03/10/2022
A Very True Story from a horse/pony
by Georgie Roberts..
"Dear Parents
I’m sorry.
Right off the bat, you should know that this is a lie.
I’m going to mash your children’s toes, break their hearts, make them cry, and will act oblivious to all of this. I’m sorry in an amused way, because they will never blame ME, and when you – in interest of their longevity – threaten to sell me, they will hate YOU.
I’m sorry because gone are weekends at shopping malls, or holidays away.
Your child will need sunblock instead of mascara, and the fun of the xbox will fade in comparison to my sound-barrier-breaking gallop that makes you bite your fist as you watch us disappear in the country.
In the wrong direction.
Your car will be forever dusty on the outside, and downright revolting on the inside after a show day. And when they ARE excited to go to the coast, I’ll lay down three carrots that the next statement will be ‘Can Buttercup come, Dad?’
Your child will however grow up with many attributes.
For example, they will never do drugs, because they will be too poor to afford them. Except for Myprodol, which I will prescribe for them at least biannually. Your child will learn resilience, that if you aren’t going to hospital, you are getting back on. And I will personally teach your child that life isn’t fair; that if you want to have even a chance of finishing first, you need to train your ass off, but even then, and even though it’s not your fault, sometimes manure happens. Like in the middle of a showjumping round where I will stop dead, and be unmoved by her kicks until I have done my business. I’m sorry because you won’t be able to stop laughing, and this will again be your fault.
In the day of over-indulgence, you may as well go ahead and buy me a nun’s habit, because I will drum sacrifice and sharing into my little humans. They will learn pretty soon that you can’t have it all – you can have a pretty pony OR a fast pony OR a healthy pony. You can have the pink numnah OR the blue halter.
I'm genuinely sorry my clothes are so expensive.
It doesn’t make any sense to me either.
Your kids will grow up with huge empathy. I’m sorry about this because you will be perpetually housing strays – two and four legged. You will have to console your weeping child over the loss of living things they have poured their love into. They will learn how to rehabilitate pigeons, and argue with the Spar about dolphin friendly tuna. You will be donating all your spare change (and then some) to the Highveld Horse Care Unit.
I’m not sure why I should be sorry about this. I can think of worse ways for your child to grow up.
I won’t even pretend to be sorry for disciplining your children. If they tease me, I WILL bite them. If they are slow, I WILL run away from them. If they smack me and it’s not my fault, I WILL deposit them on the ground. If you do your job better, I won't have to.
I’m sorry, because no one will ever quite match up to me.
I will always own your little girl’s heart, I will always be your little boy’s partner in crime. They may grow up and get married, but their spouses will always have to be patient with them pulling out the old snapshots for guests, exaggerating their feats shamelessly to your grandchildren, and smiling wistfully as they recall the first delicious taste of freedom I shared with them on morning outrides, or the secrets I kept from afternoons whispering into my hairy neck.
I’m sorry that your child will grow up with a wild heart, already filled with things other children can only imagine. Adventures and, well, misadventures. That they will always glow, that they will always be slightly untouchable, that they will be a little misunderstood, and they will never ever mind. I’m sorry, because it must be hard to live with a little person who has already conquered personal mountains. The wooden spoon is just not an effective threat any more!
Your kid is gonna be TOUGH. Outside and in. I’m sorry not to you, but to life. Because they are going to learn pretty soon on that you cannot be ambivalent about anything, that lines are made to be crossed, chances have to be grabbed, hearts are made for loving and breaking and loving again. I’ll teach them this by running away from them in the paddock, bucking them off, standing on them, getting sick, getting better, and bucking them off again. Horses are simply not a hobby for sissies or mediocrity.
I’m sorry that you will need to (quickly) become adept at a wide range of skills you never dreamed of... many a parent has picked up p**p bare-handed, driven across country at ungodly hours with a horsebox, or learned how to read a dressage test. But would you really rather be waiting outside the mall, dragging them away from parties instead of stables, or finding photos of Justin Bieber instead of Valegro on their phones?
Mostly, however, I’m sorry because I’m sure you never realised the journey that I would be taking YOU on.
That all these lessons would be yours, that you would have trusted your child to my wide back and relearned to be patient, loving, humble and young.
That you will catch yourself scratching my chin one day with begrudging affection, even though I’ll be twenty nine and you will still be paying for me, feigning annoyance with phrases like ‘The ones you hate live forever’.
Because when they outgrow me, and time comes for me to move on, you will find that it is your eyes that get a ‘bug’ stuck in them, and that it’s you who starts saying ‘But what if we just LEASE him?’ or ‘He’s one of the family dear, we wouldn't sell YOU, but we might if you sell HIM.’
Because every time you look at me, you will see the gifts that my fat little frame brought into your lives, and you will be eternally grateful for the child that I raised for you.
Sincerely,
He Who Shall Not Be Tamed, ‘WHOAOHGODWHOA’, Hell Pony."
(original by Georgie Roberts)
Situated in the beautiful natural surrounds of the Mount Ridge Conservancy in Vereeniging, we offer riding lessons, out rides, party ponies, therapeutic riding, camps, courses and fun events.
