Mid
Well-Known Member
As some of you may know, I'm looking to buy a horse. A gelding, about 15.2hh, for me hack about on and generally get a bit further with my dressage. A friend of a horse.
So here's the story.
In wednesday night, my mum comes in to tell me that she's going to visit two horses for sale the next day, they sound perfect, and would I like to come.
"What, after school?" I say.
"Nope, you can have the day off."
I was so happy! She shows me the adverts. The first is a two hour drive away from home. The second only an hour. Long journeys, but we've seen about 12 so far and none have been right. But the first one sounded perfect. No photos, but these are the exact words:
15.1 appaloosa knabstrup gelding. 8 years old. Very safe ride, but forward going.
My mum had phoned up the owner, and he'd told us that he was a farmer who'd once competed (showjumping? perhaps hunter trials?) and now bought a couple of horses, brought them on over a year or so, and sold them for a profit. 'This appaloosa, he's just what you want,' he'd said.
And we'd believed him. So after two and a half hours sat on my bum in the car (I'm not a good traveller, it was a hot day, and our car really smells bad) we arrived at the 'farm', only to be greeted by about twenty dogs, and a farm hand in blue who pretty much ran away after he spotted us.
Okay, the farm looks nice enough, in the middle of the countryside (near cornwall, I think) neat and tidy, if not a little run down. We walk along a dirt path for about 5 minutes until we come to a caravan. A door opens, and a middle-aged woman comes out. "Is this Yellow Brick Farm (not the real name, just incase)?" We ask. "Oh, no," the woman says "You've come too far, but I'm sure John (again, not real name) will take you down there!" We agree, and she goes and gets John, who turns out to be a lad of about 18 in a tracksuit.
He walks us down the track.
"So John, do you live on that farm back there?" Says mum.
"Yeah."
"What do you do as a living?"
"I'm an electrician."
"Oh, cool. You've left school, right? Do you know the horse we're going to see?"
"Yes. And yes, you're seeing Hue."
"Hoo?"
"Hugo."
"That's a nice name. Do you ride?"
"Yes. I work for Yellow Brick Stables, head groom."
So. That was a bit odd. Surely a farmer who brings on a couple of youngsters a year wouldn't need a groom? And guess what? It was a Dealer's. I'm sure you've heard all the horror stories about dealers, but this really caps them all.
John lead us to this little dark lean-to, and took us inside. The first thing that hit was the smell. Normally, I like the smell of horses, but these obviously hadn't been mucked out for days. Second was the size and state of the stables. I helped out at a riding school, I'm used to run down facilities, but box stalls only a few feet wide really aren't fair.
We met Hugo. He had a roan face and neck, and a white bum with big brown spots, a black mane and tail, and he was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. But also absolutely starved. He was supposedly seven years old, but looked eighteen, he was so thin. His spine and ribs stuck out, and even his withers looked bad. Secondly, he had girth galls, a swollen knee, and thousands of cuts and gashes on his legs. He was so sweet! And frightened! And my heart melted, and there and then, when no-one was listening, I whispered in his ear 'Don't worry Oscar(that was what I'd have called him, it just fitted), don't worry Ozzy, I'll save you, if it's the last thing I do!' And he sort of stared at me, and I know I'm probably just humanising him, but I swear I saw hope in those big dark eyes.
I promised I'd save him. And guess what? I bl**dy well will.
To put it simply, he's a nice ride, but sosososo nervous, scared of his own shadow. Definately NOT what I need. He was spooking even on the drive of the farm, which is surely a familiar place, and my mum was riding, and she's really good, but it was all she could do to get him past it!
But I was so upset, and I've never broken a promise before, and never intend to. I forced my parents into contacting the ILPH, who'll inspect the yard, but if they don't confiscate all the horses, I'll buy that appy. The ILPH guy took us seriously though, which was reassuring, but he says not much'll happen unless we have video evidence of them physically abusing the horses, there's not much they can do. And the horses weren't abused! The lady who showed us around really loves them, but they obviously don't want to pay for vet stuff.
I hope now they're being monitered by ILPH they'll pull their act together, but I'm not letting Ozzy stay there. No way. What should I do? I reckon I could bring him on quite well, he just acts like a four year old out hacking, definately inexperience rather then fright.
