Confidence regained

First hack after I my tumble. I’m not really nervous, but I don’t want it to happen again, yet! I make sure we ride out with Harry’s best friend Red, the weather is warm and sultry – too hot for massive spooks - and everything goes absolutely fine

I’ve only fallen off Harry four times in the seven years I’ve owned him, a testament to what a steady boy he is. My first tumble was when we were cross country schooling at Peper Harrow. He was being really good, then I pushed my luck. I asked him to jump a steep step down into the water complex, and after a few objections he obliged, but slipped as he went in and I fell onto the bank. Poor Harry looked bewildered, wading about in the water as I watched from dry land – it took me some time to persuade him that water complexes were not scary after that!

The next fall was out hunting. Harry swerved as we approached a fence, stopped, then jumped from a standstill, catapulting me over his head. I was winded, but he stayed around, thank goodness, I got back on again and did a couple more hours.

The third time was very much like my most recent fall. We were on familiar ground, I was feeling very relaxed in canter, then I went out the side door when Harry shied at a Labrador popping out of the bushes.

None of my falls have done much damage – thank goodness – but at my age, boy, do they hurt!

Getting the wind up

I ride Harry out on the most blustery day of the year. The wind is roaring like a jet plane, but he holds it together for a while, until we approach a salt box on the side of the road that he’s always suspicious of. I encourage him to walk close by, and just as we pass, a plastic bag flies up behind it. EEEK! Harry startles violently, then minces on, eyes on stalks.

We reach his friend Red’s yard and Harry breathes an audible sigh of relief. We proceed on our hack, trying to keep to sheltered areas, but both boys are bothered in their particular horsey way. Red, mostly Thoroughbred, tends to spook and swerve; Harry, the cob, tends to stop and stare, and then let Red take the lead. So we make our jerky, nervy way around the common, and breath a sigh of relief when we’re home.

I lead Harry out to his field, and he spots another plastic bag in the fence line. Gradually I coax him to approach. Snorting like a stallion, he gives it one evil eye, then the other. He finally touches it, and YIKES, a massive gust blows it into the air – it’s happened again! He scoots a few yards away, then looks at me aggrievedly: “How could you?”

An extra strong mint once we’re back in the field means we’re friends again, but we agree we don’t like wind…not any kind!