ourselves received with kindness and sunshine, along with the beauty of Wyoming. The journey here caused us much stress, for neither Ignatius nor I like aeroplanes very much. Our luggage arrived safely much to our happiness, and we are ready to start our journey to collect our Mustang.

We were met at the airport by one of the Cottonwood staff. She was very helpful, and kindly directed us through the automobile rental process. As Ignatius can barely drive, and I have no experience with the car, I have many worries about our future journeys along the American highways. Fortunately, we have arranged for our Mustang to be brought to the airport by a trusted driver recommended by Cottonwood. The trip to the facility was frightening, as Ignatius was finding it difficult to control the car. If the lady from Cottonwood had not given us excellent directions, I am sure we would have found ourselves lost. In a strange country, the results would be disastrous.

Once we arrived, there was much commotion at the facility. What seemed like thousands of people, horse trailers, and excited horses passed us until we found a place to leave the car. The process of adoption was easy and organised. We were led to a temporary office where a number of papers were signed by Ignatius for the Mustang has been registered under his name. Another assistant took us to see the horse.

She appears to be nothing remarkable. We visited her as she was at the far end of her enclosure, watching us carefully. Her build is a bit heavy, with strong bones and muscles. She is going greying [sic] quite slowly, which seemed to intrigue Ignatius. The head of hers is massive, but with kind eyes and a beautiful marking. Her neck is short and thick but well formed. She has long legs with tidy joints, but is a little downhill. As a whole, she looks to be a nice riding horse. Her temperament is quiet, and we are told she is very shy around people. We have hopes of training her as a nice animal for pleasure riding and exploring. I have doubts that she will ever reach a high level in the arts of dressage, though we have an idea she may jump well. I have enclosed some sketches of the Mustang and her movement for you to examine. I hope you will find them informative.

Your faithful husband,

Percy van Pey

xxx

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Once again, Ignatius's sprawling signature was scratched onto some supposedly important piece of paper. There wasn't much thought to the process after all the forms and agreements that came with the hassle of transporting a wild horse across the ocean. According to the majority of his fellow equestrians, this was a nightmare that would be completely paid off in the end. Not one to voice his humble opinion to so many who were likely to disagree, he patiently took everything in his stride. They'd learn just how big of a challenge this would be sooner or later. Hopefully, it would be sooner.

Handing the pen back to the disgruntled customs officer, Ignatius took a moment to look a around and take in the scenery. Well, the sort of blurry mountains in the distance obscured by smog could hardly be called scenery. Not to mention the great metal hulk of the aircraft he was standing next to, or the ugly grey airport building. To him, Wyoming was a lovely place, but it was sometimes hard to see the beauty whilst surrounded by hoards of grimy mechanical contraptions. Speaking of those, some sort of massive forklift which had been sitting idle for some time finally sparked to life. Slowly and carefully, the wooden pallet containing the most precious of cargo was lifted into the belly of the plane. Ignatius felt his heart leap into his chest as the box was lifted higher and higher. Hidden away in there was the precious little mustang, heavily sedated for her long journey. One little mistake and...
He'd rather not think of that. After a couple more agonizing minutes, the horse was safely stowed away in the aeroplane's hold. Relieved, Ignatius finally could breath again. It would soon be his turn to clamber aboard the aircraft and settle down for the journey.



***


Thankfully, the flight was uneventful despite lasting forever. Not exactly the most calm of flyers, Ignatius was the first out of the aeroplane, happier to be tortured by England's temperamental weather than stay inside the metal death trap. Having received special permission for himself and Percy to fly with the authorized veterinarian and the local vet, Dr Charles Pollard, he was more of an onlooker than anything else. It was his job to put his name on papers, and not to interfere with whatever the 'professionals' were doing.

"The sedative's worn off. That's your fault, you know. It must've been-"

"Worn off? The only reason it's off is because you couldn't calculate the dose to give the poor horse. How can you call yourself a vet without a basic understanding of mathematics?!

Dealing with the endless bickering of the two vets was almost as tiresome as dealing with shipping the mustang home. Funnily enough, the pair seemed to hate each other, with the lady, Ms Milton, always insisting Pollard 's methods were outdated and incorrect. Likewise, Pollard refused to let go of the thought that her only goal in life was to humiliate him. Regardless of whose error it was, the little horse was now terrified out of her mind without the sedative. With the utmost care, her pallet was brought out onto the tarmac as she kicked and shrieked like a devil. Luckily enough, she seemed to calm down a little after being set down. Hopefully she'd be up to the next leg of the journey. This involved spending half the day on a ferry, not quite the most enjoyable of experiences for a wild horse. Eswitch's tiny airstrip could barely accommodate a little propeller plane, much less a large cargo aeroplane. The only option was to bring horses in by sea, naturally the most inconvenient, costly, and hazardous course of action.