So here's the story.
In wednesday night, my mum comes in to tell me that she's going to visit two horses for sale the next day, they sound perfect, and would I like to come.
"What, after school?" I say.
"Nope, you can have the day off."
I was so happy! She shows me the adverts. The first is a two hour drive away from home. The second only an hour. Long journeys, but we've seen about 12 so far and none have been right. But the first one sounded perfect. No photos, but these are the exact words:
15.1 appaloosa knabstrup gelding. 8 years old. Very safe ride, but forward going.
My mum had phoned up the owner, and he'd told us that he was a farmer who'd once competed (showjumping? perhaps hunter trials?) and now bought a couple of horses, brought them on over a year or so, and sold them for a profit. 'This appaloosa, he's just what you want,' he'd said.
And we'd believed him. So after two and a half hours sat on my bum in the car (I'm not a good traveller, it was a hot day, and our car really smells bad) we arrived at the 'farm', only to be greeted by about twenty dogs, and a farm hand in blue who pretty much ran away after he spotted us.
Okay, the farm looks nice enough, in the middle of the countryside (near cornwall, I think) neat and tidy, if not a little run down. We walk along a dirt path for about 5 minutes until we come to a caravan. A door opens, and a middle-aged woman comes out. "Is this Yellow Brick Farm (not the real name, just incase)?" We ask. "Oh, no," the woman says "You've come too far, but I'm sure John (again, not real name) will take you down there!" We agree, and she goes and gets John, who turns out to be a lad of about 18 in a tracksuit.
He walks us down the track.
"So John, do you live on that farm back there?" Says mum.
"Yeah."
"What do you do as a living?"
"I'm an electrician."
"Oh, cool. You've left school, right? Do you know the horse we're going to see?"
"Yes. And yes, you're seeing Hue."
"Hoo?"
"Hugo."
"That's a nice name. Do you ride?"
"Yes. I work for Yellow Brick Stables, head groom."
So. That was a bit odd. Surely a farmer who brings on a couple of youngsters a year wouldn't need a groom? And guess what? It was a Dealer's. I'm sure you've heard all the horror stories about dealers, but this really caps them all.
John lead us to this little dark lean-to, and took us inside. The first thing that hit was the smell. Normally, I like the smell of horses, but these obviously hadn't been mucked out for days. Second was the size and state of the stables. I helped out at a riding school, I'm used to run down facilities, but box stalls only a few feet wide really aren't fair.
We met Hugo. He had a roan face and neck, and a white bum with big brown spots, a black mane and tail, and he was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. But also absolutely starved. He was supposedly seven years old, but looked eighteen, he was so thin. His spine and ribs stuck out, and even his withers looked bad. Secondly, he had girth galls, a swollen knee, and thousands of cuts and gashes on his legs. He was so sweet! And frightened! And my heart melted, and there and then, when no-one was listening, I whispered in his ear 'Don't worry Oscar(that was what I'd have called him, it just fitted), don't worry Ozzy, I'll save you, if it's the last thing I do!' And he sort of stared at me, and I know I'm probably just humanising him, but I swear I saw hope in those big dark eyes.
I promised I'd save him. And guess what? I bl**dy well will.
To put it simply, he's a nice ride, but sosososo nervous, scared of his own shadow. Definately NOT what I need. He was spooking even on the drive of the farm, which is surely a familiar place, and my mum was riding, and she's really good, but it was all she could do to get him past it!
But I was so upset, and I've never broken a promise before, and never intend to. I forced my parents into contacting the ILPH, who'll inspect the yard, but if they don't confiscate all the horses, I'll buy that appy. The ILPH guy took us seriously though, which was reassuring, but he says not much'll happen unless we have video evidence of them physically abusing the horses, there's not much they can do. And the horses weren't abused! The lady who showed us around really loves them, but they obviously don't want to pay for vet stuff.
I hope now they're being monitered by ILPH they'll pull their act together, but I'm not letting Ozzy stay there. No way. What should I do? I reckon I could bring him on quite well, he just acts like a four year old out hacking, definately inexperience rather then fright.
