Yesterday I went to see a little Welsh pony that we'll call Star who has turned out to be spooky about everything and three weeks ago decided that he would no longer be caught. He belongs to a smashing young girl aged 8 and she reminded me of me at that age when ponies were my world (oh, what's changed?). Although her pony is older than mine was he is just as green and his nervousness is putting her confidence at risk. Hard decision for her Mum to decide whether to keep him or to see how much work it would take to turn him into a little police horse. It's certainly do-able but ultimately you can't take the Welsh Pony out of the Welsh Pony and he will always be bright and perhaps a little sharp. Having got him to the stage of being caught happily yesterday I am hoping they will enlist my help for the next stage.
My own pony was hardly broken when we got him and within weeks he had spooked at a dog and I fell off and broke my arm. It took me months to get my confidence back but soon the pony were inseparable and I spent all day, every day with him. On school days my Mum used to fetch me from school riding her own horse with my pony on a lead rein. We were all rather gung-ho in those days. I do wonder sometimes whether social services should consider a care order for some children whose parents seem to be prepared to put them on anything, even completely unbroken ponies, as some sort of crash-test dummy!
My three year old green grey pony arrives having been ridden all the way back from Norton Canes - about 8 miles. In those days hats seem to have been a token nod to safety!
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Smokey on the Sherriff's Ride - some 20 miles around the boundaries of Lichfield in what often seemed like an uncontrolled stampede. People who couldn't ride hired ex-racehorses for the day and all the rest stops were at pubs. In later years the mounted police came along to insist on some sort of order.
The days of crates, barrels and tyres.
Oh the shame of the Donny Osmond T-shirt and I am clearly starting to outgrow my pony.
