Queenbee
Well-Known Member
As many of you will know, three months ago, I lost the most wonderful horse I have ever known. I know that she was mine, and I am prone to be biased, but I have known, owned and loved a number of beautiful and special horses throughout my years but Ebony stood alone and above them all. Many of you lived through my fight to find out what was wrong with her, and subsequently my heartbreaking goodbye and loss of the most amazing partner and friend I could ever have wished for. I was subsequently asked by many to post our whole story, which I now intend to do.
To do it justice, I have to go back to the very beginning, outline my passion for horses, how at one point I lost my way, and how, at the very beginning of our time together and my revival of riding, Ebony pretty much saved my life.
Up until the age of 11 I grew up in mid Wales. For any of you that have never been to mid wales… don’t, its not particularly horsey, Alec Swan may be happy there….there are many sheep. For every summer that I could remember our family went to Devon to visit with friends, they had 4 children around my age and the three girls were horse mad, I got to ride the fabulous Welsh D ‘Prinny’ and as a family horse, no one could have asked for more, she took great care of me, and I have many holiday snaps of me ‘al la – pea on a mountain’. At home, my sister who was 7 years older than me, spent time at the local riding stables (the only one know to man in my area) the owner of the business did a moonlight flit with all the loan horses and it looked like my passion would never take off, but I still had my holidays on the fabulous Prinny.
We moved to Torquay in 2001, and just before we moved we went on holiday to Scotland, one of my greatest horsey memories was on that holiday. My sister and I went out on a hack through the forestry. I went out on the lead rein on a little welsh A grey, and came back doing rising trot off the lead rein beaming from ear to ear! I swear I didn’t stop grinning all holiday. Needless to say, when we eventually moved to Devon later that year, my dream came true and I started riding lessons.
Its strange, but I can’t remember the names of any of the horses at my first riding school, it all passed in a blur, I learnt to walk trot and canter, but beyond that learning didn’t happen. My parents moved me to another Riding school: Honeysuckle Farm, now the Mare and Foal Sanctuary in Newton Abbot. Here I took off, learning everything I could and quickly progressing to the type of rider that they put on all the little gits who bucked, napped, bolted and reared (oh the good old days before health and safety!) My absolute favourite pony there was a grey Welsh c called cloud, who was a spark and a half, beating every horse on xc, jumping anything, getting so excited at the start of an event that you had to stop him rearing! He was fast, talented and fun. Unfortunately when it came to buying my own pony, he was up for £3.500 (1993) and this was just too much an ask for my parents. It’s a great shame, because rumour has it that he pretty much blew his fuse over the years, too many riders wanting to ride the crème de la crème of the yard, when I was able I tried and tried to find him, I wanted to give him a retirement home whatever the cost… I never did.
For my 13th birthday, I got my very own. Pickles was his name and boy did it suit him. We had been at Axe Vale Show, I had taken Cloud, and we had arranged to see another horse who had been at the show and won everything. We received a call to cancel our viewing and as any teenager or adult who had ever been a teenager would understand I felt heartbroken. As luck would have it there was another pony advertised at the show… and his name was Pickles.
My mother picked me up on a Tuesday after school (we finished at 3pm on Tuesdays) I turned up at the yard and it was wet and windy… I remember walking down the covered stable block, and in the end stable on the right was a pony with its head up in the clouds, eyes rolling like it was born wild, and soaked through being towel dried by the yard owner. Of course, you know the rest, I fell in love with this demon spawn instantly
. He box jumped, reared, napped, wouldn’t catch wouldn’t lunge and would not go in a trailer, (basically the perfect pony for showing a teenage upstart learning the ropes) but her really had not got a bad bone in his body, he was initially driven by fear and inexperience, he had only ever been a prince Philip cup pony to my knowledge, he freaked and reared on the lunge when he sighted a whip. When he arrived at the yard he was bleeding and sore at the mouth from a kimblewick and drop combo that defies common sense! He box jumped and also took bounces as a spread… god alone knows how we navigated through the quagmire, but I know that I handled from the heart, and a knowledge that I was responsibly for his wellbeing. When I gave him to the woman who had him on loan (during my first year of uni) I knew he would have a home for life I couldn’t continue to ride him, and he was not the sort of horse to benefit from retirement, he loved his rides and jogged till the age of late 20s when he was PTS. I said goodbye to the horse who had been my education, my best friend, and as my father put it, ‘who I was with, what I was doing and where I was’ throughout my teenage years.
We all know that university can be fun, but it can also be tough. I went there with the intention of staying single, carefree, studious and embracing the party/student life. I was swept of my feet very abruptly. I am not an easy romantic, and I wasn’t back then, we were not both love struck students, he was a teacher at a local school. We were both, for a long time absolute in our love for each other, to the point where he declared to his friends that I was the woman he was going to marry, and I was not appauled or scared, but entirely acceptant of this fact as if it we an untold law: 1+1 = 2. Unfortunately, as so often is the case, we both had our worries, and whilst I confronted these for myself, and got over mine, he couldn’t and bolted into the night. After a year of the most exquisite relationship ever, I had about a week of an uneasy feeling before having that pedestal he put under me, well and truly kicked out from under me and trashed, no hope of resolve, no contact with him again. It was not my first love, but it was enough to close me off from love for 7 years.
