With Halloween just around the corner and All Saints Day falling the day after, I thought it'd be fun to recount a couple of stories about one Saintly pony and one grumpy Warmblood.

The Saintly Connemara.

Many, many, many years ago, far too many to dwell on, I owned a pony in a million. At just 12 years old my parents bought me a just backed 5 year old Connemara pony, to say this pony was a total Saint is the understatement of the century! I can recount so many amazing stories of our journey together but one of my favourites is due to the fact that three generations on the maternal side of my family are involved in this tale, my grandmother, my mother and me.

This particular Connemara was the pony my mother never had as a child; due in part to her being a war baby but mainly due to my grandparents not being horsey and living in London. My mother has always loved Connemara's so as soon as the opportunity arose, a stunning yet green Connemara was bought, allegedly for me but looking back I'm sure he was really my mothers. Right from the word go this pony was special, but on one particular day he proved just what a Saint he was. My grandparents had come to stay and my grandmother confessed to my mother that she'd love to sit on a horse whilst she was still able to try. Now at the time my grandmother was in her late 70's and had never ridden before so why on earth she suddenly decided she'd like to get on a horse only she would know. The Saint was tacked up and taken to the indoor school completely oblivious to the fate that was about to befall him! My grandmother at this time was not the most agile, and unlike my mother and I who are both lucky to be tall and slim, my grandmother was short and a bit round, sorry gran! So Saintly pony was positioned at the mounting block, my grandmother was told the process of how to get on and being a game lady she gave it her best shot. Unfortunately, mounting a horse did not come naturally to my grandmother whom once she had her foot in the stirrup, simply could not find the strength or dexterity to swing her leg over let alone have the agility to stretch her other leg down to the ground or attempt to put it back on the mounting block whilst removing her foot from the stirrup ‐ to all intents and purposes my grandmother was now stuck! Being a family that finds fun in many situations, all three of us couldn't stop laughing which obviously didn't help my grandmother's situation! The Saintly Connemara stood like a rock and gentleman that he was whilst my mother stood behind my grandmother with both her hands on her derriere and pushed and pushed, laughed and puffed until my grandmother finally managed to heave herself into the saddle. To this day, I cannot think about my late grandmother and the late Saintly pony without remembering this and smiling.

The Grumpy Warmblood Sinner.

Fast forward a couple of decades to my thirties, where I found myself the proud owner of a beautiful, talented British Warmblood. Beautiful and talented he may have been, but he was perhaps the grumpiest horse in his stable I have ever met. You entered his stable and any areas outside of his stable that he could stretch to reach you at your peril. He was a kicker and a biter and terrorising unsuspecting humans, especially men and vets was his favourite pastime but cats and dogs he loved. Now, our stables looked out over the driveway and my husband always stopped the car and had a chat with the horses, except Mr Grumpy, when coming or going if they were in their stables. On this particular day, he stopped and got out of the car (he's not a horsey husband but thankfully a very tolerant one) and went to chat with the chestnut looking out over his door which he believed to be our ex racehorse, who was the gentlest and most loving of horses. My husband came into the house and happily proceeded to tell me how he'd had a lovely cuddle and chat with the ex racehorse. I said, "Oh you've been in the field to see him?" Husband "No, he's in the stable." Me "He's not you know." It was at this point that horrified realisation hit that he had been cuddling the grumpy, husband hating chestnut warmblood! I feel I should explain that this warmblood looked nothing like our ex racehorse aside from them both being chestnut, albeit different shades of chestnut, one had a large white stripe, the other no white on his face, one had four white socks, the other none, I'm sure you get the picture so how my husband could mix them up and escape unscathed is beyond me. To be honest, I'm not sure who was more horrified, my husband at cuddling a horse that hated him or the warmblood at being cuddled by a man he hated!

We at Equetech would love to hear your stories on your Saints or Sinners, please comment on our social media pages with any uplifting, thought provoking, funny or heartfelt stories you have about your Saints or Sinners!