Looking Back and Moving On
I moved Chester to a new farm on Wednesday. We left the park for good. Things finally got so bad that nostalgia and familiarity weren't enough to keep me there.
Bruna arrived in August 2006 and in the seven months I had her she threw every behavioural issue she could pull out of her repertoire at me, which at fourteen/fifteen, was way too much for me to handle. Somehow I persisted. I only rode her a handful of times before my inexperience led to fear, so I kept my feet on the ground most of the time we were together. I'm sure that the hours of groundwork and hanging out is part of the reason we shared an animal to human bond I'd never experienced before, and which I haven't felt again since losing her. Maybe it was just childhood fantasy combined with an absence of cynicism (which is now all too familiar. Thanks adulthood!), but I genuinely believed that she felt at least some sort of love for me. No horse has ever looked at me with quite the same warmth in their eyes.
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I started loaning Sam a few months after Brun died. The beginning of summer 2007. My friend V had been gently prodding me into at least coming to groom him and just spend some time with horses again. After the heartbreak of losing my girl, I didn't know if I could ever risk developing a partnership with another horse. But not long after Bruna had arrived at the park, Sam lost his girl too. We both had a lot of healing to do, and we did so together. In 2010 I was due to start university, which meant moving away. Which meant leaving Sam. In the years we had together we went on so many adventures, had so much fun and became a brilliant team. His girl's family moved away early this year to retire in the country, taking Sam and her other pony Ziggy with them. Missing him is like missing a close friend. I'm pretty sure gallavanting all over our local area together through my teens kept me saner and safer than any other hobby I could've chosen.
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Chester was not planned. I was going to university. I was not looking for a horse. We were visiting friends in Somerset and they mentioned that the chestnut gelding I'd admired from afar for years was for sale. They said I should go for a test ride. I said I wasn't in any position to buy a horse, my parents wholeheartedly agreed. They said it wouldn't do any harm, his owner wouldn't mind and we'd be upfront about it. As soon as I sat on him I knew I was screwed (the old My Little Pony theme played on a loop in my head the whole ride...which was weird but I took it as a sign). By some miracle my parents didn't take too much convincing. My great aunt decided she'd rather pay £3,500 for a pony that she could see me enjoy than leave me money in her will. I'd always said if I were able to buy a horse I would try as many as possible so I'd definitely find the right one. But I was leaving for university in a month and had so much to get ready, driving around the country trying horses was not something that was possible. So I scoured websites for anything suitable, weighed up their pros and cons with Chester's, and he came out on top every time. So we bought him. I rode him a couple more times at my friend's and he was more horse (well...pony) than I was used to handling but I was smitten and was determined to persevere just as I had with Bruna and Sam.
Chet joined me at university and what should have been a lifelong dream became my own personal hell. It wasn't because of Chester. A huge combination of things left me falling into depression. If I hadn't had Chet to look after I don't know if I'd still be here. Having someone else to take care of forces you to do. To be. To roll out of bed at six forty-five in the yard clothes you slept in so you could resist consciousness for ten extra minutes because you didn't go to sleep til gone four. To try and look somewhat presentable and go out into the dark, cold morning with a forced smile on your face and a practiced, "Morning. Yes I'm fine thanks, you?" on your lips. Walking to and from the yard, feeding, mucking out, grooming, tacking up, riding and sweeping for a few hours a day had me in the best physical shape I've ever been, despite barely moving the rest of the time. But mentally I was a mess. Being with Chester, as stressful as things got and as difficult as he became (thanks to the university enforcing a no turn out rule as soon as the wet winter weather set in), being with him was when I felt most human. Most alive.
