Curry Comb Tales: Volume I

By L. Davies

Equines have brought us joy and pleasure for many years but a look inside the mind of one, that lonely mare standing in a field or the riding school pony being kicked and hauled around an arena, may open up a different perspective altogether. Where the healers come into play with their soft breaths and nuzzles in the morning we owe them kindness in return, two beings uplifted in the high of competition and not waved off in failure, the sale good and done and no regrets to be had.

They may not speak our language but we may learn theirs, if only we learn a little lightness.

This is a collection of short tales based in the world of equestrianism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. Davies
• Release date: Dec 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386435341

Book preview

A Mare’s Day

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I’ve eaten all my hay and waiting on breakfast is taking far, far too long. I’d think about kicking my door, if it was not a gate, my stable the largest on the whole yard. Well, if you didn’t count the other foaling boxes, where my mother came in to have me, many years back. I’ve been here a long time, but I’ve been to other places too. I may make faces, but I like going to new places and seeing new horses.

That said, I really do like my breakfast more.

Light flickers across the stable yard and I crane my head over the door, my bed a mess of droppings and dirty straw behind me. Surely they must be coming now? It is light! I know that it is cold and that means that they do not usually come until later, but with the light comes people and people have both hay and sweet feed. These are very good things.

Ah, there they are now! The dogs set up a storm of barking and I briefly pin my ears back, even though there’s no one here yet to take notice of my displeasure. Noisy things they are. But they don’t bother me and I don’t bother them. It’s a kind of compromise that I only tentatively agree to, but only because they mostly keep their distance from me.

Someone plods down to my stable on the bottom yard and I nicker to greet them as they wheel a clunky old barrow of hay down. That’s more like it! I barely take the time to greet them properly, keen to stick my head into the sweet new sustenance and fill my belly. For I haven’t been fed since the night before and – heavens! I must surely be starving by now! I should demand a bigger hay net.

Once the hay is dropped over my door, I turn my attention from the small human immediately, tail flicking. It’s good to stick my nose into it and snatch up delicious mouthful after mouthful and that occupies me for a little while as the rest of the yard is hayed, waters topped up with the splatter of the hosepipe where needed. My bucket is, like everything else I have, one of the biggest and very best on the yard, so it holds far more water than I could ever drink in a night. I do sometimes drop my hay in it – accidentally, of course – to make them give me a change. Nothing like a freshly scrubbed bucket in the morning!

But my stomach yawns for something more than hay and I listen impatiently for the trundle of the wheelbarrow bringing the feed buckets down, but I’m only interested in one tub in particular. A robin flits and perches on the fence beside the bench, head cocked as he checks whether or not there’s any food going. I know how he feels: I’m hungry too.

Well, okay – maybe that is a little dramatic. They have been making comments about how round I am lately, but, really, it’s winter. I need a little insulation if they’re going to clip off my coat again. It’s self-preservation, I tell you.

When the feed bucket is finally dropped over my door, I can’t get my nose into it fast enough. Snorting, I dig into the chaff and sugar beet, everything I need in this little bucket of goodness. And, oh, it’s so very good. I could go for a second feed too, but I don’t think they’d quite let me get away with that. Sometimes they say I’m greedy.

With my belly full, I munch contentedly on my hay, flicking my ears to catch the sounds of life moving on the yard while I rest. There’s much going on and the bustle increases as they go from stable to stable, cleaning out the waste of the night before. It doesn’t really concern me until they reach my stable, however, so I take advantage of the time to muse and doze, taking an interest where there is actually something particularly interesting to look that. Sleeping is also an important activity, so I take care not to skimp on this while no one is after my attention.

Eventually, after what seems like an age, a woman with a wheelbarrow stacked with tools comes to do my stable. Before I can blink, she slips a head collar over my nose and ties me up to the ring on the wall of my stables. I don’t really object, but she’s interesting enough for me to turn my head from the plump hay net she yanks up into position.

The stable is quickly cleaned, droppings forked up into a pile (thank you, stable maid!) and wet straw piled in the barrow. Leaving me tied up, she darts out quickly and I follow her path up the muck heap, emptying it right at the very back. It’s funny how all the dirty stuff from our stables is thrown up there, but it doesn’t really bother me so it doesn’t raise my curiosity too much either. Sometimes a big truck will scoop up all or most of it and take it away, leaving the humans to start the pile from the bottom all over again. It’s a bit repetitive, but I like the habit of it. Rhythm to life is nice.

