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Tue., 22 Mar. 2011

7 am – Anaïs leaves for Melbourne. The horses seem to know what is expected of them. We head over to the corner of the paddock closest to the driveway but Farinelli and Gulliver do not hang around for long. As though expressing quiet wisdom, Gulliver slowly moves away, quickly followed by Farinelli, although they do not go far. Anaïs patiently stands with us as we wait for the truck to arrive. The geldings drift back to join Anaïs for a final communal carrot snack. Yet within minutes of the final morsel, they move away again, this time walking slowly to the far side. Anaïs obligingly allows us to lead her out of the paddock, down the driveway and away from her departing mates.

The truck arrives as we approach the road. Anaïs’ initial curiosity gives way to apprehension as we move on to the road. The tailgate comes down and she calls to her herd. There is no answering whinny, so she calls again. Yet trustingly she moves forward with me, Vicki at my side. Raoul, the driver approaches us. There is urgency in his stride. Cut resistance in the bud. He grasps the lead rope just below the head, lays his dressage crop along the mare’s back and taps her on the croup, and then more persuasively. If he handles her more roughly, she will fight him. He seems to sense this. Anaïs responds to his urgency, as do we and in twos we ascend into the gaping chasm of the truck.

Firmly but gently Raoul urges her into the compartment. Once secure, Anaïs realises she is trapped. Stomping and whinnying, the truck starts out on the 1200 km she is to cover over the next two days. No answering whinny is to be heard from the geldings.

Hours later it is with utter astonishment that we view our remaining horses. They have been with us for fourteen years. We may be expected to know them but apparently we do not. Gulliver, who has been so close to Anaïs and whom we expected to be cut to the quick by the pain of separation, calmly grazes under the clear blue sun. It is Farinelli, the runt of our tiny herd who used to bear the brunt of Anaïs’ dominant energy, who is now pacing the fence line and crying out to the mare who is no longer there.

She leaves a gap, our mare, and it is not only Farinelli who is acutely aware of it. Still, soon Vicki and I will be seeing her again, so the emptiness is easier to bear.

Fri., 25 Mar. 2011

7 am – Farinelli and Gulliver leave for Buccan in Logan, Queensland, where they will be agisted with Melyssa and Andrew for 18 months. Trusting us and each other, they load without incident. Raoul even has time for a brief chat. Then the truck moves off and the paddocks are empty, the stables are empty, the air is empty of our horses’ presence. The enormity of what we are doing sinks in.

Sat., 26 Mar. 2011

In the morning we leave for Logan to take rugs, grooming equipment and related items to Melyssa and Andrew. Our plan is to overnight in a nearby motel and to take our leave of Farinelli and Gulliver in their new environment, allowing us to create memories of them in their new home. A charming couple from New Zealand will care for our aging puppy, Dubu, in our home with its greatly diminished contents. A little over five hours later we arrive in Logan, check in to a motel and visit our geldings. They appear to be content, surrounded by many of their own kind and a bustling array of feathered farm creatures.

Sun., 27 Mar. 2011

We take our leave of Farinelli and Gulliver or rather they do so of us. The land is warm and fresh under the morning sun. The horses approach us as we arrive. We walk around, they follow us, seeking attention and then the nibbles that we have brought with us. It hollows me to know that I will not see these intensely familiar creatures, our family, for such a long period of time. Is it all worth it? We look at them long and deep, trying to capture the moment, to take it with us, to have a memory to nurture and cherish. Just to play it safe we take photos and videos as well.

Andrew and Farinelli have a final cuddle

Then something happens which is so truly remarkable to a human but so utterly normal to a horse. The geldings take their leave of us. Although at the bottom of the pecking order in our little herd, Farinelli has always led the others to new grazing spots. This time he takes the lead again. After a gentle nuzzle he heads towards the far corner where horses in the neighbouring paddock are grazing on the other side of the fence. Gulliver starts to follow, pauses, gazes at us with his knowing eyes, and then walks resolutely on to join his mate. They do not look back. Vicki and I instinctively know: it is time to leave.

The geldings do not know that it will be such a long time before we see each other again. They live with what they have, here and now. No past regrets, no future fears, they are as they are and I envy them for that.

