Samphire Song by Jill Hucklesby Page B

pocket. Sue approaches and pats his neck, fondly.
    ‘What shall I do now?’ I ask her. I’m still not making eye contact with the grey barbarian.
    ‘Let Rachel take Rambo back to the yard. We’ll see what Samphire’s like when there’s no competition,’ she replies. I think she would make a great horse psychologist.
    ‘I hope you’re free tonight, because I think you need pizza,’ says Rachel, approaching.
    ‘Yes please!’ I reply, my spirits lifting suddenly.Rachel knows just what to do to improve a bad situation.
    A few seconds later, we’re alone, Sue, Samphire and I. It’s like one of those Westerns, when everyone is braced, ready to go for their gun. Samphire is looking at Sue and me and making the strange grumbling noise through his nostrils.
    ‘Shall I call him?’ I ask. If I go to him, it’s telling him he’s won. Sue nods. I make my usual clicking sound, which signals I want him to approach. Nothing. I feel in my pocket for treats. They’ve all gone. This is getting stupid.
    Then something really odd happens. Samphire starts to whinny and paw the ground at the same time. The piercing noise travels up and down in pitch, punctuated with snorts and shaking of his head.
    ‘He’s talking to you,’ says Sue, astonished. ‘I think he’s explaining why he’s been such a pain.’
    ‘It’s his song,’ I tell her. ‘He’s done it before, a bit. Nothing like this, though.’
    ‘He’s really getting something off his chest,’ Sue says. ‘I think it’s best if I leave you two to it. Don’t push things. He may have done enough for today.’
    She turns and moves purposefully out of the ring, through the gate and out of sight. I know she’s just a shout away if I need her, which is reassuring. Samphire stops his noise and just breathes and snorts, swishing his tail.
    ‘That was quite a performance. Will you come now?’ I ask, tentatively, holding my palm towards him. I hold my breath as he lifts his left hoof, lets it dangle a moment, then places it down nearer to me. The right follows. He stretches his beautiful neck and sniffs the air around me.
    ‘All the way.’ Three strides later, his face is just in front of mine. He mouths his bit awkwardly, trying to spit it out. Suddenly, I feel guilty. It’s probably been a long time since he’s had to deal with metal in his mouth. When you think about it, it must be awful – something so hard champing at the soft flesh.
    ‘Good boy,’ I tell him, meaning it. ‘We’re going to try this one more time. OK?’
    I prepare the reins and find the stirrup. If he runs amok this time, I’ll have to call Sue back. My body is tense from exertion. I mentally count to three and swing myself up and into the saddle. Samphire grunts and starts to move backwards very fast. This is an almost impossible feat for a horse – any dressage rider would think it was very clever. I don’t have time to find the other stirrup before he has pushed his backside into the fencing.
    Nice one, Samphire. Now you’re going to rear up and dump me over into the field.
    Surprisingly, this isn’t what happens next. When I urge him with my calves against his belly, he starts to walk forwards and when I draw my right rein in, he turns, elegantly. He’s responding to my commands and marking a circle and I want to shout with joy, but that would be ridiculous. We can’t both behave like divas. And there’s no audience.
    It’s just me and him – and maybe that’s how he wanted it. I’ll always remember this as the special day he chose to tell me his story and let me hear the whole of his song. I would give anything to understand it.

Chapter Fourteen
    I’m home, showered, dressed, made-up and ready to go in about half an hour flat. My bruised pride and aching muscles are fading from my mind. I was so proud of Samphire at the end of the training session, I can forgive him anything.
    Ed threw a mock-strop when I told him I was going out for pizza without him. ‘Don’t worry