A Perfect Christmas & Other Horse Stories

By Hilary Walker

"Candle flames flicker in the lamps on the flanks of our governess cart as a silver moon and sprinkled stars illuminate the driveway ahead."

 

This collection of short stories begins with a midnight cart drive through the snow to Midnight Mass. Other true and fictional tales of horses follow, based on Hilary's personal experiences with her son's naughty Welsh Mountain pony and a huge catalog of embarrassing incidents with her own equines.

 

This selection includes humorous accounts of what can go wrong at a show, sudden swimming pool accidents, uninvited horse entry into church, rescuing an unwanted racehorse and how a skinny neurotic Thoroughbred mare became the author's equine soulmate.

 

If there's one thing Hilary has learned, it's that you never know what might happen next with horses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hilary Walker
• Release date: Nov 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393659648

Hilary Walker

British born bestselling author Hilary Walker writes uplifting Christian fiction that transports readers into the healing world of horses. She lives on Hilton Head Island with two British bulldogs and her husband, who hopes she'll get interested in golf.  No luck so far. Instead she rides competitive dressage on her homebred Welsh cross gelding, and enjoys taking him on the trails.

Book preview

A Perfect Christmas

&

Other Horse Stories

HILARY WALKER

A Perfect Christmas & Other Horse Stories

Cover Design by Hilary Walker

Photo courtesy of okiepony at DepositPhotos.com

© 2019 Hilary Walker

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

CONTENTS

The Origin of These Tales, or ‘Once Upon a Time … ‘

A Perfect Christmas

The Horse Who Hated Christmas

The Horse Who Went to Church

Felicity’s Show Flair

Cracklin’ Ginger

The End of the Tail

The Horse Who Dined Out

Shoestring Rider

The Horse I Didn’t Want

Kelly Comes Through

Son of Kelly

How Not to Rescue a Racehorse

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Discover Other Books by Hilary Walker

Connect with Me

The Origin of These Tales, or ‘Once Upon a Time … ‘

This collection of tales began with my response to a competition for Christmas short fiction by a national agricultural magazine in England.

My father had passed away ten years previously and grief had prevented me from writing about him. But I was now taking a creative fiction course near my rural home in Gloucestershire and finally was able to write ‘A Perfect Christmas.’

That tale is dear to my heart. It won second place, was published and actually earned me some money. (A fellow course member won, because (a) she was a better writer and (b) penned a relevant story about farming!)

The other fiction pieces in this anthology are the result of an active imagination using real blunders I’ve made with my horses. I guess that makes them semi-autobiographical.

‘The End of the Tail’ and ‘Shoestring Rider’ highlight how difficult life at the barn can be for those of us who don’t have million-dollar equines and who lack equestrian experience. It can often appear that no one else is afraid of their horse and everyone except us was born with natural riding talent. Those two stories are dedicated to anyone who feels less than worthy when they step into the barn either for a lesson or to ride their own horse. I have been that person.

Three of the non-fiction stories are about my wonderful mare, Kelly, whom I lost in 2006 at age 26, and her amazing son who was born in 2000 and is still with me. The fourth is about a reckless decision I made that almost ended in disaster.

I do hope you enjoy this little anthology.

God bless,

Hilary

Visit me at https://HilaryWalkerBooks.com and get a free book when you sign up.

Email me at [e-mail]

A Perfect Christmas

© 2009 Hilary Walker

Dedicated to my father, Terence David Thornhill Carter.

It also features a fictitious version of Kimcote Carlo, my son’s extremely naughty Welsh Mountain Pony, who was however, a whiz at pulling our governess cart.

Carlo shakes his head impatiently, sending the tiny bells on his harness tinkling into the night.

My seventy-year-old father sits opposite me, fending off the bitter cold with a thick burgundy pony blanket and his large, fake-fur hat lends him an air of bygone Russian aristocracy.

It is just past eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve.

Candle flames flicker in the lamps on the flanks of our governess cart as a silver moon and sprinkled stars illuminate the driveway ahead.

I shake the reins gently on Carlo’s back. With another toss of his mane, he trots off smartly past our old stone house, whose front door boasts a golden wreath bathed in the soft porch light.

Through the front window I glimpse our Christmas tree, its colored bulbs flashing on and off. Hours earlier they mesmerized my six-year-old son before he reluctantly retired to bed, much coaxed by his parents.

We turn into a deserted country lane. Tinkling and trotting are the only sounds until a cheerful peal of bells heralds the approaching village. The pony briskly passes cottages showing off their bright Christmas displays. On foot, groups of warmly clad churchgoers chatter with happy voices, showering us with hearty greetings of Merry Christmas!

The main doors of the church are flung welcomingly wide and brilliant light from within radiates on the life-size nativity scene outside. There, in a makeshift barn, Mary and Joseph kneel by their newborn son in his straw-filled manger.

People are thronging into the church while I halt the Welsh Mountain pony by the crib. I descend from the cart followed by Father, who hands me Carlo’s rug.

I’m sorry to give up that blanket! he says. It’s wonderfully warm.

I laugh and put it over the buckskin’s back, then clip the headcollar over his bridle. The vicar gave us permission to tie the pony up on a post next to Jesus, because it will add a bit of life.

O Come All Ye Faithful echoes from the heart of the church. Exchanging smiles, Father and I link arms and walk inside, where our voices join the rising swell.

