Pal Joey

Today marks the passing of a rather splendid pony.

Joey was 36 years old, maybe 37. He's been around so long, nobody is exactly sure of just how old he is. Was.

He has lived on our yard for as long as anybody can remember, a fixture, head out over the box looking for a rub and a polo, trotting gamely out to his field every afternoon, and then dragging whoever was bringing him in the next morning with his eagerness to eat his breakfast. Once across the lane and safely in the yard, you could just sling his lead rope over his neck and let him find his own way to his box because he would go ahead and take his own self in there and tuck in.

On one occasion last summer, whilst he was tied up for mucking out, but not released into the wild yet, he got his "Sod this for a game of soldiers" head on, broke free, and finding the gate open, navigated his own way to his field and sorted himself out, no help from any of us on the yard.

We were aghast that he'd broken free, that the gate had been left waywardly open, that he'd crossed a lane on his own (traffic smart boy though, and not a busy lane) and got himself settled. But there you have it, Joey knew his routine, knew what he wanted and when he wanted it and was quite single minded about getting it.

He taught so many local kids how to ride. He was a confidence builder back in the day, and my friend, the Baker, said her daughter had her very first lone hack on Joey, probably about 15 years ago.

Up until last year, he was still taking the occasional little un out for an in hand hack, steady and careful with his charges, and always kind. We put a stop to that when he got a little too frail and thin looking, although I expect if we'd asked, Joey would still have been willing. We was so kindly and gentle with the little ones. With us bigger ones, he was a bit more cheeky, because he knew we could take it!

Last Autumn he was losing lots of weight and we worried about whether he could make it through another winter. Had the vet out and blood tests, which proved inconclusive. They noted that something wasn't right, but without further intrusive investigations, they couldn't tell what. He was too old for that kind of invasive investigation, so vet suggested a steroid injection to help with his stiffness and get his condition up,and we'd see what happened.

What happened was that Joey sailed through the harshest English winter we've had in decades. What happened was that he continued to be the yard mascot, coddled, groomed, given the choicest treats on offer from every hand that walked past his box, because we loved him and loved to see him happy. Nobody could pass Joey's door without stopping to give him a fuss and offer a carrot bite, a mint, a few pony nuts, all of which he accepted with gusto and a hopeful nudge for more.

The back of his box was open to the hay barn, and also a convenient tying up spot for other horses in transit (getting their rugs changed, getting groomed and tacked up for a ride) and Joey would be there, eager to say hello, share his hay, get a mutual grooming session going on. He would not stand for bad behaviour though, and nor would I.

"Shame on you," I'd say to any upstart who dared to menace him. "Joey is our elder statesman. Show some respect!"

Joey was not easily menaced though, and very forgiving, to both his human and equine friends. And canine, come to think of it. Oh, and rodent, because he had a few mice take up residence in his box that he tolerated quite well (less well than the yard staff, judging by the "EEEEKS!").


But this morning, that changed. YO looked out her bedroom window in the morning and saw him lying down. Not typical behaviour. She hurried outside and he raised his head, got up, trotted over to the yard, but as soon as he got to his box, made ready to lie down again.

Definitely not right, so he was walked around the yard and vet was called. Colic was suspected.

It was colic. Just a small colic, caught very early, so our boy was in no distress. He was given a pain killer, the vet investigated to see if it was something simple, but it wasn't. His gut was twisted and the only solution was an op. End of the road for our dear old gent.

So it was that Joey left us.

The yard is not the same without him. That familiar, ever present, wise old head no longer hangs out over the stable door, beckoning us over for a fuss and a carrot.

I am so glad that Saturday afternoon was partly spent giving him a good scratch and lifting clumps of moulting hair off him with our fingertips, while he preened and wibbled his bottom lip with the joy of our gentle ministrations.

I am so glad that he made it through the hard winter and had a few days of being out in his field naked, with the sun on his bum, as we left rugging him up against the chilly night air as late as we could.

I am so glad that my last working encounter with him on Saturday was full of laughter and he dragged me across the yard with his eagerness.

I am so glad that on Sunday, when I was over to do stuff with Max, I slipped Joey a little piece of liquorice and told him he was handsome and grand.

And I am so sorry that he left today and I didn't get a chance to say goodbye.

Godspeed, dear little old man. You were a gentleman and I am so grateful to have known you. I wish upon all the horses a life like you had, dear Joey. A gentle, happy, long life, adored by many, and with a peaceful end.

R.I.P. our Joey. Missed by so many, always remembered with a smile.