This one is hard

Ooft. This one is going to be hard.

Next in my story is Elvis, my little arab that I bought as a low maintenance, pre-trained, middle aged horse, that I could have as a side hobby, while I lived the rest of my life studying, partying, working and being a 19yo.

After realising that I actually couldn't live without riding (see previous blog), I bought Elvis as a then 11yo with the intention that if I had a horse that was 'easy' and didn't require 'training', then it would be far easier and far less stressful for me. I could just ride a few times a week and compete and woila, no dramas, piece of cake....

I went down and rode Elvis before buying this time (thank you Dylan for that lesson) and he was exactly what was promised. Fat, shiny, pretty and presence like The King (Elvis) himself. So I bought him and got him trucked up to Darwin from Sydney.

Elvis arrived and we started competing in the Darwin show scene, all the while him slowly worming his way into my heart. He was smart, had an ego, was an attention seeker and liked to play games. While living the Territory life, he was residing with my sister and brother-in-laws polocrosse horses. My brother-in-law would practice and try to bail Elvis up in the paddock, and get his polocrosse horses to read, react and block other horses. But Elvis outsmarted them all… and the brother-in-law too.

We moved to Brisbane the following year and Elvis came with us. Unfortunately the truck trip down was awful and Elvis got off the other end with the transporter cautioning me about my safety. He was an underweight nervous wreck, rearing when I tried to lead him and had developed sacro-iliac issues. It took the next 6-12 months for me to put weight back on him, rehabilitate him physically and then be able to mentally work with him again. Thankfully Elvis put enough trust back in me to come out the other side, and we built a partnership together that revolved around... him :)

We got back out there and strutted our stuff on the QLD show circuit winning countless champions. One of Elvis's all time favourite moments was the lap of honour at the Ekka... The memory of being a passenger on his back, trying to contain his ego while he showed off to the crowd applauding him, always makes me smile.

I gradually transitioned more into dressage and after meeting some lovely locals and a new coach, started to change the way I rode. Over the next few years we defied our coaches words and started training tempi changes, canter zig zags, and pirouettes. Elvis was always 'interesting' to ride when I applied a little pressure, so I was always 'diffusing' him. I stopped competing him and just had fun learning the coordination of aids and feel.

Elvis and I playing around on a summer evening

5 years after we moved, my dad passed away from blood cancer and Elvis became my saviour. I would go out and cry into his coat, ride him out on the trails and climb up steep cliffs, stand atop look outs and just breathe. I'd ride him bareback with no shoes and feel his coat between my toes and anchor myself back to earth through him.

With me moving into dressage, I purchased a young horse and gradually eased Elvis into retirement. Even then I would take him for the odd bareback ride, where he’d flick his head around in enjoyment at being the ‘chosen one’. I even dinkied my sister on him to grab some rakes from a back paddock after him not being ridden for years and then on our way back to the house professed to my sister “I don’t think he’s actually ever had more than one person on him before”.

Elvis was as stereotypically gay as a horse can get. If he was human, he’d be the flamboyant dramatic type that always put on a show, but one of the kindest you’d meet.

It was always all about Elvis and continued throughout his retirement until his untimely passing at 27yo. Elvis’s death rocked me to my core and it snowballed into one of my darkest times where I completely stepped back from horses for over a year.

Elvis was the horse that never failed to make me laugh. The horse I could play jokes with. And the horse who always had his eyes on me, predominantly making sure he had my attention, which he always did.

(Some old photos from the archives. I never got any good shots of Elvis because he was straight up in my face as soon as he saw me.)

And then there was Ellie May

Straight after year 12 exams I flew down to Sydney and was picked up from the airport on the way to Inglis thoroughbred sales, thoroughbred in the float and ready to be sold!

About 2 months prior I had emailed one of my favourite horse studs and asked if they would be interested in a live-in stud hand, for a girl from Darwin fresh out of school. One phone call later, the answer yes and the plans began. Thankfully, the stud owners were not axe-murderers and in fact welcomed me into the stud, their home and family.

I found these mushrooms in one of the forests on the stud and thought I had stepped into a fairytale.

One of the horses on the stud was a 4yo chestnut anglo mare, that I was fortunate to ride. Ellie May was an absolute sweet heart and I quickly fell in love. We literally walked up the road to our first show (alongside the owner riding their stallion) and she coped with the rides, carriage horses and showjumping next door. Ellie May was exactly what I needed after Dylan. We could go out on the trails on our own, do gallops across the paddock and not have a care in the world.

