I don’t own a horse, but I wish I did.
I grew up with two horses. Starbuck was a very old and quiet mare who Mum bought when I was about five, so I could learn to ride. She had a blaze down her nose, was more dark brown than chestnut and had a serious mean streak if she didn’t get her snack, which was an apple.
I can remember the excitement when somehow, Starbuck got in foal – I’m still pondering how this eventuated, nearly thirty years on, as far as I knew there were no other horses for miles.
Anyhow, she became pregnant and had a gorgeous little chestnut foal we called Honey – she was just that, the colour of honey.
When Starbuck died, Mum bought another horse; Bonnie was an ex-trotter who could trot so damn fast you almost needed to stay in the air, because sitting in the saddle was a near on impossibility! Bonnie came a two-fer. “You buy Bonnie, but you have to take this little Welsh Mountain Pony, called Sooty, who bites, kicks and is generally a pain in the arse!”
My sister and I loved those three horses like nothing.
Horses smell like hay, their noses are so velvety and smooth and when they gently blow their breath out it’s like a sweet summer breeze on your face.
My kids haven’t had the opportunity to learn to ride, like I did but a neighbor of our’s gave them the chance to sit on their horses last week. As soon as I touched Midnight, everything I love about horses came rushing back.
You know, they aren’t really any different to dogs in their loyalty, companionship and understanding of us humans. You can have an amazing friendship with a horse, which in turn can give a child without confidence the ability to soar because someone loves them unconditionally.