So Mrs Longbenton claims Tansy is a ‘strong, but brilliant jumper’, but I’m not sure I’m going to get to assess the athletic ability that’s supposed to make her brilliant while I try to contain her strength.
She carts me along the far side of the paddock in the sort of trot a diesel engine might do if it was a horse. I employ my best tactful horsemanship to slow the pace but in the end it’s only the gag snaffle that has any effect. She pulls up sharply with a half rear and then plunges forward, puts her nose level with her knees, and tanks off again. I try again and again and get the same reaction again and again and we do two more circuits in a series of leaps and bounds. I suppose from the audience’s point of view we’re providing an interesting and spectacular display but it’s not getting us anywhere.
Ignoring my screaming sense of self preservation I point Tansy at the yellow and white oxer that looks a bit smaller than the other jumps and she flies it like a hurdler. I catch up with her and, with the perimeter fence approaching at terrifying speed, I drag her to a halt in that leaping, plunging kangaroo fashion.
Enough is enough. I keep her on a tight rein and jog back over to the others. Gill’s eyes are like saucers.
“Well she’s keen, but I’m not ready to find out if there’s life after death.”
Mrs Longbenton pouts and folds her arms.
“But she’s only learning! Hannah’s been schooling her, but she’s not that long off the track. You’ll have to work at it a bit, you know.”
Behind her back, Gill is shaking her head and waving her fingers across her throat.
By the time we get back in the car, I know my shoulder muscles are going to give me grief tomorrow.
“You rode her damned well. I don’t think I could’ve done any better,” Gill says cheerfully.
“Don’t you dare ever tell my mother what that horse was like,” I warn her. “She’s seen me ride the Turnpike ponies and Induna and she now thinks all horses are safe. Oh, and don’t tell Danny either!”
“Well, that mare was a complete non starter. I would say that anyway, even if I wasn’t having a fifty percent stake in this venture. I don’t want to train that thing and I’m certainly not letting any of my non-owning pupils ride her. She’ll put them off riding for life. Sorry, she sounded like she was going to be good, being a half-sister to The Prodigal and all. No, we’ll check out the grey Anglo Arab near MacIlwaine next week shall we?”
As days go, it’s one of those best forgotten, what with my alarm clock choosing this morning to go into its last decline, twisting my ankle on the path as I ran to the shed, the flat tyre, and then leaving my hat behind on the kitchen worktop. Dad was remarkably calm about wasting his precious petrol so I’ll have to tell him we had a good time and the horse was fantastic, but we’d like to see at least one other.