Leaving the pair of angry vets in a heated argument over who would sedate the horse again, Ignatius made his way over to where preparations were being made to bring the horse to the harbour. She had been removed from her box and a group of men were trying to load her into a trailer without much success. Having siezed up in fear of these strange people surrounding her, the little horse planted her feet and stood rooted to the ground, shaking wildly. No amount tugging and clucking would get her to budge. No one was being nasty to her, but the certainly weren't being soft either. Anyone attempting to touch her would send her flying sideways as if she had received an electric shock. Before he could interfere and offer his advice, one man put his own 'brilliant' idea into action. With a rope behind her hindquarters, the mustang shot forward and into the trailer in a blind panic. At least she was in. Now enclosed in the small space it was simple enough for Pollard, who had the unlucky job of sedating her, to get close enough to jab the mare with the needle. After a couple minutes of kicking, she was calm. All preparations complete, it was now time to drive to the harbour and finally get home.

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As it turned out, the mustang did not like the sea crossing at all. The hired ferry was designed for transporting cattle, and was not suited to hold a frightened horse. Who would ever think of such a thing? After much patience and rather coarse language, the journey was complete, and the little boat was finally alongside the dock in Fellpoint Bay. Getting the little mare off the boat was far less trouble than getting her on it. She seemed happy to be back on dry land, even if it meant being surrounded by scary new humans. It didn't take long for a crowd to gather nearby, only to be shooed away to a safe distance by that Milton lady. Somewhat unsteady on his feet after being at sea for a few hours, Ignatius dutifully helped to sort of herd/lead the mustang away from the dock. She was technically his horse, after all. Greeted by a handful of Fairbanks Stables' staff, he exchanged all the necessary pleasantries and the mandatory 'yes the trip was lovely, thank you very much' before the little group decided to make a move and get the horse home. This would be the fun part. Fairbanks was not far from the harbour, certainly not far enough to stress the horse out even more by trailering her. Either the walked (or pushed rather) her over there, or they carried her. Neither option seemed very attractive.


***


A good two hours later, the little mare was happily settled down in a nice bug paddock at Fairbanks. Well, 'settled' wasn't exactly the right word. She was tense and nervous, standing rigidly in the farthest corner and looking around with wide eyes. Still a little wobbly, Ignatius leaned against the fence, flanked by Percy, Charles Pollard, and the vet's outspoken wife, Martha. With as much distance between her and the group of humans as possible, the mustang kept well away from their observations and criticism.

"No, she's wouldn't make a jumper. Her hind end is a disgrace, not to mention her lack of muscle." Under the keen eye of Martha, no horse stood a chance of hiding its flaws. She had a sharp eye for conformation, and an even sharper tongue when it came to pointing it out.

"If she is unable to do dressage, jump, or just about anything decently, what shall we use her for?" Percy was the economical one. Trust him to get right to the root of the conversation.

"That is for you to decide. No horse is useless, as you must've seen throughout your equestrian career." To go through all the trouble of adopting a wild horse and bringing it home without any intention of training it seemed a complete waste to Ignatius. If the Fairbanks people didn't want the mare, no one would take her. The stables were known for taking on the most inconvenient and time consuming animals. The poor girl would just live in a pasture, forever afraid and forever alone.

"She's your horse, after all. You ought to decide what to do with her."

"She is our horse, Martha. I was under the impression that she would be Fairbanks' 'project horse'.

"Well, I was under the impression that she was your horse, and I've got the signed papers to prove it!"

Ignatius didn't quite expect that tone of reply. Martha was a fiery lady, and he judged it best to simply agree with her. Through the course of a short reply and a nod, the entire responsibility of training the mustang was shifted into his shoulders. After seeing how difficult the little mare was, no one wanted to have to deal with her. That required patience, something Ignatius had in excess when it came to horses. A few minutes passed, and the members of the group slowly drifted away to attend to other duties, leaving Ignatius alone with the mare. She still stood a good distance away, but seemed more curious than frightened now that only one person was left to stare at her. In the paddock next to her, another horse looked on with interest. The mustang ignored his quiet calls, preferring the solitary corner of her field.

Solitaria. The Spanish word came quietly to Ignatius' mind, like the evening breeze that stirred the trees. It seemed to fit the little mare, who was always alone.

