The memory of Disarming Damsel, and the bizarre interaction between, the pretty, red mare and her owner, comes to mind now and again. In the time right after we had witnessed, the extremely poor behaviour of both horse and human, I thought of them often. Though I would’ve loved the opportunity to own such a perfect specimen of horseflesh, alas, they weren’t interested in selling. I wasn’t worried about the bad behaviour. It wasn’t like I couldn’t bring her around with a bit of a tune up. I’d dealt with spoiled brats before. She didn’t worry me, not one little bit.
I had to let go of the idea of bringing Disarming Damsel to my farm, but I did have a foal by my new stallion, to look forward to. Sure, I had to wait until it was born. There were also the months to suffer through, until he or she was old enough to be weaned, but it would be worth it. By my new stallion, and out of a very well-bred, sweet and lovely mare, it was bound to be nice, even better than nice. I had a feeling it was going to be a filly, hoped for a filly, yet a colt would’ve been perfectly fine as well.
All things eventually come to pass, and that includes the birth of an anticipated foal. To my joy, it was a lovely, perfect filly. To my dismay, the foal I had waited so patiently for, suddenly leapt in price, and quite substantially. Apparently, ‘this foal’ suddenly belonged to their teenage son, and he wanted more money. I’ve been known to unload a truckload of hay, because the price is suddenly jacked. I once walked away from two horse trailers I was going to buy, because the person jacked the price after I drove a whole day to pick one of them up. I just won’t play that game, yet I so wanted this filly. I wasn’t happy, and shouldn’t have paid the five hundred more, but did. Thankfully, she grew into an amazing mare, and her blood still runs through several of the horses, here on our farm.
Fast forward a few years. I was at a show, and guess who was there? Not only were they at the show, they were showing the red witch, Disarming Damsel. Not only were they showing her, but they asked for my help. Could I braid her mane and tail for a class? I did. Could I help them bandage a back leg after the show? She hurt it in the stall, and they, with their injuries and age, were struggling.
People thought I was nuts, entering that stall to take care of the red witch, yet I still did so. I have a certain way of saying ‘ah’ that sounds forceful and means, don’t mess with me. I used this warning on Damsel, and she clearly understood. While her owners stood outside the stall peering in, I wrapped that back leg, without any trouble whatsoever. It was apparent that she knew, she’d met her match. Step out of line, dare threaten to kick, or actually kick me, and punishment would be immediate and serious. That pretty mare, who had absolutely no respect for her owners, stood stock-still and attentive. I walked away, wishing I owned her. She could’ve been a different horse in my hands. Oh, but the future of possibilities there could’ve been, if only.
Trudy Andrew | Canadian Author
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