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Okay, I’m telling THE horse story, then I’m off again, having really enjoyed a pleasant visit with you. If you know the story, please don’t spoil the big reveal.
Also, the story doesn’t end well for one of the horses, so mute the thread if you don’t want to read about that.
Also, the story doesn’t end well for one of the horses, so mute the thread if you don’t want to read about that.
I have a friend who is, like most horse trainers, absolutely bananas. She is a middle-aged British woman who once yelled across an arena at me “SIT LIKE YOU HAVE A MASSIVE COCK IN YOU AND YOU DON’T WANT IT TO SLIP OUT,” which was actually very helpful and improved my riding.
In her younger years, she was a competitive three-day-eventer, which is the most dangerous equestrian sport. And, many decades ago, liked to ride in Windsor Great Park, because it’s gargantuan and has many open areas where you can really floor it on a horse.
At the time (I can’t speak for now, and am not open to fact-checking) you couldn’t drive into the park as a normal human being, you parked outside and the gates for cars were monitored very closely and you had to have blah blah permits.
My friend was riding with HER friend, who had a nice normal gelding. My friend had a red mare. All red mares, every single one, are from the Devil, but if you form a good relationship can be an absolute warhorse for you. It’s not superstition, it’s science.
Her friend had been BEGGING to try the red mare. My friend kept refusing. This had been going on for months. The red mare was too temperamental, it was too risky. That day, for whatever reason, my friend agreed to trade horses for one ride.
Before she boosted her up, my friend said “okay, here’s the deal. When we get to this particular meadow, she is going to bolt. Every time. Do not pull on her face. She will flip over & kill you. Just get up in your stirrups, grab her mane, hang on, and she will stop on the hill.”
Her friend said sure, absolutely, got it. They get to the meadow, the red mare bolts. Her friend yanks on the reins. The mare flips. Mare breaks her leg, friend breaks her arm.
My friend, who I will call Beth, gets off the gelding, hands the reins to her friend, and says “get the fuck out of here before I break your other arm.” Friend limps away (Beth never spoke to her again.)
Beth sinks onto the grass and strokes the red mare, who is fucked.
Beth sinks onto the grass and strokes the red mare, who is fucked.
So she’s sitting there, stroking the mare and crying and swearing quietly (this was not the era of cell phones, she was at a complete loss.)
She hears a car door slam behind her. She doesn’t turn around because English People And Showing Emotions.
She hears a car door slam behind her. She doesn’t turn around because English People And Showing Emotions.
An almost unimaginably posh voice says “oh, my dear, I AM so sorry, what a beautiful mare. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Beth, still looking away, says “you can fuck the fuck out of here, you useless cunt, unless you can get my fucking vet David out to let her go.”
Beth, still looking away, says “you can fuck the fuck out of here, you useless cunt, unless you can get my fucking vet David out to let her go.”
There is silence, then she hears a car door open. Turning, she sees a middle-aged woman in a kerchief disappearing into a Range Rover, followed by...a brace of corgies.
About an hour later, another car pulls up. This one contains her extremely confused vet, David.
“Someone claiming to be from the palace called and asked if I had a client who fits your description with a beautiful red mare.”
“Someone claiming to be from the palace called and asked if I had a client who fits your description with a beautiful red mare.”
“They were waiting at the gate and gave me directions to meet you here.”
He gently let the mare go into that great meadow in the sky, and drove Beth home.
He gently let the mare go into that great meadow in the sky, and drove Beth home.
Three days later, she received a truly beautiful and heartfelt letter of personal condolence from the Queen, which referenced her own beloved lost animals and that particular sorrow.
I have seen and held this letter and the associated embossed envelope in my hands.
I have seen and held this letter and the associated embossed envelope in my hands.
As far as we can tell, she must have told the courtiers to call every vet with the first name “David” in a very wide radius until they found the right one.
Beth is extremely left-of-Labour and has never cared for the whole inbred lot of them, but since that day will not allow a word to be spoken against the Queen as a person in her presence.
Okay! I love you. Will deactivate in the morning, it’s been a delightful little vacation with you.
(I’m still furious about how Meghan was treated, but I’m sure we are all aware that people can be total total shits and also sometimes not, and horse women are always wildly unpredictable.)
Beth now has a deeply beloved red off-the-track thoroughbred gelding, and this is me doing a joke photo on him and then just two photos of him looking handsome:
