When I was little I, like most little girls, wanted a pony. I yearned for a pony, I begged for a pony, I was convinced that world peace would be achieved, if only my poor, single, mother would buy me a pony; like most kid's horse-shaped wishes, it never came to fruition. I was about 10 when my mum gave in and packed me off to the local riding school in Decathlon jodhpurs, rubber boots and my cousins old riding hat, where I rode (badly) for 3 years.
It's only looking back that I realised what a death trap that place was. Packs of kids would run wild around the fields and clamber into the centre of hay bale stacks to make dens, yet were nowhere to be found to do anything other than ride. We were used as free labour to sweep the yard, poo pick the school and pull up ragwort in the fields, unless you were part of the clique lorded over by the yard owner's brat.
In all the years I went there, I never progressed past half-hour rides, with someone walking by the pony's head which were more akin to donkey rides at the beach than professional horse riding lessons. Considering my mum paid nearly £20 a pop, it really was crap. I remember the first time I rode a properly schooled horse at another stable, and how great it was to use the right aids that I'd read copiously about, but never had the opportunity to use.
After the riding school closed to become livery only, I had a brief stint with a part-loan pony. She was a Fell pony named Dolly, and it only took a few hacks for her to realise that I had no idea how to ride properly, and she could plant her feet and refuse to go anywhere other than back to the stable. Then an even briefer stint looking after a friend's pony, who was so wired it was like sitting on a greyhound, and my equine experience halted for nearly 10 years.
10 years of school, working, house moves, an 8 year relationship and a wedding, and to say I was horse deprived would be an understatement. At the grand old age of 22, I took my first ride since I was a teenager when my husband, Stan, and I were on honeymoon in Malta, and I was hooked again.
Enter Sharon, the woman who would become my equine fairy godmother, and also my Sister-in-law-to-be. She started dating Stan's older brother last year and she is the equestrian I want to be. Sharon is an eventer, with a main event horse and 4 other horses of her own and 2 currently in for training. She lives onsite of her own 8 box yard, which sometimes takes on liveries too, with sand school, cross-country jumps, paddocks and turnout fields. She also happens to be an excellent person and a great fit for David, and we can't wait to welcome her into the family in the next couple of years.
In the middle of March, Sharon offered me the opportunity to take an unpaid yard help/groom's position at her yard. I provide the physical labour she needs to help muck out, groom and clean tack, and in return she teaches me day to day horse management, how to bring on youngsters, groom and train a horse for show as well as actually ride to a good standard. I'll also be registered with the British Horse Society, which will enable me to take Pony Club and BHS riding and management qualifications that will be recognised by future employers in the horse world, if I wanted to forge a career in the field. Best of all, if I pass my trial period of 2 months, Sharon will help me find a suitable horse of my own, to buy or have on full loan, and stable and feed it at her yard, free of charge.
Needless to say, it's a fantastic opportunity for me - I'd only set my sights on another riding school, nothing close to the hard graft and thrills of eventing.
In a few more weeks my 2 month trial will be up, and it'll be the next step into my bewildering, fascinating and sometimes downright frightening adventure into working, training and living with horses.
I'm writing this blog to show others that horses are not an easy passtime, but it's never to late to leap in head first. It's been, and will continue to be, a steep learning curve, but I'm planning on blogging every step of the way. Plus I think my Tumblr followers are sick of hearing about my horsey exploits.
- K
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