Spring
came early this year to Seven Hills Farm West. Really early.
It actually started on Christmas
with the arrival of Tweedy Bird. After a lifetime of owning canaries, one of my
girls actually hatched an egg. This
my not sound a big deal – there are a million canaries out there and they
all began as eggs - but it came as a huge, and pleasant, shock to me. A miracle actually.
Apparently
a lot of people agreed with me. Ever the proud bird god-mother, I posted near-daily
pictures of Tweedy’s progress on Facebook and Instagram, and soon found s/he (I
have no idea if Tweedy is a female or a male) had many more followers than I did. They were also more rabid. If I didn’t post
photos for a day or so, well, people complained.
What
amazed everyone was just how fast Tweedy went from a horrible bug-like
creature to an actual bird. By the time he was four weeks old, Tweedy was
hopping around eating real food and had grown actual feathers. Eight weeks
later he was back in the flight cage with his parents. He looks nothing like his mom, but is a carbon
copy of his dad. Nature is pretty amazing.
Really astounding.
It’s
only gotten better.
February 28th was monumental.
Not only was there a driving rainstorm, which is enough to bring out the happy
dance in drought-stricken Los Angeles, but after an anxious 10 months of waiting, Lucy decided to deliver her foal.
I’d been on baby-watch for a week,
since the experts told me she was
showing all the signs. Naturally, I was sleeping
literally with my phone on my pillow, since horses tend to deliver between 10
pm and 4am in the morning. For two weeks
there was nothing. Crickets.
Then at 10:30 on Saturday night,
the vet office called to tell me to be ready to come out, that Lucy was looking
ready. They weren’t kidding. Ten minutes later they called back to say she was
in labor. Naturally I left immediately. I’m not even sure I locked the door. In fact I’m
pretty positive I didn’t. I do know that I broke the speed limit driving to the clinic.
By the time I got there, a half-hour later, after
a mere nine minute labor, which has made her the envy of all my friends, Lucy was standing around, looking dazed. On
the ground was a tiny, perfect, filly. The doctor was still drying her off as I
walked in the stall.
Lucy had done a stellar job but she
was staring at the lump on the ground like it was an alien. Which it probably was to her. Lucy’s a maiden mare and probably had no idea what had just happened. Eventually she sighed and lay down next to
the baby and nuzzled it, which made for some awfully touching photos.
Not surprisingly, I have put the paparazzi to
shame. I have taken roughly a million photos. It isn’t enough.
When Lucy got up, the doctor
untangled the baby’s legs, which is pretty much all there was of her, and
stood her up. She promptly collapsed, but after about a half hour managed to
do it on her own. Almost immediately she
was zooming around the stall. I believe it’s because she didn’t know what
else to do with her legs except run. When she stopped running, she wobbled.
Then it was time to try to nurse.
She stuck her nose everywhere except where the milk was. And every time she
touched Lucy, Lucy would scream. Eventually the vets milked Lucy’s colostrum and
tube fed it to the baby. They fed the baby that way every hour until about 4am,
when the filly finally got the hang of eating on her own. Apparently there is actually a syndrome
called ‘dummy foals’ because, well they are. Who knew?
Thankfully it’s been off to the
races ever since. The baby has grown
into a beauty, and I say that not just because she’s mine. Well, maybe I’m a
little biased, but everyone seems to agree with me.
She has
a star in the shape of California on her face, and three white socks. She’s
going to be bay, like both Lucy and her father, and is already pretty huge. At a month, she’s no longer gawky, but is still
all legs. She looks like an equine giraffe.
She’s
quite shy, but will let me play with her and, like a toddler is into
everything. Like her mama, knows exactly
what she wants and more typically, what she doesn’t. Like her itty bitty halter. She doesn’t
appreciate that at all and makes it known. For a while I seriously considered
calling her Dontwanna, but that seemed like tempting fate.
Instead, her registered name will
be Way Out West. The “West” comes from
her father, Westporte. Her barn name, Faith, comes from Lucy, whose show name
is Blind Faith.
Already she’s a little mini-me of
Lucy. If Lucy comes for a mint, so does
Faith. Of course Faith doesn’t quite know what to do with them yet but she
still wants one.
Then there’s the fly masks. The
flies have also come early this year, so Faith has been outfitted with a tiny
fly mask which in a bit of serendipity matches Lucy’s. Together they look like
they’re very stylish equine bank robbers.
Obviously
I’m pretty smitten. People tell me that babies go through a horrible ugly stage
when they’re yearlings, but I can’t accept that. Faith is going to always be
gorgeous. No pressure.
It’s a
few years down the line before she can be ridden, and thankfully I’m not going
to be the first person to do that – which is good for both of our sakes. But I figure I’ll be on her in about five
years.
I can’t wait!