I dropped out in April 2011. I took Chester home to the park and watching him gallop off to meet the herd had me sobbing with relief. It felt like we were both free, we made it, the darkness was lifted. Of course things are never that easy, but it was the start of recovery. It took Chester a long time to settle into a way of life that was totally new to him. Living in a huge mixed herd, outside 24/7, being brought in alone while all his friends stayed out grazing, London traffic, the list goes on. We did things I never thought we'd manage after the hell we'd been through, but the pictures on my wall and in my harddrive are proof even as the memories get a little fuzzy to recall. We've jumped bareback, gone bitless, completed sponsored rides, jumped over planes, ridden in Windsor Great Park (where he was a psycho...but shhh), completed a one day event, come first in show jumping and hacked to Richmond Park (which involves over an hour of riding on busy roads just to get to the park, about two hours to get round the whole thing and then an hour back in traffic), all of which seemed impossible when I first moved him home. He's been an angel, an asshole, and everything in between. He's made me feel useless and made me feel invincible. Most of all, he's made me proud.
Despite all the accomplishments we've managed over our five years together, I know that we've barely scratched the surface. My mental health issues have held me back in every aspect of my life, but a huge factor in why I've done so little with Chet is because of where I was keeping him. Over the years, all our local riding has slowly been taken away from us. We were banned from the only real riding we had because a squatter who tethers his horses there had an argument with some of the liveries and then threatened the farmer we rent from with letting horses loose on his crops. The abandoned sports ground that became our fallback was sold on and blocked off for a school to be built on at some point next year. The pitiful plot of "landscaped" green space outside our local garden centre is also in the running for having a school built on it. This leaves us with under 1.5 miles of bridleway, and a small green to school on which is overgrown with trees and bushes and gets too slippery to do more than walk on if it rains too much. The farmer allows us to pay to use one of his stubble fields during the summer months, but again, it gets very slippery with only a little rain (which in England is pretty unavoidable).
However, even though putting in all that time, money and effort but not getting to enjoy doing things with my pony was frustrating, the lack of riding was the least of my problems. More important was the risk to Chester's health. Initially, it was ignorance and a need for familiarity that led me to move Chet to the park and keep him there. But over time I started to see all that was wrong with the way things were run and over the past two years I fought to get barbed wire fencing replaced with post and rail, to get everyone to poo pick and pull ragwort, to form some sort of community so that we could have a happier and healthier environment for us and our horses. But all my efforts were in vain. As the herd dynamic grew more and more stressful and the current liveries became less and less co-operative, I was running out of reasons to stay. When Chester came in with a bad barbed wire cut, I knew I had to get him out of there before it was too late.
So I asked around, visited a couple of places and chose the farm. It takes over half an hour to get to, but even with the extra petrol, the costs average out so that it's not actually too much more than the park. The fencing is all post and rail or hedgerow. Chester shares a huge field with (what will eventually be) seven other horses. Because the land isn't over-grazed and the space is so ample, droppings can be left to naturally decompose into the soil without becoming a health concern and negating any need to fertilise paddocks with anything artificial. The farm is run and managed by people who actually care about what goes on with the horses and people who use it. There is an actual tack room, running water and electricity. And there's riding. Miles and miles of bridleways, a country park a forty-five minute hack away, an equestrian centre that runs small shows in the summer a thirty minute hack away, all weather gallops a twenty-five minute hack away, and a sand school you can rent for £10 an hour a ten minute hack away. Plus we can ride around the edge of any unused fields on the three-hundred acre property (and they breed labradors...while I'm not in full support of breeding dogs/cats/horses when so many are in shelters, these are at least all successful, registered show dogs who are either sold for showing or as pets and who will always be welcomed back to the farm if their circumstances change. I got to see their newest litter on Thursday. They were adorable).
It's early days and it's still pretty stressful, which I knew it would be while Chester settles and while we both adjust to such a huge change. But I have no regrets. I don't miss the park. If someone offered to take us back there for free I'd say no. No way. I really feel like this was the right decision for us and I can't wait until we can enjoy our new life at the farm.
That was hella long. I'll post about the actual move separately. And there will be pictures (well, screenshots)! (I may also post the full videos as well if I can get them to upload).
