Saddle Sunday
The panic is over! The old fraud was back to normal (feisty and glaring) when we turned up breathless at dawn to check up on him. Worn his new Likit down to a stub again and performed very nicely in the Sunday owners’ free-for-all in the top school. I did some sterling work integrating J into the clique of other junior owners, as the ultimate aim is of course to leave her there with them while I go home and cook the Sunday roast. I fear it may be an uphill task because while the other girls are welcoming and friendly, J is something of an antisocialite. She takes after her father, RPD, who was last heard to speak in the cricket season.
This hasn’t gone unnoticed by Pat, who barked at me "You ‘ere again? You don’t have to hang around with her all the time you know! Just leave her and GO!" I shrank into my huge Musto coat and tried to look unnoticeable – not easy when you are the size of a mountain draped in billowing beige.
I took some pictures of Clyde today and posted them on hard-facts. I think he looks very nice in them and I have to say I thought he was the handsomest horse there this morning, even beside Trop the beautiful ex-racehorse who was prancing around in a nervy way. Ex-racehorses may trot quite sedately up to a small crosspole such as in the topschool this morning - but immediately on landing they take off at a headlong bolt for the finish line leaping everything in sight, just as they’ve been taught from birth. Her owner Maggie has still some work to do there I’d say, and no doubt she will be starting on that as soon as she manages to turn Trop round.
The big excitement of the morning, apart from Clyde’s brighteyed, sparkling good health and being banned by Pat, was the arrival of Clyde’s New Saddle. He came with one tossed in contemptuously with the price; it doesn't fit him very well owing to his saggy back which has a dip in it like an old sofa. RPD winced and skittered at the idea of buying a new saddle, but I reminded him how much we had saved on buying Clyde and not the Arabian dream. "You must be having trouble finding room to stash away all the money you’ve saved recently," was his sarky reply, but he agreed. New English leather saddles cost more than two Clydes, but precious pony-girl turned her nose up at a synthetic Wintec, though those seem OK to a neophyte like me, being lighter and easy to wipe over with a damp cloth. But pony-girl loves to pass the hours with various straps and bottles of neatsfoot oil and saddlesoap, so a compromise was reached on second-hand leather. The NagsR’Us saddler was sent for and I was assured by Belle and Caresse (my favourite mother-daughter team at the stables) that he would find us the right saddle – ‘no matter what it costs, it will be worth it!’ But Belle and Caresse, while lovely people, are so rich they have no idea how real people live, so I set an upper limit of £250-£350. The saddler, Mr Moneybags, produced a saddle this morning which fits Clyde perfectly, and can be worn with his rosepink numnah. I noticed the cost was £375 but it seemed so petty to raise a quavering pony-mum quibble amid the squeals of admiration as Clyde strutted proudly around the yard.
This hasn’t gone unnoticed by Pat, who barked at me "You ‘ere again? You don’t have to hang around with her all the time you know! Just leave her and GO!" I shrank into my huge Musto coat and tried to look unnoticeable – not easy when you are the size of a mountain draped in billowing beige.
I took some pictures of Clyde today and posted them on hard-facts. I think he looks very nice in them and I have to say I thought he was the handsomest horse there this morning, even beside Trop the beautiful ex-racehorse who was prancing around in a nervy way. Ex-racehorses may trot quite sedately up to a small crosspole such as in the topschool this morning - but immediately on landing they take off at a headlong bolt for the finish line leaping everything in sight, just as they’ve been taught from birth. Her owner Maggie has still some work to do there I’d say, and no doubt she will be starting on that as soon as she manages to turn Trop round.
The big excitement of the morning, apart from Clyde’s brighteyed, sparkling good health and being banned by Pat, was the arrival of Clyde’s New Saddle. He came with one tossed in contemptuously with the price; it doesn't fit him very well owing to his saggy back which has a dip in it like an old sofa. RPD winced and skittered at the idea of buying a new saddle, but I reminded him how much we had saved on buying Clyde and not the Arabian dream. "You must be having trouble finding room to stash away all the money you’ve saved recently," was his sarky reply, but he agreed. New English leather saddles cost more than two Clydes, but precious pony-girl turned her nose up at a synthetic Wintec, though those seem OK to a neophyte like me, being lighter and easy to wipe over with a damp cloth. But pony-girl loves to pass the hours with various straps and bottles of neatsfoot oil and saddlesoap, so a compromise was reached on second-hand leather. The NagsR’Us saddler was sent for and I was assured by Belle and Caresse (my favourite mother-daughter team at the stables) that he would find us the right saddle – ‘no matter what it costs, it will be worth it!’ But Belle and Caresse, while lovely people, are so rich they have no idea how real people live, so I set an upper limit of £250-£350. The saddler, Mr Moneybags, produced a saddle this morning which fits Clyde perfectly, and can be worn with his rosepink numnah. I noticed the cost was £375 but it seemed so petty to raise a quavering pony-mum quibble amid the squeals of admiration as Clyde strutted proudly around the yard.
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