The Calm Heart of the Herd
In 2012 I bought a project mare. My friend and I went to see her about an hour away after I had seen a short little video on Facebook of a sparky little horse popping one fence with a swish of her tail and a bounce to her stride.
When we got there I found a beautiful little 16hh bay mare being ridden in a Pelham but not really going anywhere. I got on and I could barely get her moving myself. The owner enthusiastically offered to put up a cross pole for me to jump and, more because we'd made the effort to get there than anything else, I thought, OK, do that.
The first time she jumped it was horrible - tight and sideways and certainly not a horse you would immediately think of taking home. The second time, though, she pinged over the top of it with a huge slice of joie de vivre that told me that somewhere in there was a little horse with a big heart and a big jump.
I didn't vet her. There was no point; she would have failed. Instead I sent the video to my amazing physio and asked her what she thought because the mare was so tight through her body, although I didn't think she was actually lame. She agreed, so we went back, I signed the paper saying she was sold as seen and took her home.
My vet checked her and found that her back was incredibly sore, although thankfully there didn't seem to be any skeletal damage, so he prescribed rest and Danilon. Then, along with my physio, we spent the next few months slowly building her up again with lots of groundwork once she had been given enough time off.
That was many years ago now. She was 12 then and sadly I lost her a few weeks ago, aged 24.
Her name was Scarlett and she lived her best life here on the farm.
Jumping-wise we had a lot of fun together. She would always jump one or two fences on a course with completely unnecessary extra height just for fun, and you could never tell which fences they were going to be. She caught me off guard plenty of times. She never said no to a fence that I remember and I never asked too much of her. She had her quirks and I worked around them.
One thing I did struggle with was her hormones. As she got older they seemed to cause her quite a lot of pain and tightness and I have often wondered whether that was where some of the original back pain came from. It wouldn't surprise me.
She was always fun to ride though, and she never did anything horrible to try to dump you. No bucking, rearing or napping; it just wasn't in her nature. I loved her fire and spark, both in the ring and at home.
Eventually travelling seemed to make whatever was going on much worse and she started sweating terribly even on short journeys. We had veterinary treatment and tried to work it out but never really got to the bottom of it.
In the end I decided enough was enough after I arrived at a show, let the lorry ramp down and she looked like she had had a shower. It just wasn't fair on her anymore, so I stopped travelling her.
She then bred me the most beautiful filly, Arianna, who arrived in the rain because Scarlett absolutely refused to give birth in a stable and instead headed for the far reaches of the farm. We ended up bringing the foal back down in a wheelbarrow before she got chilled, and I remember sitting with friends drinking tea to warm up and picking foal names.
After Arianna was weaned I rode Scarlett again for a while, mainly as a way of keeping weight off her. She was always a good doer, but eventually proper retirement beckoned and she loved it.
Some horses seem to need to be kept busy and doing things. Scarlett was much more of a give me my breakfast and leave me to it kinda gal.
She lived happily retired here for several years until a few weeks ago, when a catastrophic internal emergency left us with no choice but to put her kindly to sleep.
When I think about her, though, which I do a lot, the thing I miss most has very little to do with riding, jumping or competing.
It was just her quiet presence here.
Scarlett was always the horse on the edge of the herd. She never got involved in herd dramas, she never chased anyone around and she certainly wasn't interested in being in the middle of everything. She liked scratches with her daughter and her friends, but she also liked her own company. Everyone could be her friend, but on her terms, and if she didn't want their company she simply walked away.
Her gentle nature made her the horse I relied on whenever I introduced someone new. New horses seemed to know she was safe. She never bit them or kicked them or bullied them, and neither did she make a fuss. She just got on with things.
The last horse she really took under her wing was Bryn, my new ex-racer. When he arrived he was frightened of everyone and had absolutely no idea where he fitted into this strange new herd life.
He clung to Scarlett as if his life depended on it. Wherever she went, he went. If she moved, he moved. If she stood, he stood.
Scarlett, I should add, was not especially thrilled by this level of devotion. I think she found him rather annoying.
But she tolerated him, as ever, and in her own way gave him exactly what he needed at the time: one horse he knew wasn't going to hurt him.
Now she is gone I realise just how much that steadiness affected the whole herd.
If the wind blew and something flapped, Scarlett would never have left her evening hay to gallop around in a panic. The others might have had a spin, but sooner or later they would look over, see her still eating and come back and settle again.
I had some sheep in a pen the other day. The horses couldn't see them but they could hear them, and for literally a week they ran around every night at hay time convinced monsters were in there, even after the sheep had gone.
I kept thinking Scarlett would never have done that. She would have stood there eating and, because she was unflustered, the others would eventually have worked out there was nothing to worry about either.
It has made me realise how much she did without appearing to do anything at all.
I miss her beautiful striking face every time I look out into the field. You could see her a mile off with her white blaze. I miss seeing her standing or lying snoozing slightly apart from everyone else but very much with them all, or munching quietly, unconcerned with whatever shenanigans were going on around her.
That's not to say she didn't love to kick her heels up now and again, but generally she considered this a waste of good eating time.
And I miss watching new horses gravitate towards her because they just knew she was safe.
Her legacy on my farm is far greater than any shows we did or fences we jumped.
Yes, I will always remember those ridiculous jumps where she decided one fence deserved at least another foot of air underneath her. Her daughter Arianna, who was sadly just too small for me, is now with a lovely young rider who is enjoying the same sort of temperament and talent that her dam had. We stay in touch and I can see her at shows.
Every herd seems to have one horse whose quiet heart keeps everyone else sensible. Scarlett was mine. And now she is gone, the gap she has left feels enormous.
Funnily enough, though, it is ex-racer Bryn who seems to have picked up the mantle and refuses to be in the least bothered by the antics of the younger horses.
But then he had time here to learn from the best.
So here's to those horses like Scarlett who leave a quiet mark on our hearts.
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