Toy arrived in a horse float, being slightly too big for any other vehicle. He did look ridiculously small in the float but made enough noise for a full-sized horse. His owner declared he was actually a gentle creature, so long as he didn’t have to compete with fellow stallions for attention—especially from the female gender.
Judy gives up trying to understand sheep, and tries another creature instead … a miniature horse named Toy.
Toy arrived in a horse float, being slightly too big for any other vehicle. He did look ridiculously small in the float but made enough noise for a full-sized horse. His owner declared he was actually a gentle creature, so long as he didn’t have to compete with fellow stallions for attention—especially from the female gender.
As he was backed off the float, Toy sniffed one of these females in the neighbour’s paddock. He may be miniature but he is male, and he knew what he wanted … He reared up, pulled the rope from the owner’s hand and took off at a gallop down our drive. At least we could see where he was headed! It didn’t take too much effort, with neighbour’s help and a carrot or two, to catch poor Toy and lead the deprived male back to his new home.
Toy was led to the big hill paddock—around the right-of-way, through three gates and as far away from the would-be girlfriend as possible. But a miniature stallion with a goal in mind is quite determined, we discovered.
Before we had time to walk back up the right-of-way to the shed, Toy had somehow managed to clamber up the hill (dirt, rather steep and not small), jump up the bank onto our lawn and take off down the drive to reunite with his new-found love. Oh, such is puppy love and the ‘urge to merge’. Another wander by three of us to see the neighbour, a few more carrots and Toy is led into another paddock—hopefully securely fenced this time.
It was suggested that we give him company to take his mind off feminine wiles, so a couple of days later we introduced him to our wooly friends. Being of greater stature than these new paddock-mates, Toy needed to assure them of his dominance. Where they were grazing peacefully, minding their own business, Toy decided he wanted to graze. Where they wandered, peacefully meandering to a new grazing site, Toy decided he wanted to get there first—no manners for this boy, just push and shove and make way. Where they lay, quietly chewing their cud, Toy decided he wanted to stand and snooze. This habit never changed much, the sheep just continued with their lives and kept out of Toy’s way as much as possible.
It became apparent that Toy also thought he was the guardian of the sheep. Where they went, he would go—from paddock to paddock. In fact, he would try to usher them through when a gate was opened. The result? Toy would enjoy fresh grass, but the sheep would run the other direction to escape the bane of their lives!
Then there was the time we once again needed to get the sheep in the pens for dosing or shearing or crutching or whatever else one does to sheep on occasion. Toy was insisting on being one of them (obviously he didn’t realise the indignities they were about to be subjected to!). The only way it seemed that I could hold him at bay was to tether him. A rope was found and duly attached to Toy’s bridle; the other end was tied around a fence post. Toy should then have enjoyed a quiet chomp on fresh grass while still being able to keep an eye on his flock.
Oh, it was not to be! Toy was obviously unaccustomed to being held against his will. He bucked, he reared, he fought that rope! He ran up a little bank and he rolled back down the little bank. He ran up a little bank and he rolled back down the little bank. Not once, not twice but three times! I was ready to ring the vet to come and check the injuries this stroppy animal was doing to himself. Truth be told, I was afraid he might do himself injuries that could lead to his demise. And there was nothing we could do. We couldn’t go near the wild stallion thrashing about like he’d lost his manliness!
Thankfully, his energies soon came to an end. Toy stood still long enough for me to release him from his shackles, accepted a pat of apology and trotted up the slope far away from any further hindrance. He didn’t limp, he didn’t lick any wounds and we had learned that Toy and tethering ropes don’t mix.
