MY FRIEND, MY MUSE, MY HORSE

There are few more profound relationships than that between a rider and their horse, and an intense grief when that partnership comes to an end, says Guy Grieve

Guy Grieve gets misty eyed over a mare

Life has become rather po-faced recently. All just a bit serious. Everywhere I look things contrive to depress me: Brexit; the sight of degenerates such as Boris Johnson becoming empowered; betrayal of the noble Kurdish people; destruction of the marine environment; climate change denial; extremist and judgemental types in Northern Ireland. The list goes on and it’s all just a bit much.

And I just can’t seem to get away from my damn phone. It haunts me like some kind of mischievous demon. Glowing softly or vibrating away with excitement as someone calls with yet another work related duty.

And then of course there is the business. Anyone who has ever run a business will know that to do so is to have one’s entire life utterly kidnapped. Suddenly there is no escape. No peace, no simplicity, no silence, no rest.

Once upon a time I had a way of getting away from all of it. To forget everything and to find myself utterly within the moment. This something had four legs and weighed over a ton. I miss my old horse so badly sometimes. She was an Irish thoroughbred cross standing at over 17 hands.

At first we hated each other and she was fantastically wary of me, just as mares often are. However, gradually, we started to work together and the endless petty little battles and tests of will evaporated. And then, that feeling...

I remember that incredible sensation of being in the saddle, feet firm in the stirrups and reins held lightly. My horse was called Erin and she was my furry motorbike. With her I forgot everything, except what the going was like, what my horse was feeling and what was to come. To take my mind off the job would have been a deadly mistake. I had to give way to the animal and move about the land just as so many of our ancient ancestors once did.

When I whistled for her she came. When we crossed rivers I’d hold her tail and she’d pull me along. Once we even swam across an estuary together. That horse was my escape, my balm and my meditation.

On winter nights as the ground began to freeze and the light slipped away fast we’d bring the horses in. Their sweet smelling hay nets were filled with the scented dried grasses of lush summer. Rich smelling soaked beat pulp and the fine chopped hay known as chaff was stirred into feed bowls, as was carib. We’d pull away their field rugs to reveal shining and thickening coats and fling warm stable rugs across their backs. And then after our work was done we’d step away and often stand watching them in silence, hearing their great jaws working away.

Keeping horses is about more than the riding, it’s about the great liberation and privilege of finding oneself so intimately connected to one of our most miraculous of all animal partners. It’s also extremely dangerous to switch off around horses – and yet horses are good for us, not just the sight and scent of them, but the beautiful routine involved in their care.

Above all else, keeping and riding horses demands that we forget everything: our work, our lives on two feet, the past, the future. Above all,

I used my time with Erin to escape the endless mental stress of business.

Now sadly she’s gone. I could not afford her anymore. And after she was loaded into the horse box and driven away to a wonderful new home I stood there in the middle of the road and watched as the horsebox disappeared into the distance. What now?

I thought. What other ways of escape and distraction were there for me?

There are, of course, other roads of forgetfulness available. But there is no escape, no way out, no discovery, no learning, no lineage as profound and powerful as the relationship between man and horse.

“At first Erin hated me. She was fantastically wary of me, as mares often are