rather be on the other side of thelane, as far away from my brother as possible. ‘Listen,’ I say to Ed, ‘why don’t you ride on to the start of the bridlepath and we’ll meet you there. I’ll time you, if you like. Shout when you get there.’
This does the trick. Ed loves a challenge.
‘Okey dokey,’ he calls, picking up his bike. He makes revving and screeching noises and swerves away, his front tyre in the air. Samphire whinnies and rears up.
‘There’s no need to copy him,’ I say, using all my strength to steady the frightened animal. My left arm is in the air and Samphire continues to shy away, flinging his head to left and right. It’s a battle to bring him down again. He wheels round, knocking me off my feet and, before I know it, I’m rolling down a small slope at the side of the road and into a ditch. The squelch that follows tells me I’ve landed in something less than good. My nose confirms that I’m lying in stagnant mud, which stinks. Ugh!
Luckily, Samphire isn’t running off. He’s lookingat me, making a nickering noise. I ease myself up and back up the bank. My left side, my hands and my face are brown and filthy. I take Samphire’s halter rein gently. He’s standing quietly now, a model horse. I find a lump of carrot in my pocket and offer it to him. He sniffs it, looks away, sniffs it again. We stand, staring at one another for at least a minute. He’s testing me, trying to work out if the treat is a trick. Eventually, his long tongue sweeps over my hand and he munches noisily. His pushes a hopeful nose towards me and snuffles my jacket.
‘I’m sorry about that, boy,’ I say to him. ‘Did they beat you, your last people?’ I will always take care not to raise my arms quickly ever again. I stroke his nose, very gently. He makes a strange, grumbling grunt and paces backwards.
‘No you don’t. Come here, Samphire.’ I keep my voice very calm and the rein loose in my hand. I try to relax my body so I don’t show him any tension. ‘That’s it, good boy,’ I encourage, as he takes his first steptowards me. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
I start to lead him forwards, and this time, he moves with long, easy strides. I increase my speed to a comfortable jog. Samphire is trotting now, the steels on his hooves clattering on the lane. It feels like a first; we’re moving together. He has such an elegant way of lifting his legs and holding his neck. I feel proud, exhilarated and relieved all at the same time. We’re making progress, slowly but surely. His last owner was so wrong about him. He’s not a devil horse, just a damaged one, who needs time to heal.
‘Hahahahah!’ laughs Ed, as Samphire and I reach the beginning of the bridleway. ‘Actually, it’s an improvement, brown suits you.’
‘Yeah, very funny,’ I sigh.
‘Aaargh, you really stink,’ he yells, holding his nose. ‘So, what was my time?’ he asks.
‘I didn’t hear you shout,’ I tell him.
‘Aw, Stick, I yelled three times.’ Ed kicks at theground with his trainer. He picks up a twig and draws a line on the ground.
‘Sorry, Teddy,’ I tell him. I want to hug him, but he holds a hand up to stop me crossing the line. ‘Will this help?’ I produce a chocolate wafer in a wrapper and throw it to him.
‘Oh yeah, oh yeah!’ he declares, doing a funny dance, then unwrapping the treat and stuffing it into his mouth. Samphire whinnies. It sounds like a protest.
‘Oh, OK, here’s yours,’ I say, finding the other carrot and offering it to him. Ed and Samphire exchange glances, each chomping greedily. Ed gives him the thumbs up. Samphire snorts and shakes his mane. I think they’ve made friends.
It must be a boy thing.
Chapter Thirteen
The moment of truth. After more than three weeks of halter-walking Samphire, getting him used to his surroundings, his new stablemates and the feel of unfamiliar tack against his skin, I’m going to mount him today. Sue thinks he’s been used to riders
This does the trick. Ed loves a challenge.
‘Okey dokey,’ he calls, picking up his bike. He makes revving and screeching noises and swerves away, his front tyre in the air. Samphire whinnies and rears up.
‘There’s no need to copy him,’ I say, using all my strength to steady the frightened animal. My left arm is in the air and Samphire continues to shy away, flinging his head to left and right. It’s a battle to bring him down again. He wheels round, knocking me off my feet and, before I know it, I’m rolling down a small slope at the side of the road and into a ditch. The squelch that follows tells me I’ve landed in something less than good. My nose confirms that I’m lying in stagnant mud, which stinks. Ugh!
Luckily, Samphire isn’t running off. He’s lookingat me, making a nickering noise. I ease myself up and back up the bank. My left side, my hands and my face are brown and filthy. I take Samphire’s halter rein gently. He’s standing quietly now, a model horse. I find a lump of carrot in my pocket and offer it to him. He sniffs it, looks away, sniffs it again. We stand, staring at one another for at least a minute. He’s testing me, trying to work out if the treat is a trick. Eventually, his long tongue sweeps over my hand and he munches noisily. His pushes a hopeful nose towards me and snuffles my jacket.
‘I’m sorry about that, boy,’ I say to him. ‘Did they beat you, your last people?’ I will always take care not to raise my arms quickly ever again. I stroke his nose, very gently. He makes a strange, grumbling grunt and paces backwards.
‘No you don’t. Come here, Samphire.’ I keep my voice very calm and the rein loose in my hand. I try to relax my body so I don’t show him any tension. ‘That’s it, good boy,’ I encourage, as he takes his first steptowards me. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
I start to lead him forwards, and this time, he moves with long, easy strides. I increase my speed to a comfortable jog. Samphire is trotting now, the steels on his hooves clattering on the lane. It feels like a first; we’re moving together. He has such an elegant way of lifting his legs and holding his neck. I feel proud, exhilarated and relieved all at the same time. We’re making progress, slowly but surely. His last owner was so wrong about him. He’s not a devil horse, just a damaged one, who needs time to heal.
‘Hahahahah!’ laughs Ed, as Samphire and I reach the beginning of the bridleway. ‘Actually, it’s an improvement, brown suits you.’
‘Yeah, very funny,’ I sigh.
‘Aaargh, you really stink,’ he yells, holding his nose. ‘So, what was my time?’ he asks.
‘I didn’t hear you shout,’ I tell him.
‘Aw, Stick, I yelled three times.’ Ed kicks at theground with his trainer. He picks up a twig and draws a line on the ground.
‘Sorry, Teddy,’ I tell him. I want to hug him, but he holds a hand up to stop me crossing the line. ‘Will this help?’ I produce a chocolate wafer in a wrapper and throw it to him.
‘Oh yeah, oh yeah!’ he declares, doing a funny dance, then unwrapping the treat and stuffing it into his mouth. Samphire whinnies. It sounds like a protest.
‘Oh, OK, here’s yours,’ I say, finding the other carrot and offering it to him. Ed and Samphire exchange glances, each chomping greedily. Ed gives him the thumbs up. Samphire snorts and shakes his mane. I think they’ve made friends.
It must be a boy thing.
Chapter Thirteen
The moment of truth. After more than three weeks of halter-walking Samphire, getting him used to his surroundings, his new stablemates and the feel of unfamiliar tack against his skin, I’m going to mount him today. Sue thinks he’s been used to riders
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