Who needs retail therapy?

I have just come back from a couple of hours of laughing with my pony.

I woke up this morning and began to go about my business noting that I was full of irrational irritation directed towards inanimate objects. I was cursing hair slides, cereal boxes, taps, shoes that flipped out of my way as I was trying to put them on, my car door swinging closed when I wanted it open…

Got to the surgery and warned a couple of my colleagues who were sitting nearby. Said they might need to get one of the doctors to sedate me, but a dart gun would be in order for the deed.

The irritation eased as the morning wore on. Peaceful surroundings, pleasant chat and chuckling with my friends, getting through the workload and solving a couple of problems, a lunch date cancelled that left me with more time and freedom with Max than I had anticipated. The knotted thing inside me began to uncurl, but remained clenched at its heart.

And then there was Max.

Walked into his box and was greeted by a cheerful whuffle and soft muzzle offered for a kiss. Yes, I know he just wants the pony nut reward, but it’s a very endearing start to our time together nonetheless.

Spent ages working the knots and burrs out of his tail, mane and forelock, then grooming, then feet, and then back into his box carrying his roller and saddle pad.

“Harumph!” sighed Max, with a scowl.

I chided him, encouraged him, and eventually we were in the school ready for a session of lungeing, long-lining and play time.

There was nothing special about this session, other than the constant back and forth communication between the horse and his human. The position of the ears, cocked towards and listening, the gleam in the eyes “Me so cranky! Go away, I tells ya!”, the shake of the head, “No, I don’t want to canter. I won’t! I won’t, I won’t, I … oh, all right then, keep your shirt on!”

We trotted together, my posture and energy being met by Max’s with an enthusiastic “Beautiful! Good man!” from me, and a nod of satisfaction from Max.

Every change of rein I’d gather him in, give him a pony nut, make a fuss and tell him he was brilliant, and then off we’d go again.

I think anyone wandering past the school when Max and I are in session must wonder about the clucks and trills of encouragement, the enthusiastic praise and especially the laughter they hear coming from the other side of the wall.

That’s my pony though. He is very worthy of praise, my gorgeous boy and his flashy paces (when he has a mind to show off). Oh, he makes me work for it all right, and that’s part of what makes me laugh.

“Donkey! Look at you slouching! Get on with you, sir. Energy!”

“Sod off, lady. Tired now. I’ll stand in the middle and you run round me instead, OK?”

Crack of the whip (the whip does make a bloomin’ good crack when snapped correctly, but it’s never anywhere near touching the splendid Max and frankly, he pays it little heed) a stomp and a chase from me, a snort and a head shake from Max, with glaring eyes,

“Are you giving me the evils, Max?” I giggle. “Come on, bring me the good stuff! Bring it!”

Ah! And then… poetry in motion. Fluid movement, muscle, posture, grace. He takes my breath away.

“Oh Max! That’s beautiful! Good lad!”

“Stop now?” or the alternative “OK, if that’s what you want then I’ll just go, go, GO!”

And I laugh, and delight in him, and laugh some more as I watch the changes on his expressive face and read the fleeting thoughts written clearly there for me.

Retail therapy was once part of my world. A momentarily satisfying but quickly hollow fix to a busy and sometimes troubled mind.

Equine therapy is a much more satisfying and soul nourishing affair, and will do me just fine. Would not trade these moments with Max for any of the sparkly, silky things that once caught my eye. I once dreamed of achieving “the look”, the elegance of Audrey Hepburn. Well, I’ve got it, but it’s not what I wear, it’s that horse that calls out to me when I drive on to the yard.

You may look at a photo and see an endearing scruffy pony… Take my word for it, he’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”.