Aftermath
And so lightning did strike the showground as far as we were concerned, and it was a black and gloomy day in more ways than one; the skies were dark, the rain poured down, and every disaster you can imagine came our way. It was, as they say, just Not Our Day. A pony that will jump when you ask him to even if the stride is wrong is known as ‘honest’: so brave, honest Clyde gave it his best shot, straining with all his might to clear a fence from a touch too far away on slippery ground, and it cost him. Every time I closed my eyes that night I saw endless replays of the reach, the slip, the crash, the fall, the skid, two bodies crumpled on the ground.
Good news today: Clyde’s on the mend. His knee was stiff for a day or two but we think no lasting damage. He could have received no better care at NagsR’Us had he been the most precious eventer in the land: the 5 ponies who inhabit the big pony pen were turned out, and our bruised warrior was given the run of it all to himself so he could wander around and keep moving.. He seemed incredibly perky in his luxurious accommodation, coming to the gate with his ears pricked and putting his usually aloof nose out for a fondle, obviously pleased to see us (or more likely the special Mints-for-a Wounded-Pony he whiffed from afar). Pony-girl has a splendid moustache of black bruises under her nose, having skidded along on it for three yards, but they’ll get over it.
So that was Sudeley Show, and needless to say our enthusiasm for competing has dwindled and drooped like a withered-up carrot. Not to mention that we are persona non grata with the owner of the trailer who had been roped in to offer us a lift back to the stables, Clyde being too lame to walk. Mr NewTruck was not really a happy man, and who can blame him: he hadn’t expected to have his shining brand-new trailer’s first outing spoiled by a large and hairy hitchhiker. His daughter’s pony was small, dainty and cute, and Mr NewTruck looked doubtfully at big, bolshy Clyde: I pleaded his case - “He’s no trouble to box,” and indeed Clyde hobbled up the shining ramp with no problems. Phew! Then I noticed that large brown rump coming backwards as Clyde determinedly made his way OUT again. He had to be tempted back in with Dainty’s brand new haybag, which he proceeded to shred with his teeth. Clyde’s insides decided to have a good clear-out after all the excitement, and he dumped load after steaming load on the spotless trailer floor which Mr NewTruck ceaselessly shovelled up, spurning our offers of help with gritted teeth. The rain was sheeting down, we were all drenched to the skin, and Dainty took one look at Clyde and refused to go up the ramp. So out Clyde came, in she went after a struggle, in went Clyde again. As they drove off at last I could hear a loud, angry banging from the shaking trailer and I just knew it wasn’t Dainty. Will we be asked again? I think not.
And to think we thought the worst that could happen would be to come home with no rosette….. But Clyde’s knee will mend, pony-girl’s nose will unkink, and Mr NewTruck will get the dents out of the trailer walls. Just don’t ever mention Sudeley Show to me, will you?
"I've hurt me knee, give us some of that Apple Tango, go on ..."
Good news today: Clyde’s on the mend. His knee was stiff for a day or two but we think no lasting damage. He could have received no better care at NagsR’Us had he been the most precious eventer in the land: the 5 ponies who inhabit the big pony pen were turned out, and our bruised warrior was given the run of it all to himself so he could wander around and keep moving.. He seemed incredibly perky in his luxurious accommodation, coming to the gate with his ears pricked and putting his usually aloof nose out for a fondle, obviously pleased to see us (or more likely the special Mints-for-a Wounded-Pony he whiffed from afar). Pony-girl has a splendid moustache of black bruises under her nose, having skidded along on it for three yards, but they’ll get over it.
So that was Sudeley Show, and needless to say our enthusiasm for competing has dwindled and drooped like a withered-up carrot. Not to mention that we are persona non grata with the owner of the trailer who had been roped in to offer us a lift back to the stables, Clyde being too lame to walk. Mr NewTruck was not really a happy man, and who can blame him: he hadn’t expected to have his shining brand-new trailer’s first outing spoiled by a large and hairy hitchhiker. His daughter’s pony was small, dainty and cute, and Mr NewTruck looked doubtfully at big, bolshy Clyde: I pleaded his case - “He’s no trouble to box,” and indeed Clyde hobbled up the shining ramp with no problems. Phew! Then I noticed that large brown rump coming backwards as Clyde determinedly made his way OUT again. He had to be tempted back in with Dainty’s brand new haybag, which he proceeded to shred with his teeth. Clyde’s insides decided to have a good clear-out after all the excitement, and he dumped load after steaming load on the spotless trailer floor which Mr NewTruck ceaselessly shovelled up, spurning our offers of help with gritted teeth. The rain was sheeting down, we were all drenched to the skin, and Dainty took one look at Clyde and refused to go up the ramp. So out Clyde came, in she went after a struggle, in went Clyde again. As they drove off at last I could hear a loud, angry banging from the shaking trailer and I just knew it wasn’t Dainty. Will we be asked again? I think not.
And to think we thought the worst that could happen would be to come home with no rosette….. But Clyde’s knee will mend, pony-girl’s nose will unkink, and Mr NewTruck will get the dents out of the trailer walls. Just don’t ever mention Sudeley Show to me, will you?
"I've hurt me knee, give us some of that Apple Tango, go on ..."
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