Gwaihir Aubusson and Ellie May (Gazelle de Gwaihir)

One of my most embarassing moments is because of Ellie May. We were at a show and I was leading her out in a led class, running as fast and as graceful as I could while trying to keep up with her big trot (I’m 5’3 and she was 16.1hh). I made the fatal mistake of trotting her while turning around, instead of coming back to a walk, turning and then trotting again. What resulted was Ellie May swinging her leg in front of mine, causing an epic superman-esque launch through the air, dropping the reins and skidding face and belly first in the muddy grass. Ellie May ever so kindly stopped and waited for me to get up and carry on back to the judge who was trying their hardest not to laugh while I bowed covered in grass and mud.

During my time there I was offered the opportunity to buy Ellie May, and we answered a big resounding yes. After spending 7 months at the stud, I returned to Darwin and brought Ellie May back with me. I continued in the dressage and showing scene where we were training medium level dressage and qualified for the Grand Nationals.

As a then 19yo working full time, studying part time, going out clubbing and having a boyfriend, something eventually gave... and that was the horses. I sold Ellie May & all my riding gear, expecting never to ride again.

A couple of months later the horse bug was back, and I pulled Lilli out and brought her back into work. The regret I had back then and still to this day for selling this wonderful mare is still strong. But, it was a ‘sliding doors moment’ for the horses and path I took next.

Ellie May went through a few homes and ended back up at the stud in pretty poor health. She was rehabbed to be a happy paddock ornament and enjoyed the rest of her days with those she began them with.

The start of it all.

It was my beautiful dog, Patsy’s birthday this week turning a big 5 (which is apparently the equivalent of 40 years, making us both the same age - nyaww). It had me being all nostalgic and thinking back over all our adventures and where life has led us. Obviously Patsy had zero say in having horses in her life, but unlike her I wasn’t born into a horsey family.

My sister and I were horse mad from a young age, cantering around (on-foot) the backyard, making jumps and pretty much “hobby-horsing”, before it was a thing (if you haven’t heard of it, be warned, it is a very serious sport now and they have championships all over the world…). We went to a riding school weekly, got our pony club certificates and convinced our parents that we could definitely have our own.

Smartly, our parents decided to lease a horse first through a riding centre. With their help we landed an old, underweight, rainscald ridden and leech bitten horse to take on. Probably not so smart.

Glen was a 15.3hh, 21yo arab x standardbred gelding. Red bay with a star and two socks. He had been around, seen many things and learnt much more in the process. Glen was as tough as they come, and he promptly picked up condition, grew all his coat back and the sparkle in his eyes returned.

We learnt the real basics of horse ownership with Glen… vet bills, horses having an opinion (especially older ones), saddle fitting, feed, more vet bills and most importantly how smart arabs are and how stubborn standardbreds are.

Glen was a real character. He was mostly very un-enthused about riding and would flop his bottom lip and ears like a goofball, making sure we were absolutely certain in our riding plans for the day. While kind, he had a cheeky side and regularly used it to his advantage. If we were jumping, or trail riding, or if he was just feeling fresh, his ears would prick forward (also a lesson every horse rider learns… pricked forward ears = “oh no”) and you knew you were not in for a relaxing ride. Even into his mid-twenties, he’d have his fresh days and would shy and bolt at whatever he thought might make a reasonable excuse… shadows and boogey men.

My sister and I convinced our parents to build stables and paddocks at home, and with that Glen (and our second horse, Shorty) moved in. Moving from the social stables to having horses at home was an initial adjustment, but very quickly we were able to witness their personalities on a more personal level.

As my sister and I moved onto other horses, Glen was ridden every now and again by our mum. Learning all the riding basics like eyes up and heels down (mostly so you could keep an eye on his ears and hang on when he shied).

Shorty and Glen (double dinking)

Living with them at our back door we could see the way they interacted with each other, their routines, their foibles. Who they were. And they became part of the family. On weekends Glen used to park himself under the verandah, and watch the tv through the window. We had to make sure all the doors were closed, because on a couple of occasions, he let himself inside the house and we had to figure out how to turn him around and get him out safely without spooking him or hitting a fan or wall or door! He (and Shorty) also loved all the treats that came with home life. Especially when my dad specifically bought packets of finger buns to watch them be inhaled.

Glen lived to the age of 30 and was the top of the herd until the day he died. I have so many amazing memories of him that still make me smile and giggle. He really was the start of it all and my affinity with arabs.

I started photography after Glen, but below are some arabs and partbreds for your viewing pleasure.