We all have a purpose in life, and three years shy of my two score, I have realised mine: it is to serve the grey mare.Owning a horse is not for the fainthearted or irresponsible, it requires full-on commitment. Feeding, grooming, riding, problem solving and heartache are all part of the package, in fair weather and foul. People say to me when horizontal rain is being chucked down by an angry weather god: “Do you have to go and feed your horse when it’s like this?” I usually think: “Do you have to cook dinner for your children? You could always let them starve for the night.” But I say nothing and smile beatifically.
I once saw a T-shirt that said: “Poverty is owning a horse”. It’s true – the little superfluous cash I have is usually spent on things she needs. She currently has six rugs – she had more, but I forced myself to sell the ones we didn’t use. However, I am eyeing up another two. She has two bridles – one with day-to-day brakes and one with the ABS version for hunting, jumping and other exciting things. Her saddle cost more than one of my sister’s horses did. She has an array of shampoos and conditioners; she has baby wipes to clean her nose; she has two different supplements in her dinner. I could go on …
It isn’t just money and time she wants either. She has me utterly attuned to her every whim. If she has an itchy bit, she points at it with her nose and expects me to scratch it. Often, she will position herself in front of me and refuse to let me leave until I have scratched her belly. It’s a two-way street though – she does return the favour by mutually grooming me back.
Tonight, I was going riding with a friend who had offered to bring the mare in for me while I was at work. But the grey girl refused to be caught. “She trotted off wiggling her bum,” said my friend. When I went to the field and called, she came cantering over and nuzzled me for carrots. I know I’m her meal ticket, but I reckon she does love me…