My stall is filled with clean straw, banks fluffed up – I’m sure I’ll have to have a little snooze against one of them later on – and clean, fresh water splashes into my bucket, filling it all the way up to the brim. I think I’ll be released into the stable again now, but, strangely, that is not so and she whips my stable rug off to hang over the door. All is revealed, however, when she slides another rug, one with a thicker layer on the outside that keeps the rain from my coat, over my back and goes to do up the straps.

I bob my head and give a little snort. Out? Time to be out!

Jigging a hoof, I snort and shift as the rug is done up over my chest and under my belly, nudging at the girl to make her go faster. Although she laughs, she pushes me away and it doesn’t really make her go any faster anyway. Boots are strapped to all four of my legs and I lower my head to inspect them too: good enough by my standards, though I do wonder sometimes just why I have to wear them.

The lead rope is untied and then I’m out, staring and blowing at everything, although my walk stays just the same. A coloured mare, Tiff, they call her, whinnies to me from the top yard and I call back to her, knowing that soon we’ll get to go out and explore together.

It’s just the two of us going out today, it seems, and I’m off as soon as the head collar slips from my head. The gate bangs closed behind us and I jerk into a long-legged canter, the soft, sloppy ground sucking at my hooves. It’s good enough for a quick blast, however, once we’re away from the gate and Tiff snorts and dances, younger than me and still fired up after her work. I suppose the young have endless energy these days, but I’m more interested in the serious business of grazing.

It doesn’t feel as vital to bounce and stretch my legs at the moment, as I have been out of my stable a lot more, but I like getting my head down to a good graze all the same. Tiffany eventually quietly settles down beside and we much our way across the field in companionable silence as an hour and then another passes. The clouds scurry across the sky, but it stays dry enough and, even if it does rain, I know I’ve got my neck cover on and I’ll be warm and dry either way.

When they come to bring us in, I lower my head into the head collar easily and accept walking back to the yard, only pulling once – okay, twice – to call to Finley and Taz. The geldings neigh back to me, telling me that all is well and safe on the yard, and I swish my tail as I walk, pausing only to bop the lady leading me lightly on the shoulder. Maybe she has mints?

One treat is forthcoming and I crunch is up happily as I settle back into my stable for the night, everything clean and fresh and tidy. I yawn, shaking my mane off my neck as my rug is changed again, the thicker material quickly warming with the heat of my body. One of the youngsters, Das, trots around the arena, working with my owner on his back. I watch for a while, flicking one ear, but the lure my hay net is too much as twilight closes in and I retreating to the ever important task of eating.

One day may come to an end, but there is still supper to look forward to.

A Touch of the Classic

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Well, this is new.

Can you believe that I don’t know what to think? Your seat and legs are quiet, barely moving, and it’s your hands that direct me – but not with backwards pulls on the reins, drawing the bit across my tongue. No, I can see out of the corner of my eye, though it took me a few moments to realise just what you wanted from me, how your hand moves out rather than back, opening the door for me to step into. The opposing rein is easier to feel against my neck, supporting the opposite side of my body so my shoulder comes together more easily, all working together.

I think this is how it’s supposed to be. I have to listen quite carefully to you, but you make your movements big for me, yet they are still so gentle, a little new and curious at first yet certainly nothing that I can complain at. The bit lifts into the corner of my mouth and I readily offer the bend on my good side, stepping round into a tight circle as the rein opens too. Go this way. Easy, isn’t it?

A rein drawing back would have shown me the same, but it’s a lot more difficult for anyone to be hard on my mouth like this. Or maybe you could be – I don’t know. I just haven’t felt it yet. The only time I feel the bit moving in a way that I don’t like is when you forget yourself and slip into old habits, letting it press on my tongue for the action rather than lifting and raising.

And no more back and forth, back and forth on the reins! No more stronger, louder, harder! Oh, that is a relief and I lower my head, snorting as a little of the tension leaves my body. So much better. I don’t need that. I’m here, I’m listening. I’ll try my best.

Stiff, stiff, stiff. I don’t like my bad side and your leg comes softly against my barrel, more of a support than anything else, but it’s the rein laid against the side of neck that encourages me to step over. Okay, I can do that. But I’m not as keen on going straight on this rein and step over again, just to see what you’ll do. Again, the gentle correction. There’s no hauling or whip on my shoulder – not that that hurt, but it’s hardly pleasant for a horse!

I mouth the bit, stepping up into trot. And that is different too. The voice command is there – I suppose I do always like to ask if you mean it when you want to step up a gait that first time – and that’s familiar, but the brush of your calf on opposing sides of my belly as it swings is different. It’s not a kick, but you will nudge me on if I pause and ask if you mean it. After that, it’s not a problem and I know what you want and