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Extract 8 - Reunion

Two years later...

How do you build a horse up in a country where you can't go to a corn merchant and buy a bag of feed? I gave Kaan the best I could get - carrots, corn oil and sugar on a basis of shredded bread. Following local advice, I put sugar in his drinking water - another way of getting up to an extra kilo of carbohydrate into him daily. Later I managed to buy a sack of barley, and from then on there was always a bucket simmering on the stove of Rep's family at Kolkhoz Makhtum Kuli.

The first job on my list - that of taking a blood sample to screen for disease that might preclude Kaan's entry to Britain - had to wait. I couldn't believe that this shrivelled creature could even contain a test-tube-full of blood, let alone spare it. At last after five days Lena, Hippodrome vet and Geldy Kyarizov's sister-in-law, took the sample. At the same time I ventured a small dose of wormer. I returned to him with trepidation on day six, but needn't have worried; far from being set back, Kaan felt well enough to break his headcollar and challenge another stallion over a nearby mare. Cursing fluently as I and several boys tried to break up the scrap, I spared a corner of my brain for admiration: this horse was unbelievably tough.

Meanwhile, there was paperwork. And paperwork. And more paperwork...

I would have fallen at the first fence of this obstacle race, but for the most important part of my Window of Opportunity. The latest Horse Minister had been sacked. Appointed in his place was... Geldy Kyarizov.

For the first time, the office was held not by a faceless bureaucrat but by a real horseman. Geldy recognised the motives which drove me to export a thousand-dollar reject, rather than megabucks of horseflesh which would earn worthwhile export taxes. He personally took both me and Kaan under his wing, driving his reluctant deputy to cut through Gordian knots of bureaucracy. It was Geldy who solved the problem of transport that had vexed me for two long years, promising a place for Kaan in the box that was to take two of his own horses to Sasha Klimuk's prestigious Stavropol Stud in Russia. Finally, with enormous generosity - and true Turkmenchilik - he installed Kaan in his own yard so that, the huge file of documents finally complete, I could leave him behind in Turkmenistan without worrying.

On the last day of August, Kaan arrived at the Stavropol Stud for what should have been a few weeks' quarantine. Now he was on the map; on the far edge of the range from which import to Europe was feasible. But my choice of transporter - an Englishman - was disastrous. There followed eleven months duplicity, a bout of Strangles - one of the most dangerous and virulent infections in the veterinary manuals - and a journey shockingly planned and executed which killed one of his travelling companions.

At home in Herefordshire

Yet when, the final stage completed, I took him out to graze in my field, as I had done so many times in Turkmenistan, he knew - despite thirteen months separation from me, and after countless stables and countless journeys and countless handlers - that he was home.

Reunion

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	Black Sands and Celestial Horses
	*Extract 8 - Reunion* Two years later... How do you build a horse up in a country where you can't go to a corn merchant and buy a bag of feed? I gave Kaan the best I could get - carrots, corn oil and sugar on a basis of shredded bread. Following local advice, I put sugar in his drinking water - another way of getting up to an extra kilo of carbohydrate into him daily. Later I managed to buy a sack of barley, and from then on there was always a bucket simmering on the stove of Rep's family at Kolkhoz Makhtum Kuli. The first job on my list - that of taking a blood sample to screen for disease that might preclude Kaan's entry to Britain - had to wait. I couldn't believe that this shrivelled creature could even contain a test-tube-full of blood, let alone spare it. At last after five days Lena, Hippodrome vet and Geldy Kyarizov's sister-in-law, took the sample. At the same time I ventured a small dose of wormer. I returned to him with trepidation on day six, but needn't have worried; far from being set back, Kaan felt well enough to break his headcollar and challenge another stallion over a nearby mare. Cursing fluently as I and several boys tried to break up the scrap, I spared a corner of my brain for admiration: this horse was unbelievably tough. Meanwhile, there was paperwork. And paperwork. And more paperwork... I would have fallen at the first fence of this obstacle race, but for the most important part of my Window of Opportunity. The latest Horse Minister had been sacked. Appointed in his place was... Geldy Kyarizov. For the first time, the office was held not by a faceless bureaucrat but by a real horseman. Geldy recognised the motives which drove me to export a thousand-dollar reject, rather than megabucks of horseflesh which would earn worthwhile export taxes. He personally took both me and Kaan under his wing, driving his reluctant deputy to cut through Gordian knots of bureaucracy. It was Geldy who solved the problem of transport that had vexed me for two long years, promising a place for Kaan in the box that was to take two of his own horses to Sasha Klimuk's prestigious Stavropol Stud in Russia. Finally, with enormous generosity - and true Turkmenchilik - he installed Kaan in his own yard so that, the huge file of documents finally complete, I could leave him behind in Turkmenistan without worrying. On the last day of August, Kaan arrived at the Stavropol Stud for what should have been a few weeks' quarantine. Now he was on the map; on the far edge of the range from which import to Europe was feasible. But my choice of transporter - an Englishman - was disastrous. There followed eleven months duplicity, a bout of Strangles - one of the most dangerous and virulent infections in the veterinary manuals - and a journey shockingly planned and executed which killed one of his travelling companions. At home in Herefordshire Yet when, the final stage completed, I took him out to graze in my field, as I had done so many times in Turkmenistan, he knew - despite thirteen months separation from me, and after countless stables and countless journeys and countless handlers - that he was home. Reunion Introduction \| Extracts \| < \| > \| 1 \| 2 \| 3 \| 4 \| 5 \| 6 \| 7 \| 8 Back \| Top of Page \| Home see also: http://www.gillsuttle.co.uk Order Books Scimitar Press Little Mascot The Doward Ross-on-Wye Herefordshire HR9 6DZ United Kingdom Tel. 01600 890730 http://www.scimitarpress.co.uk/ ©1998-2012 Scimitar Press
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