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Eswitch Isle Department of Agriculture
Official Document of Entry

This Document certifies that the Equine 'FS Solitaria' is of good health and has been accepted entry into Eswitch Isle.
The Equine may not under any circumstances be permitted to leave the Isle unless supplied with a temporary passport three weeks in advance. The Equine may not under any circumstances be permitted to reproduce without first gaining approval from the Eswitch Isle Department of Agriculture...

...in agreement with all current rules and regulations as of the thirteenth of September, two thousand and fifteen.


Windsor Broadbent
Director of the Eswitch Isle Department of Agriculture

"Fancy that; a bloomin' five and a half pages of nonsense just to say the horse can stay here!"

"I wouldn't call it nonsense. At least everything's legal and we can file this document with all the others" Martha liked to be treated with respect, which was always somewhat difficult when she was on a rant. The past three days had been hectic, with more pieces of paper and signatures than Ignatius had ever dared to imagine. They were lucky enough to have the horse skip quarantine at home, but with the stress of filling out form after form, it was hardly worth it. Eswitch was a backwards country, with every trivial little detail of anything put down on paper should it ever 'come in handy' or something.

"Here, you'd best stick this photograph of her in with it as well. It's not quite official ID worthy, but it'll do for now."

After receiving the picture, Ignatius paused for a second to admire it. The photographer had caught the mare on in the early morning of her first day on island. She stood relaxed, in striking contrast to how tense she'd been upon arrival. The colours of the morning were slightly skewed, but they gave the picture a dreamlike quality paired with the hazy morning mists in the background. No, this certainly wasn't an identification photograph. It was more like a work of art. Of course, any fool with a camera could snap a nice picture if the time was in their favour, but the fool with this camera must've been exceptionally lucky.

"Well, since we're here, we can have a go at sorting the rest of this nonsense out. Start with the registration papers."

Not one to waste an opportunity to put someone to work, Martha shook Ignatius out of his daydream. A stack of outdated registry papers had been waiting to be sorted for well over a few months now. The tiny office where most of the Fairbanks administration happened was swamped by piles of papers and files of God knows what. With his mind still on the beautiful photograph, Ignatius sighed and put himself to work.

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The little mustang was not pleased. She had spent a week at her new home, and sorely missed the freedom she enjoyed in Wyoming. The food wasn't bad here, nor were the horses (she'd made great friends with a big fat gelding called Longley), but there was no end to the comings and goings of the humans. She didn't like the humans. They were frightening, with their funny voices and strange movements. It was them who took her freedom away, and for that, she was distrustful and wary. There was one of those people again. The quiet one, who had a gentle voice but a stern face. As he approached the mare's paddock, she retreated to the far corner, as was her usual reaction to any human visitors. The gelding turned out next to her, Longley, did precisely the opposite, waddling up to the gate and begging for attention. For a minute, the man petted him and gave him a treat before turning his attention towards the mustang.

Calling softly, he held his hand out over the fence. In it was a piece of something, the same sort of treat he'd given the gelding. Solitaria was curious, but afraid too. This man in particular had never done anything to scare her, but she wasn't willing to let him near. You never knew with these humans...

"Come on, love. I went out of my way to get this apple for you. It's delicious, I promise."

His open hand was inviting, but the mare had seen what hands could do. Still tense and worried, she took her attention off him for a second to eye the gelding. He was craning his head over the fence at the man, insisting that he get the remaining treat. For the life of her, Solitaria could not understand what his obsession with the humans was all about. Didn't he know they were dangerous? He acted like a stupid little colt around them, always asking questions and poking his nose into their space. What was wrong with him?

With other obligations to attend to, Ignatius sighed and gave the remaining bit of apple to a very pleased Longley. A week with the mare had passed, and he had nothing to show for it. If he couldn't do anything with her, she'd be dubbed a waste of time and money and most likely disposed of. He'd be sad to see her go; she was really a nice little mare. Not really suited for high level work, but a solid and cute animal. As he left, the mustang watched, still rigid. She breathed out in relief, and relaxed, making her way over to her water bucket. As she approached the fence, a funny scent wafted past her. For a moment she froze. It smelled terribly like people, but with a hint of something else. Something sweet. Apple. Thats what it was. It sort of reminded her of a fading summer, the sort of feeling one has after waking from a blissful sleep in the shade. And with that thought, she found herself wishing she'd approached the man.



***
For a few days, Ignatius simply lingered outside Solitaria's paddock when he had the time.