Light snow is falling when we leave an hour later, filled with the joyful message of Christmas. Carlo is happily munching on the Infant’s bed, and departing members of the congregation laugh at the ensuing tug of war between me and the naughty pony. Finally, I manage to remove his halter and he stamps an angry hoof, jingling his bells.

Father and I settle into the cart and Carlo steps out into the night.

Moonlight falls on each crystalline snowflake; the beauty is breathtaking.

Oblivious, Carlo trots happily towards the warmth of his home.

My son hears the pony’s bells in his sleep and imagines they announce the arrival of Santa’s sleigh. My mother and husband are in the kitchen, warming mince pies and stirring mulled wine.

Carlo is now rugged up in his stable, with extra hay as thanks for his nocturnal services and the cart is put away before Father and I tread through the crisp snow to the kitchen.

Tomorrow will bring the excitement of present opening, smells of roast turkey and steaming Christmas pudding, the pop of champagne corks and burst of Christmas crackers.

But for me—savoring warm cheer tonight with my family, and replete with the moonlit magic of the drive—this has already been the perfect Christmas.

For next Noël, Father will not sit with Carlo and me, but be watching over us and smiling among the stars that guide our midnight pilgrimage.

THE END

The Horse Who Hated Christmas

© 2017 Hilary C.T. Walker

The Problem

"I wish I didn’t have to go away over Christmas again! Paula moaned. If only I had a brother or sister who could go in my place!"

Her friend Melissa sympathized. I never thought I’d say how lucky I am to have siblings – or parents who live nearby!

It was Saturday in mid-December and they were brushing down their horses in neighboring stalls. Today was unseasonably warm and they’d taken advantage of the sunshine to go on a trail ride around the extensive property at Farthing Boarding Stables.

The two dressage riders had met here four years ago and chosen this barn for its more enlightened turnout policy.

The owner of the stables believed that horses should spend as much time as possible outdoors. Each spacious field had a run-in shed and turnout was regardless of the weather - unless requested otherwise. Yet despite these positive factors, something badly upset Paula’s mare every Christmas. Her owner was never here to find the cause, being obliged to fly to her parents’ house three states away.

If only I could convince them to come here, she said with feeling, brushing her little chestnut’s flanks so hard that the mare turned her head, ears pinned back, to tell Paula that was too much. Sorry, girl! I’m taking out my frustration on you. She gave her a treat then stroked the horse’s face. Mollified, Peppi returned to ripping hay out of her small hole net.

Still holding the body brush, Paula leaned across her horse’s back and sighed. As much as Peppi’s annual colics have cost me in vets’ bills every  Christmas, I could have had her shipped to a barn near my parents’ place every year!

Her accounting job was well-paid, but those costs really mounted up. Thankfully she had colic insurance, which she could claim on if Peppi ever needed an operation. But she’d like to make sure it never came to that.

Though how could she, when she didn’t even know what stressed Peppi out so much? And how was she going to know, if she was never around to find out?

Mr. and Mrs. Newton had already called to ask when their daughter planned to be at their house for Christmas. She’d been sorely tempted to tell them she couldn’t afford the trip this year. But she knew what accusations would be hurled over the phone if she dared suggest such a thing: -

"You mean your horse means more to you than your family?" (Well - duh!)

You don’t know how much longer we’ll be around. You’ll regret it if you don’t see us at least once a year! (My horse might not make it through Christmas and I’ll really regret leaving her!)

Paula was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She loved her parents, but …

The Mystery

She moved over to Peppi’s other side and began to groom her neck. Why haven’t I managed to figure out what sets her off every Christmas, Mel?  It’s happened enough times now that you’d think I could pinpoint the cause. Or at least get some idea from the staff. The petite Oldenburg stopped eating for a moment, enjoying the brush strokes.

Melissa was combing the full tail of Groucho, her big bay Swedish Warmblood. They use temporary staff over Christmas.

Paula hesitated a moment: what she was about to say sounded silly. You don’t suppose it’s because she misses me?

She had often wondered whether it might be an issue, but didn’t think Peppi was that attached to her owner. Yet the only thing that happened every Christmas without fail was the trip to her parents for three days – the only time when Paula didn’t visit her horse.

Otherwise she conscientiously came to the barn daily, whether it was to ride or simply to say ‘hello’ to her equine buddy.

Melissa politely pretended to take her friend’s hypothesis into consideration. You never know, she said kindly. It’s not impossible. You two do spend a lot of time together.

Yes. And then I dread that call every year.

On Christmas Eve, without fail, the barn would phone to say that Peppi had colic and should they call out the vet? It ruined each and every Christmas for Paula. Since she couldn’t desert her parents (due to the inevitable accusations outlined above) she had to rely on the barn staff and Melissa to take care of the situation. Which ruined their Christmas, too.

Maybe a change in barn routine over Christmas upsets her? Melissa suggested.

How am I ever going to find out? Paula said miserably.

"Well, you need to find out what’s going on. Unless you want Peppi to colic again?"

Heck, no!

Then get sleuthing! Melissa commanded.

The Sleuthing

Paula now set out to discover the truth behind Christmas At The Barn.

First, she talked to the manager, Ted Reynolds, a short, wiry and competent man in his fifties who used to be a jockey in his youth. Paula had strong reservations about the racing industry’s treatment of horses, but had to admit that this man really cared about the horses he was responsible for.

Ted, do the same people come in to cover for the regular staff every year at Christmas?

I wish! he replied with a wry smile. "It’s impossible. Seems