Thanks for reading.
Bruna arrived in August 2006 and in the seven months I had her she threw every behavioural issue she could pull out of her repertoire at me, which at fourteen/fifteen, was way too much for me to handle. Somehow I persisted. I only rode her a handful of times before my inexperience led to fear, so I kept my feet on the ground most of the time we were together. I'm sure that the hours of groundwork and hanging out is part of the reason we shared an animal to human bond I'd never experienced before, and which I haven't felt again since losing her. Maybe it was just childhood fantasy combined with an absence of cynicism (which is now all too familiar. Thanks adulthood!), but I genuinely believed that she felt at least some sort of love for me. No horse has ever looked at me with quite the same warmth in their eyes.
-
I started loaning Sam a few months after Brun died. The beginning of summer 2007. My friend V had been gently prodding me into at least coming to groom him and just spend some time with horses again. After the heartbreak of losing my girl, I didn't know if I could ever risk developing a partnership with another horse. But not long after Bruna had arrived at the park, Sam lost his girl too. We both had a lot of healing to do, and we did so together. In 2010 I was due to start university, which meant moving away. Which meant leaving Sam. In the years we had together we went on so many adventures, had so much fun and became a brilliant team. His girl's family moved away early this year to retire in the country, taking Sam and her other pony Ziggy with them. Missing him is like missing a close friend. I'm pretty sure gallavanting all over our local area together through my teens kept me saner and safer than any other hobby I could've chosen.
-
Chester was not planned. I was going to university. I was not looking for a horse. We were visiting friends in Somerset and they mentioned that the chestnut gelding I'd admired from afar for years was for sale. They said I should go for a test ride. I said I wasn't in any position to buy a horse, my parents wholeheartedly agreed. They said it wouldn't do any harm, his owner wouldn't mind and we'd be upfront about it. As soon as I sat on him I knew I was screwed (the old My Little Pony theme played on a loop in my head the whole ride...which was weird but I took it as a sign). By some miracle my parents didn't take too much convincing. My great aunt decided she'd rather pay £3,500 for a pony that she could see me enjoy than leave me money in her will. I'd always said if I were able to buy a horse I would try as many as possible so I'd definitely find the right one. But I was leaving for university in a month and had so much to get ready, driving around the country trying horses was not something that was possible. So I scoured websites for anything suitable, weighed up their pros and cons with Chester's, and he came out on top every time. So we bought him. I rode him a couple more times at my friend's and he was more horse (well...pony) than I was used to handling but I was smitten and was determined to persevere just as I had with Bruna and Sam.
Chet joined me at university and what should have been a lifelong dream became my own personal hell. It wasn't because of Chester. A huge combination of things left me falling into depression. If I hadn't had Chet to look after I don't know if I'd still be here. Having someone else to take care of forces you to do. To be. To roll out of bed at six forty-five in the yard clothes you slept in so you could resist consciousness for ten extra minutes because you didn't go to sleep til gone four. To try and look somewhat presentable and go out into the dark, cold morning with a forced smile on your face and a practiced, "Morning. Yes I'm fine thanks, you?" on your lips. Walking to and from the yard, feeding, mucking out, grooming, tacking up, riding and sweeping for a few hours a day had me in the best physical shape I've ever been, despite barely moving the rest of the time. But mentally I was a mess. Being with Chester, as stressful as things got and as difficult as he became (thanks to the university enforcing a no turn out rule as soon as the wet winter weather set in), being with him was when I felt most human. Most alive.
