My very little
Alf is just 28in tall but he’s got a huge heart and an even bigger naughty streak. And when owner Hannah was at her lowest ebb, he saved her – as she reveals in a delightful new book . . .
THE first time I saw Little Alf, I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. He was a tiny, hairy mess, standing in the middle of a flooded field, with a coat that was so tangled he looked like he belonged in a hippie rock band.
And then he started running around, with his stumpy legs sinking so deep into the turf that I could barely see them. I burst out: ‘Oh my God, he’s so cute!’
All Shetland ponies are cute, of course. But Little Alf’s cuteness was off the scale. I felt myself falling in love. He was so small — but I didn’t know yet what a gigantic personality he had.
Since that day Little Alf has gathered thousands of fans online, starred in a series of books and wooed royalty. He’s a model and social media star. And he’s changed my life more than I could ever imagine.
That’s a big deal for a horse who stands just 28in tall — the same height as a greyhound.
When I first saw him in November 2012 I was 16 and struggling with my studies. My classmates at Wensleydale College, close to the family farm where I lived with my parents and older brother in Yorkshire, were all friendly — but the life didn’t suit me at all. I wanted to be outside with my animals, not in a classroom.
And I had a lot of animals: three horses, two dogs, a lop-eared rabbit, three guinea pigs and a dwarf hamster called Twinkles. I’ve always preferred spending time with them. If I go out for the evening, it’s for a catch-up, not for the drinking — I would much rather be outside in the fresh air with my pets.
But having so many animals to care for comes at a price. They can be expensive and they are timeconsuming. As I tried to settle in at college, I was aware that my parents felt I had enough pets...and in particular, enough horses.
So perhaps I should have walked away when Caroline, who ran a breeder’s yard down the lane, pulled up in a car at feeding time. ‘I need to rehome some of my horses,’ she began. ‘I’ve got a little Shetland who is six months old. He’s got dwarfism. I can’t breed from him — would you like him?’
Caroline lowered her hand to the ground, barely above the door handle, to show how small this horse was. I had to see for myself.
WHEN I did, I couldn’t believe anyone would give away something so beautiful. But horse breeding can be harsh and a pony with a genetic problem is at serious risk. Even those without physical abnormality but suspected of carrying a rogue gene are likely to be culled.
So if Little Alf was going to live long enough to grow up, his best hope was to be rescued straight away. I couldn’t turn him down. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure how to tell my parents . . .
I collected him on Christmas Eve. My dad and brother John were going to a football match, and Mum was doing some last-minute shopping, so I knew I’d be able to sneak my ‘handbag horse’ into the field without being seen.
We transported him in the back of Caroline’s Land Rover with his head poking through the front seats like a dog.
When I introduced him to my other horses, the trouble started. He was swishing his head, putting on a show of bravado. His new companions were all geldings: they’d had the snip, and he hadn’t. Realising this, he had a sudden surge in confidence and started strutting around with his tail in the air.
And no matter how hard I chased him, he would not be caught. I was amazed that such little legs could carry him so fast. I was even more amazed when he ran at the fence, skidded on to his knees and slid under the bottom rail.
After a long search, I found Little Alf standing on a path in the woods, looking ashamed. He knew how naughty he’d been.
On Christmas morning, I rushed out to see my horses. My parents suspected nothing. But I knew I’d have to confess before lunch. Everyone was so cheerful that I thought I might get away with it. When I announced that I had a special present, and that Mum and Dad would have to come to the stables to see, Dad laughed: ‘I hope it’s not another horse!’
Little Alf whinnied when they looked over the stable door and saw him. The noise came out somewhere between a grunt and a bray. At that moment I knew it was OK. Dad smiled and said: ‘I suppose we’ll welcome him into the family.’
Little Alf hadn’t touched his food or water, so I took him for a walk and he immediately started munching on grass. Then he pulled me over to a puddle and lapped the rainwater. He’d never eaten or drunk from a bowl before.
That Christmas I was given a really smart camera, and I knew as soon as I opened it that I would use Little Alf as my model. I began posting photos of my tiny horse on social media. There was an immediate response. People just seemed to love Little Alf.
Other parts of my life weren’t going so well. I wasn’t enjoying college and, after a couple of riding falls, I had serious aches and pains. I was told I had two worn discs, four broken ribs and two cracked vertebrae. The doctor said I had back trauma usual in someone