HotToTrot
Well-Known Member
In some ways, it was a bit of a test. People fell into two camps. In Camp One were the people who knew me, who "got it" and in Camp Two were those who didn't. And not everyone fell into the camp that I would have expected. Everyone in Camp One had the same reaction. "I'm so sorry, Viv, that's awful news. But you've got half of your maternity leave left to go - get a new one. As soon as you can."
So, this was it. During the week that it took to establish that Vito had a tear to the SFT, I cried. I cried for Vito, for poor, honest, genuine, kind, talented Vito, who'd brought me so far and to whom I owed so much. Vito who would be consigned, now, to an eternity of box rest, deprived of the jumping and the competing at which he had so excelled and which he had so loved. I cried for us, for what we'd had and for what we may not have again, for the horse I'd dared ride during pregnancy with both kids, for our first one-star, our first Intermediate, for the times he'd stood patiently in the school whilst I breastfed a baby or covered myself in poo. I cried for me, for the dreams I'd had and for the hopes that had ended far too soon.
And then, in contravention of NHS guidelines in relation to alcohol consumption during breastfeeding, I'd duly opened a bottle of cheap pink fizz and downed most of it with my boobs out.
The people in Camp One were right, though. I needed another horse. So I persuaded numerous sellers to look after the baby whilst I tried their horses, discovered I couldn't actually ride one side of anything for toffee, got chucked off by one that took exception to the pram and eventually found one that didn't really pass the vet, refused to travel in my trailer and who hated dressage. This, clearly, would be a sensible purchase on my part, so, one very long journey and a partly demolished trailer later, I arrived back at the yard with the new horse.
A fellow livery came out to greet me. "How exciting!" she said. I burst into tears. "It reminds me so much of Vito" I sobbed. "He's in Vito's trailer, I'm going to put him in Vito's stable, but he's not Vito. I'm sorry", I continued. "I'm so lucky to be able to have another and I know how ungrateful it is of me to cry about it, but it's so hard." "I know" said the livery, sympathetically. "I know." Remorse washed over me. Her previous horse, I remembered, had died last year and here I was, a snivelling wreck over Vito, who was at least still alive. "Sorry" I mumbled again, mentally adding "completely tactless" to my list of character flaws that already included, amongst other things, "ungrateful", "slightly pathetic" and "irredeemably neglectful as to the alcohol content of my breastmilk".
"It's a bit like breaking up with a long term boyfriend and then going on a date the next day" I continued. "You do all the same things, but it's just.... totally alien." I stopped, and looked at my new horse, who stood, disgusted, on my trailer. "I'll get to know him, though, and one day, he'll feel like my boyfriend... And anyway, hopefully I'll get Vito back next year and then it'll be like getting back together with an ex that you didn't really want to break up with, but you get to keep the new boyfriend and...." I tailed off then, a bit unsure as to where exactly this analogy was going. "Yes," said the livery, smiling nervously. "Yes, of course, just like that."
I want to make head or tail of it, to say that there's some cryptic message or some hidden meaning, that it's all for the greater good, but really, all I can say is that, when in doubt, the first port of call should just be the nearest bottle of cheap pink.
So, this was it. During the week that it took to establish that Vito had a tear to the SFT, I cried. I cried for Vito, for poor, honest, genuine, kind, talented Vito, who'd brought me so far and to whom I owed so much. Vito who would be consigned, now, to an eternity of box rest, deprived of the jumping and the competing at which he had so excelled and which he had so loved. I cried for us, for what we'd had and for what we may not have again, for the horse I'd dared ride during pregnancy with both kids, for our first one-star, our first Intermediate, for the times he'd stood patiently in the school whilst I breastfed a baby or covered myself in poo. I cried for me, for the dreams I'd had and for the hopes that had ended far too soon.
And then, in contravention of NHS guidelines in relation to alcohol consumption during breastfeeding, I'd duly opened a bottle of cheap pink fizz and downed most of it with my boobs out.
The people in Camp One were right, though. I needed another horse. So I persuaded numerous sellers to look after the baby whilst I tried their horses, discovered I couldn't actually ride one side of anything for toffee, got chucked off by one that took exception to the pram and eventually found one that didn't really pass the vet, refused to travel in my trailer and who hated dressage. This, clearly, would be a sensible purchase on my part, so, one very long journey and a partly demolished trailer later, I arrived back at the yard with the new horse.
A fellow livery came out to greet me. "How exciting!" she said. I burst into tears. "It reminds me so much of Vito" I sobbed. "He's in Vito's trailer, I'm going to put him in Vito's stable, but he's not Vito. I'm sorry", I continued. "I'm so lucky to be able to have another and I know how ungrateful it is of me to cry about it, but it's so hard." "I know" said the livery, sympathetically. "I know." Remorse washed over me. Her previous horse, I remembered, had died last year and here I was, a snivelling wreck over Vito, who was at least still alive. "Sorry" I mumbled again, mentally adding "completely tactless" to my list of character flaws that already included, amongst other things, "ungrateful", "slightly pathetic" and "irredeemably neglectful as to the alcohol content of my breastmilk".
"It's a bit like breaking up with a long term boyfriend and then going on a date the next day" I continued. "You do all the same things, but it's just.... totally alien." I stopped, and looked at my new horse, who stood, disgusted, on my trailer. "I'll get to know him, though, and one day, he'll feel like my boyfriend... And anyway, hopefully I'll get Vito back next year and then it'll be like getting back together with an ex that you didn't really want to break up with, but you get to keep the new boyfriend and...." I tailed off then, a bit unsure as to where exactly this analogy was going. "Yes," said the livery, smiling nervously. "Yes, of course, just like that."
I want to make head or tail of it, to say that there's some cryptic message or some hidden meaning, that it's all for the greater good, but really, all I can say is that, when in doubt, the first port of call should just be the nearest bottle of cheap pink.
have you turned him out or is he on a rehab plan?
x