I tell the above, to try to explain how low I was when I found Ebony. After the demise of my relationship, I tried very hard to continue with my studies, I completed my coursework but my exams were a different matter. I lost 3 stone (weighing 10 stone 7 at the time of our split and being 5 ft 6, you can understand how bad I was. I could not concentrate on anything, I was unable to take antidepressants due to other medication, and I realised that during the course of my relationship I had pushed away many of my friends. An absolute mess, I went to my tutor and was given a year out from my studies, after hitting the town 5 nights a week in defiance of my sorry ass for 3 months, I moved to be closer to my family who had relocated to Cornwall in an attempt at licking my wounds.
I had been living in Cornwall for six months, still struggling with appetite and weight, depression and some of the darkest days of my life. I had made a few acquaintances but no one that I really identified with or was close to, and felt an overwhelming sense of isolation and loneliness. Out of my bedroom window, across the road were acres of mud pit, teaming with horses of all shapes and sizes, it hurt me to see them but not touch them and not have the bond with them like I had had with Pickles and Cloud. I assumed the owner was a dealer, and after watching her and her children religiously trudge up and down to the fields with hay and feed, I bit the bullet and accosted her one day. I asked her, did she have any horses for sale?
Her response was a short staccato ‘no’ as she barely looked up at me and bustled on to her horses. Being pretty low in myself that reprimand was enough to put me off trying at that point, so I remained wallowing in self pitty and woe until the same woman stopped me and apologised for her attitude a few weeks later. She explained that many people didn’t take kindly to her in the village and as such she was pretty hostile, she told me she was not a dealer, but if I wanted something to ride I was welcome to ride one of her horses.
A couple of days later, I walked into her yard, Tied up, was a gelding, I remember him vividly, he had a head the size of a house! Herman, was Ardennes and he was in to keep the other horse company. Stood there was this fine, slightly ribby dark bay mare, with 2 foot of mane, and tail virtually dragging on the floor. Just like pickles when I first saw him, her head was in the air as high as could be and the whites of her eyes were showing. She had a beautiful deep chest, and an almost sexy pout, I remember her lips reminded me of Mick Jagger and her physique of Jerry Hall. All together she looked a combination of wild, untamed, pure, unadulterated class….
That was my first encounter with Ebony.
I sincerely hope you enjoyed…. My next instalment will be full of falls, stops, rears, bucks and divaish behaviour
To do it justice, I have to go back to the very beginning, outline my passion for horses, how at one point I lost my way, and how, at the very beginning of our time together and my revival of riding, Ebony pretty much saved my life.
Up until the age of 11 I grew up in mid Wales. For any of you that have never been to mid wales… don’t, its not particularly horsey, Alec Swan may be happy there….there are many sheep. For every summer that I could remember our family went to Devon to visit with friends, they had 4 children around my age and the three girls were horse mad, I got to ride the fabulous Welsh D ‘Prinny’ and as a family horse, no one could have asked for more, she took great care of me, and I have many holiday snaps of me ‘al la – pea on a mountain’. At home, my sister who was 7 years older than me, spent time at the local riding stables (the only one know to man in my area) the owner of the business did a moonlight flit with all the loan horses and it looked like my passion would never take off, but I still had my holidays on the fabulous Prinny.
We moved to Torquay in 2001, and just before we moved we went on holiday to Scotland, one of my greatest horsey memories was on that holiday. My sister and I went out on a hack through the forestry. I went out on the lead rein on a little welsh A grey, and came back doing rising trot off the lead rein beaming from ear to ear! I swear I didn’t stop grinning all holiday. Needless to say, when we eventually moved to Devon later that year, my dream came true and I started riding lessons.
Its strange, but I can’t remember the names of any of the horses at my first riding school, it all passed in a blur, I learnt to walk trot and canter, but beyond that learning didn’t happen. My parents moved me to another Riding school: Honeysuckle Farm, now the Mare and Foal Sanctuary in Newton Abbot. Here I took off, learning everything I could and quickly progressing to the type of rider that they put on all the little gits who bucked, napped, bolted and reared (oh the good old days before health and safety!) My absolute favourite pony there was a grey Welsh c called cloud, who was a spark and a half, beating every horse on xc, jumping anything, getting so excited at the start of an event that you had to stop him rearing! He was fast, talented and fun. Unfortunately when it came to buying my own pony, he was up for £3.500 (1993) and this was just too much an ask for my parents. It’s a great shame, because rumour has it that he pretty much blew his fuse over the years, too many riders wanting to ride the crème de la crème of the yard, when I was able I tried and tried to find him, I wanted to give him a retirement home whatever the cost… I never did.
