Well. This is the post I hoped I would never write. Harvey horse has been put down.

 

His feet did not get better (there were complications with his abscesses and he began to show a pulse in all four feet so there may have been something else lurking) and he began to be aggressive with the other geldings in his field, we think possibly as some kind of defence mechanism.

 

I organised a separate field for him but he was distressed when the horses nearby weren't out and I decided that enough was enough. I never cared if I got to ride Harvey, as long as he had a happy life with his chums in the field, but this was no longer the case and I felt he had become increasingly stressed in his box and spooky to lead which he had never been before.

Beautiful Harvey horse

 

I hope at some point I'm going to feel like he had a nice time with me, albeit far too short, but at the moment it just feels like a disaster. When you love your horse it's a massive contradiction to then end their life with a phone call and my predominant feeling at the moment is sheer guilt. The saving grace is that I feel lucky to have a horse who was such a gentlemen about life, despite what he'd been through. 

I really miss him and I'm finding myself reluctant to spend time at the yard but again I hope in time this will change. Cady is a massive comfort and continues to be her lovely, cheeky self. 

I suppose if there's something to learn from this it's that we have to enjoy them while they're here (and while we are). If my writing is a bit sparse for a while then please accept my apologies.

Why do we love our horses?

I am now entering my third week of gravel foot hell.

Harvey has two abscesses, one in each foot, hovering around his coronet band and I am practically demented trying to coax them out. But stubborn they remain. As I keep reapplying poultices my mind keeps asking Why? Why am I doing this? Why do I have horses when they are so much hassle, money and pain-in-the-arse-ness?

 

And it's a good question. Why do we love horses when sometimes it's a very difficult thing to do?

 I did a quick poll of my horsey friends and here are some of the answers:

 

"I love all of it, looking after her and riding her, just going to see her grazing makes me happy and if she has a whinny for me I am over the moon."

 

"I love the adrenaline rush of getting around a cross country course and having a lovely picture to show for it.  I enjoy the glass of wine (or bottle) and chat with all my supporters at the end and the day."

 

"They're such a huge magnificent animal that can say NO at any time but instead they let us crouch over their shoulder as they gallop us into the wind."

 

"I know I've cried more tears over my horse than anything else, but all he has to do is look at me with those big brown eyes and I melt completely. 

"I know I'd remortgage the house if he needed treatment that I couldn't afford.

"Just spending time stroking him and telling him all my problems is a big stress reliever, even though he (and the others) cause me more stress than anything else!"

 

One of my favourite answers was this poem that my friend sent me. I'm sure most of you have read it but I think it sums it up very well!  

 

 

 Why do I like horses? I think I must be mad. My mother wasn’t horsey - and neither was my dad.

·         But the madness hit me early - and hit me like a curse. And I’ve never got much better. In fact, I’ve just got worse.

·         My stables are immaculate. My house is like a hovel. Last year for my birthday, I got a brand new shovel.

·         I hardly read a paper, but I know who's sold their horse.  I wouldn't watch the news, unless Mr Ed was on of course. 

·         One eye is always on the heavens but the washing waves in vain, as I rush to get the horses in - in case it's going to rain. 

·         And although they're wearing 15 rugs, the best that you can get, I bring them in to keep them dry, whilst I get soaking wet. 

·         I spent every penny I've got on horsey stuff for sure, I buy saddles, bridles and fancy rugs, and then I buy some more. 

·         I should have had a haircut, or bought that nice blue shirt.  At least it wouldn't look ripped and covered all in dirt. 

·         I can't make the books balance, so I don't even try.  But I can back up a car and trailer in the twinkling of an eye. 

·         It's jeans and joddy boots that I live in night and day, and that smell of sweaty horses doesn't wash away. 

·         Once every now and then I dress up for a ball, with make up and posh hairdo, high heels and all. 

·         I ache from long forgotten falls, my knees have got no skin.  My toes have gone a funny shape from being squashed again. 

·         But late at night, when all is still and I've gone to give them hay, I touch their velvet softness and my troubles float away. 

·         They give a gentle nicker and nuzzle through my hair, and I know where my heart is, more here than anywhere.

The horse I regretted became the one that taught me everything*

ONE of the most stupid things I've ever done was to buy a four-year-old horse. Feeling weary after clambering out of a crap relationship I was having a quiet day at home when I went to check the post.

Amongst the junk mail was a compensation cheque for a car accident I'd had two years earlier.

I thought about my ex, I thought about the cheque and I decided to use it to buy something that would break the cycle and stop me from going back. An hour later and I had the yellow paper in my lap while I carefully scanned the ads. 

There were two that caught my eye. Both bay mares, both 15.1hh, both near Hartlepool. One was seven, the other ad didn't specify an age.

Two weeks later and I was arranging a box to collect Cady. Her name had been Candy, which I couldn't stand so the 'n' got ditched. I decided I'd rather have a horse named after a golf cart than an American cheerleader.

From day one there were problems. I simply didn't know anything about horses, how they thought or the immense differences between them. She wasn't my first horse but she was my first youngster and I made mistake, after mistake, after mistake. But something stopped me from selling her. She got under my skin.

It took a lot of professional help to turn things around. A lot. What I've spent on lessons could have bought me the schoolmaster to end all schoolmasters. But I have knowledge in the bank now, and a horse that I love. 

Our progress has been painfully slow at times and often we go backwards. At the moment we're having a good run but in a week or two we'll hit a new problem and I'll be in despair again. Which is probably why I'm writing this - it's nice to have a reminder, when things are bad, that they can also be really good.

I took her for a little hack last night in the sunshine. She's still nervous and sharp and 90 per cent of that is my fault, but we know how to cope now. It was great fun and it made me smile, a vast difference from the times when I felt sick just thinking about riding her.

The horse I regretted became the one that taught me everything.* Regret can change into satisfaction and with horses, that tipping point is where the magic lives.  


*Just to make it clear. I don't mean everything. She's pants at algebra and my talent as a rider is still on the petite side!

Swings and roundabouts

The rain subsided just long enough last night for Cady and me to have a swim. To be fair the arena is great so that's an exaggeration but we are all looking distinctly more webbed since the clouds opened for business. She was really good and I thoroughly enjoyed it - I rode for a whole 30 minutes - voluntarily! No one made me stay on or anything - a miracle. Usually we trot a circle and I decide I can't be fadged any more.


Here's photographic proof that Cady wore tack yesterday while I dusted the cobwebs off my head. It's an awful photo - I look like her creepy kidnapper.

In slightly more concerning news, Harvey has big fat back legs. I think he now has an abscess in his other hind so tonight I'm going to resurrect the stupid poultice. If there's no improvement by tomorrow I shall be calling the vet :( I still turned him (Harvey, not the vet) out in the field this morning, which felt like the right thing to do, but now I'm thinking it probably wasn't. Damned if you dee and damned if you divent eh? 

Is it a coincidence that my hits have zoomed up since the post about Harvey papping on me? If it's not then I'm glad you share my sense of humour about these memorable moments :) 


But seriously, thanks for checking in, it's lovely x 

With both of my steeds out of action for a bit I had to find other ways to keep myself amused with...


A trip to Ride Away in Yorkshire

Saying hello to teeny horses 

Poulticing Harvey's foot in embarrassing colours to hasten his will to heal. 

Fortunately they are both Ok now and tonight I'm planning to ride for the first time in ages. Wish me luck :) 

Harvey gets better

Harvey celebrated the departure of his abscess yesterday by pulling some faces and smooching the blacksmith...If it makes him happy I'm not going to argue.