I dropped out in April 2011. I took Chester home to the park and watching him gallop off to meet the herd had me sobbing with relief. It felt like we were both free, we made it, the darkness was lifted. Of course things are never that easy, but it was the start of recovery. It took Chester a long time to settle into a way of life that was totally new to him. Living in a huge mixed herd, outside 24/7, being brought in alone while all his friends stayed out grazing, London traffic, the list goes on. We did things I never thought we'd manage after the hell we'd been through, but the pictures on my wall and in my harddrive are proof even as the memories get a little fuzzy to recall. We've jumped bareback, gone bitless, completed sponsored rides, jumped over planes, ridden in Windsor Great Park (where he was a psycho...but shhh), completed a one day event, come first in show jumping and hacked to Richmond Park (which involves over an hour of riding on busy roads just to get to the park, about two hours to get round the whole thing and then an hour back in traffic), all of which seemed impossible when I first moved him home. He's been an angel, an asshole, and everything in between. He's made me feel useless and made me feel invincible. Most of all, he's made me proud.
Despite all the accomplishments we've managed over our five years together, I know that we've barely scratched the surface. My mental health issues have held me back in every aspect of my life, but a huge factor in why I've done so little with Chet is because of where I was keeping him. Over the years, all our local riding has slowly been taken away from us. We were banned from the only real riding we had because a squatter who tethers his horses there had an argument with some of the liveries and then threatened the farmer we rent from with letting horses loose on his crops. The abandoned sports ground that became our fallback was sold on and blocked off for a school to be built on at some point next year. The pitiful plot of "landscaped" green space outside our local garden centre is also in the running for having a school built on it. This leaves us with under 1.5 miles of bridleway, and a small green to school on which is overgrown with trees and bushes and gets too slippery to do more than walk on if it rains too much. The farmer allows us to pay to use one of his stubble fields during the summer months, but again, it gets very slippery with only a little rain (which in England is pretty unavoidable).
However, even though putting in all that time, money and effort but not getting to enjoy doing things with my pony was frustrating, the lack of riding was the least of my problems. More important was the risk to Chester's health. Initially, it was ignorance and a need for familiarity that led me to move Chet to the park and keep him there. But over time I started to see all that was wrong with the way things were run and over the past two years I fought to get barbed wire fencing replaced with post and rail, to get everyone to poo pick and pull ragwort, to form some sort of community so that we could have a happier and healthier environment for us and our horses. But all my efforts were in vain. As the herd dynamic grew more and more stressful and the current liveries became less and less co-operative, I was running out of reasons to stay. When Chester came in with a bad barbed wire cut, I knew I had to get him out of there before it was too late.
So I asked around, visited a couple of places and chose the farm. It takes over half an hour to get to, but even with the extra petrol, the costs average out so that it's not actually too much more than the park. The fencing is all post and rail or hedgerow. Chester shares a huge field with (what will eventually be) seven other horses. Because the land isn't over-grazed and the space is so ample, droppings can be left to naturally decompose into the soil without becoming a health concern and negating any need to fertilise paddocks with anything artificial. The farm is run and managed by people who actually care about what goes on with the horses and people who use it. There is an actual tack room, running water and electricity. And there's riding. Miles and miles of bridleways, a country park a forty-five minute hack away, an equestrian centre that runs small shows in the summer a thirty minute hack away, all weather gallops a twenty-five minute hack away, and a sand school you can rent for £10 an hour a ten minute hack away. Plus we can ride around the edge of any unused fields on the three-hundred acre property (and they breed labradors...while I'm not in full support of breeding dogs/cats/horses when so many are in shelters, these are at least all successful, registered show dogs who are either sold for showing or as pets and who will always be welcomed back to the farm if their circumstances change. I got to see their newest litter on Thursday. They were adorable).
It's early days and it's still pretty stressful, which I knew it would be while Chester settles and while we both adjust to such a huge change. But I have no regrets. I don't miss the park. If someone offered to take us back there for free I'd say no. No way. I really feel like this was the right decision for us and I can't wait until we can enjoy our new life at the farm.
That was hella long. I'll post about the actual move separately. And there will be pictures (well, screenshots)! (I may also post the full videos as well if I can get them to upload).
Thanks for reading.