For my 13th birthday, I got my very own. Pickles was his name and boy did it suit him. We had been at Axe Vale Show, I had taken Cloud, and we had arranged to see another horse who had been at the show and won everything. We received a call to cancel our viewing and as any teenager or adult who had ever been a teenager would understand I felt heartbroken. As luck would have it there was another pony advertised at the show… and his name was Pickles.
My mother picked me up on a Tuesday after school (we finished at 3pm on Tuesdays) I turned up at the yard and it was wet and windy… I remember walking down the covered stable block, and in the end stable on the right was a pony with its head up in the clouds, eyes rolling like it was born wild, and soaked through being towel dried by the yard owner. Of course, you know the rest, I fell in love with this demon spawn instantly
. He box jumped, reared, napped, wouldn’t catch wouldn’t lunge and would not go in a trailer, (basically the perfect pony for showing a teenage upstart learning the ropes) but her really had not got a bad bone in his body, he was initially driven by fear and inexperience, he had only ever been a prince Philip cup pony to my knowledge, he freaked and reared on the lunge when he sighted a whip. When he arrived at the yard he was bleeding and sore at the mouth from a kimblewick and drop combo that defies common sense! He box jumped and also took bounces as a spread… god alone knows how we navigated through the quagmire, but I know that I handled from the heart, and a knowledge that I was responsibly for his wellbeing. When I gave him to the woman who had him on loan (during my first year of uni) I knew he would have a home for life I couldn’t continue to ride him, and he was not the sort of horse to benefit from retirement, he loved his rides and jogged till the age of late 20s when he was PTS. I said goodbye to the horse who had been my education, my best friend, and as my father put it, ‘who I was with, what I was doing and where I was’ throughout my teenage years. We all know that university can be fun, but it can also be tough. I went there with the intention of staying single, carefree, studious and embracing the party/student life. I was swept of my feet very abruptly. I am not an easy romantic, and I wasn’t back then, we were not both love struck students, he was a teacher at a local school. We were both, for a long time absolute in our love for each other, to the point where he declared to his friends that I was the woman he was going to marry, and I was not appauled or scared, but entirely acceptant of this fact as if it we an untold law: 1+1 = 2. Unfortunately, as so often is the case, we both had our worries, and whilst I confronted these for myself, and got over mine, he couldn’t and bolted into the night. After a year of the most exquisite relationship ever, I had about a week of an uneasy feeling before having that pedestal he put under me, well and truly kicked out from under me and trashed, no hope of resolve, no contact with him again. It was not my first love, but it was enough to close me off from love for 7 years.
I tell the above, to try to explain how low I was when I found Ebony. After the demise of my relationship, I tried very hard to continue with my studies, I completed my coursework but my exams were a different matter. I lost 3 stone (weighing 10 stone 7 at the time of our split and being 5 ft 6, you can understand how bad I was. I could not concentrate on anything, I was unable to take antidepressants due to other medication, and I realised that during the course of my relationship I had pushed away many of my friends. An absolute mess, I went to my tutor and was given a year out from my studies, after hitting the town 5 nights a week in defiance of my sorry ass for 3 months, I moved to be closer to my family who had relocated to Cornwall in an attempt at licking my wounds.
I had been living in Cornwall for six months, still struggling with appetite and weight, depression and some of the darkest days of my life. I had made a few acquaintances but no one that I really identified with or was close to, and felt an overwhelming sense of isolation and loneliness. Out of my bedroom window, across the road were acres of mud pit, teaming with horses of all shapes and sizes, it hurt me to see them but not touch them and not have the bond with them like I had had with Pickles and Cloud. I assumed the owner was a dealer, and after watching her and her children religiously trudge up and down to the fields with hay and feed, I bit the bullet and accosted her one day. I asked her, did she have any horses for sale?
Her response was a short staccato ‘no’ as she barely looked up at me and bustled on to her horses. Being pretty low in myself that reprimand was enough to put me off trying at that point, so I remained wallowing in self pitty and woe until the same woman stopped me and apologised for her attitude a few weeks later. She explained that many people didn’t take kindly to her in the village and as such she was pretty hostile, she told me she was not a dealer, but if I wanted something to ride I was welcome to ride one of her horses.
A couple of days later, I walked into her yard, Tied up, was a gelding, I remember him vividly, he had a head the size of a house! Herman, was Ardennes and he was in to keep the other horse company. Stood there was this fine, slightly ribby dark bay mare, with 2 foot of mane, and tail virtually dragging on the floor. Just like pickles when I first saw him, her head was in the air as high as could be and the whites of her eyes were showing. She had a beautiful deep chest, and an almost sexy pout, I remember her lips reminded me of Mick Jagger and her physique of Jerry Hall. All together she looked a combination of wild, untamed, pure, unadulterated class….
That was my first encounter with Ebony.
I sincerely hope you enjoyed…. My next instalment will be full of falls, stops, rears, bucks and divaish behaviour
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