Life's hurdles

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Life’s hurdles

The dim clouds hang in the sodden sky like filthy cotton wool. The wind is biting, and chills me to my core.

 I wipe what remains of the sandman’s apparatus from my eye and quake in the cold. My riding boots are sucked down into the mud. I’m sinking. With considerable force I pull my footwear out, making a strident slurping noise as I do so.

My jodhpurs cling as the rain saturates my clothing. I feel naked.

I survey the scene. Obnoxious brats with riding crops and spurs before me; ponies lustrous from hours of grooming nudging their adolescent owner’s pockets for sugar lumps and mint imperials. Excitable murmurs circulate about the forthcoming trial.

Occasionally they take a fleeting look my way, disapproval apparent on their plump little faces. No use looking at me like that, I think, I’m going to beat you anyway.

I squelch around to the stable door and there he is; the most stunning beast I have ever laid eyes on. The pattern of a blue stars on his graceful neck, and a cloudy dawn on the hindquarters, mane and tail the colour of a summer sky. He turns his grey eyed, gentle gaze toward me.

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‘Are you ready boy?’ I ask him. His gentle grey eyes connect with mine and he nudges me hard. I pat and stroke his neck; this is our embrace. I breathe in is his aroma, it’s wonderful, like rain-soaked pavement steaming in the hot sun.

I tack him up effortlessly. A connoisseur, he guides his head into the bridle, taking the bit with ease.

‘It’s your favourite event today,’ I tell him as I put on his saddle. A wonderful smell of leather fills the stable. I don’t think he understands but he will, very shortly.

Leading him out, he ...

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