Last week ended on a very sad note, as on Saturday we had to say goodbye forever to Jack, who will be sorely missed not only by his owner, She Who Must Be Obeyed’s younger daughter Steffi, but also by her whole family and by everyone who knew him.
He had ruptured a tendon and, given his relatively mature years (19), the prognosis was not good – the prospect of having to stand in your box for nearly a year with no guarantee of a full recovery would have even the laziest of us in despair, so we horses are relieved on his behalf that he was spared such an ordeal. I hear that he spent his last minutes rolling, galloping and bucking round a field down at Manor Farm (suitably dosed up on bute to dull the pain), a perfect end to a most enjoyable and much-loved life – RIP Handsome Jack. We should all be so lucky…
On a more positive note, I was happy to see that the volunteers had returned to WVS last week – even the Old Bird seemed to welcome them, which is odd as she is hardly a people person, so it just proves how special they must be. I understand this is a precursor to the return of some other familiar faces just as soon as they are allowed to ride out in small groups again – if what the volunteers tell me is anything to go by, they will be gagging to spend time with us horses and rightly so. I know riders (other than the liveries) are not supposed to linger in the yard after they return their steed to his/her box, but I hope they will still feel able to hand over the odd treat in passing – so long as they are wearing those weird masks (do they think they are the Lone Ranger?) and keep a respectful distance (how can distancing be social, I ask myself?), I am sure Boris, Matt, Chris and Patrick would consider it acceptable behaviour.
I hear from my mates who are permanent residents in Wimbledon, that many of them have been on jolly jaunts to Richmond Park over the past couple of weeks. I haven’t been over there since October when Auntie Caroline was lucky enough to ride me in one of the sponsored rides – she’s not above pulling rank when it comes to choosing her mount. I quite like the change of scenery and the general opinion is that it’s fun to be able to get nice long canters, although I’d choose a spanking trot over an exhausting canter any day. On the downside, you also have to put up with the deer – I am not a fan – and any number of super competitive cyclists who seem to have no respect for the equine community, so they can be quite scary and also pose something of a risk. The Old Bird very rarely takes me to Richmond Park as she seems to have a mental block, given the often challenging experiences she had there with Spooky; that may be understandable, but what I don’t get is why she doesn’t appreciate what different characters we are. Whereas he apparently felt the need to show off and draw attention to himself, I do not, since I am very secure in myself and, if I occasionally behave in a rather mischievous way, it is only a bit of fun and high spirits, with no malicious intent, and also because I still can (no arthritis or hip replacements for me, unlike the Old Bird).
That said, we have recently endured some weather that would make a visit to Richmond Park less than appealing, as high winds and open spaces are not – at least in my opinion – a good mix. The WVS boys and girls thought they would be able to cuddle up in their boxes for an unexpected extra day off on Thursday as gales were forecast and the combination of strong wind, lots of trees and horses can be a recipe for disaster. Sadly for them, however, She Who Must Be Obeyed (in cahoots with Pod, that ageing know-it all) decided that by mid-morning it was dying down sufficiently to allow safe exercise and they were all turfed out of the warmth and paraded off up the High Street to the Common, pretty much as usual, albeit after a bit of a lie in.
You should know that Mr Fudge, that would-be celebrity, was also not excused his daily walks and even succeeded in finding his 15 minutes of fame as a photograph of him and valued volunteer Vanessa made its way into both The Times and The Telegraph. I feel I should also point out here that my so-called mate Onyx is joining Fudge in jumping on the social media bandwagon – the Old Bird tells me he has now got his own Instagram account. It seems I am surrounded by individuals who will go to any lengths to grab the limelight, but I am confident that literary giants like me will live on for much longer – see what I did when describing Fudge’s photo companion: “valued volunteer Vanessa” is an excellent example of alliteration, so please don’t ever believe that we equines aren’t capable of absorbing grammar. I also console myself with the thought that it is my recent fame that is prompting others to seek the spotlight. If it were in my nature, I might choose to sulk, but instead I have decided to rise above it all by reminding myself that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and that where I lead, others follow.
In the meantime, I am still impatiently awaiting the Spring grass, but it surely can’t be long now, and I will report back next week on progress on that front down at Manor Farm.
Rory x