Duncan Ramage

Checking in on Marnie, our Hunter Valley mare currently trapped in a “forced cycle of pregnancy”. Marnie moved into the large foaling paddock this week. She’s due to foal in a few weeks. Pippa moved too. She didn't particularly need to move. She's due a week later. But she’s Marnie's paddock mate, and Rachel, who looks after them during the day, saw little reason to explain to two heavily pregnant mares that the humans had reorganised the accommodation. Broodmares can form friendships. They graze together, rest together, follow each other to water and generally prefer that everyone leaves the arrangement alone. So Pippa came too. Marnie is now close enough to foaling that Rachel has started watching her differently. Her udder is developing. The muscles and ligaments around her tail head will soften. Her vulva will lengthen. Her demeanour may change. Closer still, the milk will change. None of those things gives you an exact time. Together, they tell an experienced eye when things are getting closer. Pippa has her own due date. Breeders will tell you paddock mates have a remarkable habit of foaling close together. Nobody is setting their watch by it, but nobody ignores it either. Rachel checked them before she left and Mikey clocked on. Marnie was under the tree. Pippa was beside her. The foaling paddock had been inspected. Grass: acceptable. Company: unchanged. Social media remains deeply concerned for her. Marnie wasn’t interested in commenting.

Marnie is a nine-year-old mare on a farm in Australia. She won four races, retired sound, likes lucerne more than pellets, and is expecting her third foal in about six weeks. According to social media, Marnie is trapped in a cycle of forced pregnancy. Let's see how she's getting on. 6:00am – Breakfast. Marnie spent the night in a paddock with her mates. She's now doing what she does most mornings: eating while paying almost no attention to the people walking past. 7:20am – The vet calls through. Not because anything is wrong, just because it's Tuesday. Feet on a regular farrier cycle. Teeth checked yearly. Worm egg counts. Vaccination to protect the foal. Pregnancy progressing exactly as everyone hoped. Marnie has developed the expression of a horse who's concluded humans enjoy making appointments. 9:45am – Marnie stands under a tree dozing for half an hour. Nobody interrupts her. There are no productivity targets for broodmares. 11:15am – Worth knowing how Marnie got here. After her last foal she was scanned every week or so. When she was bred, she was covered twice, over two separate cycles, when she was in season, timed to the hour. No stallion covered her unless she was ready. No stallion could have. She made that perfectly clear. 12:00pm – Marnie resumes the important business of eating grass. Last year's foal, Archie, is now a yearling on the next property, wrestling with his mates in a 50-acre paddock and figuring out excuses to run the length of it. 3:10pm – Marnie and her mates go for a trot along the fence line to check out the new herd that has been shifted into the next paddock. 4:30pm – Dinner is served. Pats all round, and another check from the humans. In a few weeks Marnie will foal, outside, most likely at night under spotlights. Someone will be watching her every night. Not because anyone expects something to go wrong. Most foalings are wonderfully uneventful. The people standing quietly in the paddock are there for the one that isn't. 8.20pm – As the day ends, Marnie still has absolutely no idea what people on social media think. She's busy eyeing up a patch of clover by the back fence.