tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722735165669239585.post137320999599275785..comments2023-05-24T23:33:57.516+10:00Comments on My Unwelcome Stranger: Spurred onDenis Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12786035137418348609noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722735165669239585.post-52377706847446837362012-10-05T15:11:37.529+10:002012-10-05T15:11:37.529+10:00Great story! You're the first person I ever he...Great story! You're the first person I ever heard of who also had a horse called Topsy. You were a bit lucky there.<br /><br />I can't ever recall being tipped off a horse while in the saddle. But as I rarely got use of the saddle and rode 90% of the time bareback, my memory is littered with 'falling off' incidents in that mode. I never once got really hurt.<br /><br />So how much of it did you tell your parents? Did you play it down or tell them the unvarnished truth?<br /><br />Thanks for this.Denis Wrighthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786035137418348609noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722735165669239585.post-52761745882500726622012-10-01T12:41:02.547+10:002012-10-01T12:41:02.547+10:00As I read your story, I came to realise that I was...As I read your story, I came to realise that I was holding my breath and my heart was racing. (It's not sensible not to breathe for too long!) I was right back there, on a farm outside Attunga, near Tamworth sometime around 1963-ish. Because Dad was a Dairy Officer with the Dept of Ag, he worked with the Elliots on their dairy farm. So it was how my sister and I became friends with the daughters, Robyn and Wendy. We had many blissful horse-obsessed holidays with them, riding bare-legged and bare-back (never mind the chafing!)from straight after breakfast until dark. Wendy and Alison loved Topsy. Robyn and I shared Banjo. I had no idea how to ride, the only instruction given to us novices from their Dad was, "Hold on and keep his bloody head up!" <br />We went out for hours at a time, coming back to the farmhouse where mother, Betty fed us (I remember with great fondness her exquisite butterscotch pudding which I have never tasted anywhere else. What is the recipe, I wonder?). No-one checked up on us. No-one was worried about what we were up to. No one was "hovering" over us. We fell off. We got back on. We rode into rivers and dams and brought back the horses lathered in sweat. We hosed and brushed and curry-combed those ponies until they shone.<br />One afternoon, Robyn and I decided we were going to build "jumps" in the newly-ploughed paddock probably half a km from the homestead. We toiled for hours - back-breaking work to build jumps out of clods of rich Namoi (was it?) valley soil. I was so tired and aching, I wanted to stop at 2 jumps. Robyn wanted 5. So on we went. By the time the 5, 2m long X 1m high jumps were completed, it was dark. Were the parents worried? Doesn't seem so. <br /><br />So, onto the horses we climbed, Topsy and Banjo, and we started racing and jumping them (bare-back!!) Then the moon rose in the midst of a full canter, a big, shining orb, illuminating the paddock, casting eerie shadows. The horses took fright at their shadows and shied away alarmingly. My horse bolted. I was terrified. It took all my strength to hold onto the reins and as much mane as I could hold in my 13 year old hands. My legs were aching - no stirrups to assist, no saddle - just bare horse's back. We were heading for the closed gate of the paddock at full gallop. At the last moment, of his own accord, Banjo veered away and came to a heaving and sudden halt. I slid off, trembling - relieved, but exhilarated too. I knew this was a risky and terrifying experience I would never willingly choose to have encounted. But I survived it and learnt something new about myself. <br /><br />Thank you Mum and Dad (departed) and Mr and Mrs Elliott for giving your children the space, the trust and the opportunity to test their own metal, and to be free to learn to trust themselves. Roshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13339472107640597921noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722735165669239585.post-45564153484539795292012-09-27T10:21:02.995+10:002012-09-27T10:21:02.995+10:00Aha! I knew someone would say that about the goats...Aha! I <i>knew</i> someone would say that about the goats, which is why I added the qualifier – somewhere in the dark recesses of my memory I recalled the goats-in-a-tree image as well. <br /><br />I remember those mountain goats too, and one apparently well known very old one finally slipping to her death after a life on the edge. Maybe not a bad way to go.<br /><br />For sheer goat tenacity [sheer – geddit?] look at these pictures!<br /><br />http://webecoist.momtastic.com/2010/11/07/some-fine-dam-climbing-goats-scaling-steep-vertical-wall/<br /><br />There's something magical about seeing a wild koala – but such a dangerous place for them to be, on the ground. Maybe that hope for a photo was as proof that this happened, for you. But keeping it in memory instead is better.<br /><br />You survived the dentist. Huzzah!Denis Wrighthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786035137418348609noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722735165669239585.post-18423564848137543032012-09-26T18:22:44.990+10:002012-09-26T18:22:44.990+10:00Julie searches for photo she's seen of goats ...Julie searches for photo she's seen of goats up a tree in Africa (well you DID say 'usually'!) Also, did you know, while we're on goats ,that the most common way for a mountain goat to die is falling off the mountain! Much to the relief of stalking snow leopards' tummies.<br /><br />I was having a horrible morning with problems to solve in town but as I drove in there was a koala walking along the roadside.It posed picturesquely in several positions -on the roadside, a few feet up a =tree, peeking from behind a branch, all the while I was trying to work out how to take a photo with my phone (it's not an iphone..) But I was thinking 'why am I so avid to take its photo?' A waste of personal koala communication. But it all made me forget I was on the way to the dentist (in a good way).<br /><br />Julie M xxAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722735165669239585.post-23376669578843606902012-09-26T13:40:19.030+10:002012-09-26T13:40:19.030+10:00Thanks for the compliment! I'm trying to get a...Thanks for the compliment! I'm trying to get a bit more ruthless, not that it may seem that way. <br /><br />Animals with hooves generally don't climb trees, so they don't like the sensation of nothing below. [Leave out of this mountain goats etc who do amazing things on almost vertical hillsides. But they still don't usually climb trees!] <br /><br />Modern grids are made of steel as one unit, and just dropped in a big hole dug in the ground. This simplifies installation enormously, but it can mean the gaps between the bars are too narrow, and some animals are willing to tackle them. Bad design!<br /><br />Grids like ours were handmade from 4" x 2" timbers, and spaced quite widely. Only the gamest hooved [hoofed?] livestock would tackle them, and if they started leading others of their kind into temptation, it was the saleyards for them.Denis Wrighthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786035137418348609noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722735165669239585.post-81939352967202734252012-09-24T13:02:48.541+10:002012-09-24T13:02:48.541+10:00Oh, so THAT is why they don't go over grids! T...Oh, so THAT is why they don't go over grids! Though sometimes they do, if panicked, and so out here dogs are occasionally stationed beside the grid to bark the sheep or cattle away. What a lovely story. It tells so much of your childhood, your own nature, and your dad. Lots of love but no nonsense. Life is different for most children now..and not to their advantage. <br /><br />Your writing is fantastic -it's improving all the time!<br /><br />Julie M xxAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com