Mon., 4 Apr. 2011

A little before nine in the morning we arrive at the agistment facility near Riddells Creek a little to the north of Melbourne, where Anaïs has spent the past fortnight. The overcast sky sheds sporadic raindrops and to us, who have spent so many years in the subtropics up north, it is bitterly cold.

Although staggered in manageable stages over three days, the trip down from Bellingen has been tiring, albeit not nearly as demanding as Anaïs’ must have been. She has lost a great deal of weight, her flanks are tucked up, her coat is dull and she has a small injury a little above the right hock and a larger one near the girth area behind the left foreleg. Although they are superficial, we are concerned as we had been assured that she had arrived without mishap two weeks before, more so because she is due to start quarantine within the hour.

There are moments when we are astounded by how circumstances have been unfolding to facilitate this journey since the moment we decided to embark on it. This is one of those moments. While on the first leg of our trip to Melbourne, knowing that we would be with Anaïs for 10 days before leaving for Europe but having no idea of when she would be able to join us, we received an email from the transport company on our mobile phone announcing that they had a place for her with a consignment of horses flying to England on 4 May. Were we interested? Silly question. The sheer convenience of the chronology of events could almost inspire a belief in the workings of a benevolent supernatural force.

Anaïs has been placed in one of the stallion yards pending the truck’s arrival. The resident stud, a 24-year-old chestnut called Spiegel, is inexplicably turned out in the yard next to her and promptly rediscovers his reproductive purpose. Adopting a regal pose suggesting that she cannot quite bring herself to indulge the stallion’s loud, cavorting presence, our princess is nevertheless clearly interested. Fortunately, the truck arrives and Anaïs is quickly plucked from the yard and loaded but not before darting out to cast one last, long, lingering look at the aging stallion.

We load her rugs and follow the truck out. By the time we arrive at the quarantine facility a drive of some 12 minutes to the north, Anaïs is ensconced in a huge stable pending the move to her quarantine quarters. David, the facility manager, shows us the paddock in which she will be held for 30 days. It is roughly the size of an Olympic dressage arena and has a smallish walk-in, walk-out stable. It is better than what we had been led to expect.

The facility’s quarantine protocol requires that the manager accompany all visitors to quarantined horses. We consent to a visiting schedule which will not make excessive demands of him: an unspecified period, probably brief, starting at 1 pm on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Wed., 6 Apr. 2011

After donning white disposable overalls, smearing our hands with disinfectant cream and dipping our boots into a pool of disinfectant, we sign the visitor’s log and are admitted into the quarantine quarters. A total of four horses are in quarantine, all mares who will be travelling to England on the same plane. Each has its own paddock. Our Anaïs is in the farthest one on the left opposite a black polo pony with whom she is being partnered presumably for their travel together. She is looking better. Her flesh wounds are on the mend, her coat is starting to gleam again and she has put on a bit of weight. She seeks us out and is content to share our presence.

We would love to groom Anaïs and to engage in activities with her but this is not allowed. So we resign ourselves to checking her, feeding her apples and carrots, and just sharing time doing nothing.

All the while the facility manager is there but not oppressively so. An ex-pat New Zealander, David is congenial. Although a busy man caring for a property of some 200 acres and about 70 horses during relatively quiet times such as now with just two other people to help him, he is clearly also a caring individual. We are somewhat reassured, although a bit disappointed by his mandatory presence and the need to leave after about 40 minutes.

Fri., 8 Apr. 2011

Anaïs is bouncing back to her former condition. Today she is more alive, is filling out, is gleaming with health and her wounds are healing well. Affable David tells us that the answer lies in good nutrition and a secret formula prepared by his vet, which he religiously applies to her sores. Despite whinnying her pleasure to see us upon our arrival, Anaïs is clearly besotted with David. He is gentle but firm with her, an approach which turns this 575 kg warmblood mare with a dominant disposition into yielding butter. We would like to see her put on a bit more weight and David concurs. He wants all horses to leave quarantine in better condition than when they arrived. In the five years that he has been here there has only been one which has not. We are reassured. Anaïs should get through quarantine in much better condition than we had feared.

We leave the facility better able to focus on the many things that still need to be done as we count down to our departure from Australia next Thursday.