I love hearing actual pony owners talk about their horses. If they donāt call them a twit them they arenāt a real owner!
Im lucky enough to be surrounded on 3 sides of my house by horses, all different owners but the language that comes from each paddock is exactly the same! Itās hilarious! Thereās an ex racer who still likes to prove himself worthy, but does it at proper dickāead times, like when he has his rug half on or when itās time to come in for the night. His brother is basically a mini shire horse, now those are like elephants, they are massive! But this one; oh he thinks heās a puppy. When I go to see him he will rocket across the field, pretty much does a cartwheel before screeching to a holt with his head over your shoulder and drags you know for a cuddle whether you want one or not! Never wear nice clothes, always wear boots as they think standing on you is some sort of bleeping game and never sit down where the shire can see you as he will literally park himself on your lap!
Both dickāeads. Both amazing creatures. Both absolute money pits!
I grew up with my aunties and grandparents owning horses. I think my parents were glad as i always begged for one but they knew the hassle and use to palm me off as a helper to one of my aunties. I too remember them swearing at their horses/ponies all the time. Once you have been kicked by a horse, had your toes stepped on, peed on/nearby, had to empty and make a stable, you will wish you never got a horse.
They are beautiful animals but they arent all the show ponies/ race horses you see on tv or that they make you look like you have real money as only ārich peopleā have horses. They are nightmares at times, vet bills are Ā£Ā£Ā£Ā£, cant take it to someones house to look after while your away. Cant sleep in anymore, or when your in a cant be bothered mood you cant just leave them like a cat. With my nans horse (that i liked calling my own) if you so much was 5 minutes late in the morning with breakfast, he was kicking his stable door in which one time came of the hinges and he bloody bolted to no mans land. Spent ages chasing the bloody thing with his fee bucket to find him 3 miles down the road in the neighbours field with cows eating their fed. I was only 11 but that stayed with me, trying to heard a 6 hands in height horse that weighs more than a car out of a field with 30 odd cows
Good luck sophie with that. Or here is some actually advice. Go to a local tack shop, by the āfancy clothesā beige jodhpurs, blazer, maybe a nice gilet and grey hunter wellies, with a sparkly helmet and waltz around Essex dressed like it whilst going to local farm shops etc as you wont look like a horse owner you will just look like a
twit