NAIA Newsletter: December 10, 2006
by Kerrin Winter-Churchill
A cold, November rain washes over the barn,
pelting the slate roof, splashing down into the muddy paddocks
below. Welsh ponies in their thick "Winter woolies" seem
impervious to the weather. They walk the fence line, searching
out the last tendrils of summer's past, browsing as they walk
along as if it were a bright, spring afternoon. It is dry from my
vantage point. I am three stories up in the old barn, throwing
hay down through the chute. "Heads up," I yell and my twelve
year old nephew stands clear. As I heave another bale of
Timothy, my diminutive, nine year old niece jumps off the tightly
stacked bales of hay, dragging a single one towards me. The bale
and the girl are roughly the same size but the pigtailed imp is
determined. As she tugs the bale across the floor she chatters
endlessly about "Blondie" (her favorite pony) and the plans she
is making for a future career in horses. "Aunt Kerrin, I'm going to teach her how to drive so I'll
never have to outgrow her and sell her. Then, when I grow up,
I'll raise Miniature Horses and teach them all how to drive." I
smile at her, giving a thumbs up but yell down to my nephew
instead. "Okay, Clay, that's twelve. We'll be right down to help
you stack."
Resting for a minute before we make our
descent, we look down through the chute. Beyond the pile of hay
bales, we see our black roan Welsh stallion looking up, watching
us. Anyone who's spent a lot of time around stallions will tell
you of their uncanny intelligence. We speak to him and he flicks
his ears back and forth and nickers a throaty reply. "I think he
wants us to come down," says the nine year old chatterbox. "No,
he's asking if we'll turn him out with the mares," is my reply.
"Aunt Kerrin, how come you always know what they're saying?" asks
my niece. I smile as my hand falls to her shoulder, guiding her
towards the old, wooden door to the stairs that will take us down
to the first floor. "I've just been listening to them longer than
you," is my reply. "All you have to do is stop the words in your
head and listen to what they're trying to say. Animals will tell
you a lot if you'll just listen to them." Revved with
enthusiasm, my niece bubbles with questions of technique and
while we drag and heave twelve bales of hay over to the staging
area, my nephew chimes in with his own unique experiences talking
with Airedales, Schnauzers, Fox Terriers and of course the Welsh
Ponies. "I always know when Spicy wants to play" says Clay. "And
Jazzy tells me when she's hungry." "Well, Blondie is always
hungry. She doesn't have to even tell me that," retorts my niece
and we all laugh. At 38 inches tall and fifty inches wide, my
niece's Miniature Horse looks like she was bred for the impending
Ice Age.  A
silver dapple pony with a thick, frost colored mane and tail, the
pudgy pony peacefully munches hay as her large, dark eyes watch
our every move - her tiny, fuzzy ears switch back and forth,
listening to all that we are saying. "I think you just insulted
her," I jokingly say with a smile. "Poor Blondie," now we've hurt
her feelings. You'll have to make it up to her with a carrot.
Don't worry Blondie, you'll get more exercise in the springtime,"
I croon. "You'll be beautiful again." Suddenly filled with
emotion for her beloved pony, my niece flings her arms around
Blondie's neck and kisses her, talking sweetly all the while.
Just then we hear a squeal and we turn around to see two
beautiful mares poking their heads over the webbed barrier to the
outdoors. Their big, liquid eyes are bright with curiosity and
their ears are forward with great interest. "They want carrots
too," says my nephew and he takes two out of the bag and walks
them over to "Bitsy" and "Jemi." While our elegant gray mare
snatches the carrot and quickly steps out of "catching range" the
cute Bay stands sweetly, letting the boy stroke her neck while
she crunches on the carrot. Leaning down, my nephew puts his ear
to her mouth and listens to her chewing and begins to laugh. I
smile knowing this is one of the things I've taught him to enjoy.
The sound of a horse chewing is one of my favorite things. Now,
like talking to the animals and expecting an answer, these
curiosities have been handed down to the next generation and with
a little luck, they will one day pass these traits down beyond
themselves.
Though I never had children of my own, I am
blessed with the friendship of my sister's kids. To their willing
and ready minds I pass down my knowledge and experiences. Growing
up on "the only farm for fifty miles," these kids know how lucky
they are too. Their friends live in housing developments,
condominiums and apartments. They can not wait to visit "Ivy
Hill Farm" and gladly put down their Gameboys, Ipods and cell
phones to help brush a pony. More than once, Blondie has stood in
cross ties and my heart has gone a fluttering when I've overheard
my niece say to one of her little friends, "Go ahead and talk to
her. She'll understand what you're saying." For many of them,
it's the first time they've talked to a pony and most of them
walk away from the experience with the certain knowledge that the
pony talked back — albeit without the wasted use of words.
For my niece and nephew the ponies are a constant source of pride
but since there are daily chores, mucking stalls, watering,
feeding, turning out, throwing hay; their egos are kept in check
and their pride has grown into a solid sense of
responsibility.
As the rain falls steadily on the outside of
our barn, I am filled with the warm glow of my surroundings. The
air is pungent with the mixture of hay and horses. Barn cats with
their tails straight up are eating their evening bowl of chow. My
niece is braiding Blondie's forelock and my nephew tops off the
water in each of the horses stalls. "Spinner" the stallion drinks
deeply, finally bringing his head up,  lipping the water as it drips from his mouth making
that beautiful, silverly sound as it pools back into his bucket.
Nothing short of bliss am I feeling. We are very lucky. We are
animal people. Real animal people. Not the kind that write or act
on behalf of animals with no real knowledge of them to back up
their philosophical beliefs. Today, many "Armchair animal lovers"
equate farm life with a lack of intelligence. What these critics
are missing is the hands on experience we have gained by just
being around animals every single day. Clinicians working on
their animal behavior PhDs and editors that live and work from
tall buildings in major cities can not gain real animal knowledge
through controlled experiments, mountains of research or chatting
in newsgroups. Why then, should we allow those with the least
hands on animal experience create society's structure towards
animals? Do we trust the Animal Rights leaders to guide the
populous in creating laws which will govern our relationship with
animals? I think of these issues and shudder as we set up the
grain for the morning feed. Closing the bin, I pick up a broom
and begin sweeping the floor of the barn. The kids join me in the
last bit of tidying, rolling up the hose, stacking all the rakes.
The barn is warm and full of contentment and as we turn out the
lights a pony whinnies "Good night."
Rolling down the big barn door, we step out
into the night. Pulling up our hoodies, we three walk arm and arm
through the rain to the hot supper that's waiting for us inside
the rambling, old house. I glow with the knowledge that animals
make us more human. We can laugh with them and make fools of
ourselves and share our love for them with others. With animals
we can make up silly stories or try and guess what they are
thinking. Of course, any real animal person knows that if you
practice this long enough, your accuracy will improve and over
the course of time, you really will begin to understand what
they are saying. It's not make believe but it takes experience to
hear their voices and you have to live among them to gain this
knowledge. Real animal knowledge is not born in the halls of
higher education. It does not spring to life with the tap of a
keyboard. Those that have an intricate understanding of animals
— a knowledge born of years of three feedings a day, mucking
stalls, scooping poop, throwing hay, vet calls, training and
farrier bills, these are the people to lead animal lovers into
the new age and I know this. Maybe you do too. As I watch the
kids hanging up their coats, kicking off their boots and greeting
the terriers that jump for joy at the return of their bipedal
friends, I smile knowing that the farm has made the children more
human. They are animal people, equipped with wisdom beyond their
years. The future is in their capable hands.
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