Welcome back Floss

My old horse is home

Earlier this year, my old horse Floss went lame and was bullied by the younger horses in the herd. She was stressed and lost weight. I fretted. I had an opportunity to send her on spell on a farm with rolling green hills, a running creek, trees for shelter and her best friend for company. I am not her best friend. Floss isn’t a people-centred horse. She is respectful and great to handle, but she’s not affectionate. Her best friend is an old Standardbred mare called Magic. The two old girls love each other.

For four months, Floss lived down on the farm with Magic and another horse. I visited her a few times. She allowed me to catch her, tolerated my fussing, and picked up her feet so I could rasp them back into balance. She shed her winter coat and put on weight. She was glossy and happy. A part of me thought I should leave her there, living the life of retirement. She’s twenty-six years old and has a bit of arthritis in her hocks. But I worried about her being so far away. There were people keeping an eye on her, but only loosely. She was three hours away from me, so if something did go wrong, it would be hard for me to get there. Impossible to get there quickly. Besides, I simply missed her.

So I went down to bring her back to her normal agistment home. She let me halter her and walked onto the float without hesitation. When we got home (to her home – which is closer but still an hour away from my home), the other horses called and pranced. There was head tossing and squealing. We put her in a paddock alongside the others. The bully boys came up to reaquaint themselves. The greetings weren’t friendly. Floss will stay separate from the bullies but has a companion who regularly goes into the same paddock as her. Horses are herd animals and need to be able to touch and see and smell other horses at close quarters.

The day after she arrived home, I took her out of the paddock, groomed her and checked her over, made sure she wasn’t lame. I saddled her and mounted. She hadn’t been ridden for about seven months, but she displayed a willingness to get going. We headed out the gate and down the road onto the trail, just her and me.

I could feel the tightness in her back end as she stepped along underneath me, her hind legs not swinging through as much as they should. She was stiff. Her fitness was lacking. We took it slowly, mostly at a walk. After she had warmed up and loosened up a bit, I began thinking I might ask her to trot. She read my mind and sprung into her springy little pony trot. Floss isn’t a big horse – a touch over 14.2hh – and she has quite short legs. She takes short steps and rarely lengthens her stride. But in her heyday she would trot for miles and miles.

Floss is my dream pony, the chestnut horse with white feet and face that I longed for as a child. In our years together, she has taught me a lot. Some of it has even been about horses and horsemanship. Mostly, it has been about patience and acceptance, about being in the moment; about being brave and facing fears and going forward.

We have gone places together. Floss has been a gateway to new experiences and great friendships. Together we have walked trails through stunning bushland and through red desert sands. We have galloped up hills and along beaches.

But now, we take it easy. Floss is not a fancy horse. She’s old. She’s opinionated. She’s quirky. She doesn’t like shadows across the track or puddles or patches of dark tar on the road. But she’s remarkably steady. She’s not fazed by much. She doesn’t shy. She doesn’t buck, although she has often tended to bolt. Riding her along the trail after her break, I can feel that tendency is still in her, despite her arthritis. She carries a raw energy, an exuberance that I love. I let her canter for a bit but I’m conscious of the state of her joints. I bring her back to a walk. She shakes her head in protest, but she’s puffing and sweaty. I keep her at a walk for the rest of our ride.

A fortnight later we go for a ride with a couple of friends. Floss wants to race but I won’t let her. We walk. Trot for a bit. I can feel the stiffness in her and I worry that I have done the wrong thing in bringing her back into any sort of work, light though it is. Maybe I should have left her down on the farm with Magic.

With about two kilometres to go until the end of our ride, I get off and walk beside my horse. My friends go off for a long canter on a sandy loop and Floss and I are alone. She calls once to the other horses, her ears pricked in the direction they have run. I rub the white blaze on her face. “It’s okay Flossie,” I say. “They’ll come back.” Her brown eyes rest on me. We walk along together and my heart bursts.

Thanks for reading,

Jill