As a little girl, one of my biggest fantasies was to have my own horse.
I loved the smell of their flaring, velvet noses, their huge melting brown eyes and the way they hung their heads so gracefully over the fence. I felt that I understood horses somehow – I don’t know why I felt that way. A meeting of minds and a melting of hearts.
I remember begging mum for a horse.
“Pleee-eeaaaasse mum.”
“But where would we keep a horse?” she would say in her practical voice.
“In the back garden of course,” I would say in my ‘isn’t it obvious?’ voice.
I would follow mum’s gaze as she looked out the window. She didn’t have to say anything. I knew there wasn’t enough grass for a horse to stand on, let alone live out there. I knew there would never be a time where I would have a horse in the back garden – a pipe dream if ever there was one.
Parts of my life were interspersed with tantalising experiences of horses as if I was forever doomed to be on the other side of the paddock fence looking in.
One such occasion was when my gran and granddad took me to London for a wedding. We stayed with some relatives who had a huge house and extensive ‘grounds’. I soon figured out the daughter of these relatives had a horse.
“Can I ride it?” I asked excitedly.
“No,” she said bluntly.
I felt deeply hurt. She didn’t even let my dream live for a single second.
The years rolled by and I contented myself by watching Champion the Wonder Horse or reading about the adventures of the Silver Brumby and then Silver Brumby’s Daughter by Elyn Mitchell. I had no idea at the time these books were set in Australia – it was all about the horses for me. Nowadays, it seems amazing that I was so enthralled by these books, like a foreshadowing of a life that was to follow in Australia. On a recent trip through the Snowy Mountains on the back of a motorbike, our path was blocked by wild Brumbies meandering in front and to the side of us. I think I may have screeched with excitement.
Fast forward a few… umm… decades and the most amazing thing has happened. As you know by now, we moved to a home surrounded by paddocks, cattle and horses and even an alpaca. I was happy enjoying the surrounds and hearing the sounds of horses neighing and whinnying across the valley – and then the most fantastic thing happened. Two new stallions came to town.
At the bottom of our drive, there is an old dairy farm. The farmer is getting on in years so now he keeps a few cows and a beautiful sweetheart of a bull. One day driving past we noticed the cows had been moved further back and in their place – two stallions (in adjoining paddocks). More screeching.
“Do you think they need someone to help them look after their horses?” I asked Peter hopefully.
“You never know darling.”
If you haven’t guessed by now Peter is now the one I pester every now and then, regarding the keeping of horses in the back garden. He’s pretty adept at fielding these requests. He’s also very good at humouring me just enough to keep my dreams alive.
Long story short – Peter actually began talking with the owner of the two stallions.
The woman in question is good friends with the farmer and she needed somewhere to keep a couple of her horses. It sounded like she had to travel most days to come and feed them, splitting her time between other horses stabled elsewhere.
They met again a couple of times, mainly as a result of Angus’s daily walks. We would often take him past the farmer’s field and we would use it as a socialising exercise (he’s terrified of horses so were gently introducing him to them at a safe distance for all concerned). On one of these walks, Peter mentioned his wife would probably enjoy helping her if she ever needed anyone. No sooner said, than done. Yes, she was indeed looking for someone to help her feed one of the horses!
As you can imagine, this has meant Peter has once again excelled himself and has earned maximum Brownie points – yet again.
On a side note, after doing some family tree research, I discovered a significant Irish connection on both sides of the family. (I’ve grown up knowing nothing about my family which I’ll go into some other time). I discovered my great-grandmother was Irish and I spied something very interesting on her marriage certificate. It turns out my Irish great, great grandfather was – wait for it – a horse trainer!