The ringing of the foaling alarm woke me from a deep sleep. I shot upright and was amazed that it was broad day light, I glanced at the clock, seven am. I felt relaxed seeing as I had risen in the early hours the night before for a false alarm. I was also becoming desensitised from constantly checking Roxy that I could scarcely believe it could happen at such a convenient time. I reasoned with myself that I need not rush to slip on my jeans and jumper surely the whole process would take more than five minutes. I was met at the door by two excited dogs and two hungry cats, did I have time to give them their morning crunchies? No, no I reminded myself the cats could wait.
I left the dogs in the yard and headed out noticing the gathering clouds. I reached the paddock expecting to see Roxy hiding in a corner yet true to her style she was lying in the open on the far side of the paddock, That is as far away from me as possible., and beside her lay her foal, still immersed in a big white sack with only a little black head poking out. My heart skipped a beat, it dawned that this really was a reality. I had predicted a boy and as I approached I saw Roxy tense, I crouched down and slowly made my way to mother and baby who were still lying on the ground.
I had come prepared with a towel and slowly and quietly began rubbing the little black foal to dry his coat. All black with no markings and an amazing curly coat. I lifted his leg and confirmed that the foal was indeed a boy. Roxy rose and out came her placenta; I was impressed at this efficient mare. If only my birth was that easy!
I noted the solid strong appearance true to his father’s immense bulk he would indeed fill his ancestors shoes.
The foal had one thing on his mind, he was desperate to stand. I have not witnessed many horses being born but I knew that this one was in a hurry to greet life. Oblivious to me he rose on wonky stilts for legs only to fall and roll down the slight slope. Up again, with his mother grunting in urgent protective calls. Up he rose and like a man on a mission he nosed and wobbled his way to his mother’s side. Roxy was not too impressed that I was present and refused to stand still to let him drink.
I retreated and watched at a distance as this beautiful strong black foal found his mothers teat and drank heartily of the liquid gold that is a mother’s first drop.
Did I make a mistake in that moment? Should I have insisted in being there, imprinting him to override his mother’s dislike. Would I pay for not spending more time in those precious first hours that people say make all the difference in the human and horse relationship?
His name is Sharlan, meaning free man. My neighbour said be careful what you name him. Yet I want this little individual to have freedom. Freedom without pain from a piece of metal in his sensitive mouth. Freedom to run in a heard and not be locked up in a box or treated like a toy. Freedom to run barefoot without metal shoes that restrict him. Free without excessive pressure, whips and spurs. Free to live without fear and pain. So I have a lot to live up to, to fill my promise to Sharlan.
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