Horse Play

Everyone knows the saying about leading a horse to water and not being able to do anything about the subsequent reluctance of that animal to take advantage of some liquid refreshment. I have often pondered on the meaning of that well bantered piece of part advice and part wisdom. It has been widely used in popular entertainment and culture as a mainstay to describe the tendency of man and beast to do exactly as they want to do in spite of best endeavours to persuade them otherwise.

I did not expect to ever experience the actual stubborness of a horse to do as I wanted it to do but just today this has been the case.

It is a common sight in many city and urban areas to see horses tethered on public land or waste ground to take advantage of free grazing. The animals always look a bit forlorn and forgotten by their masters as they stand motionless into the stiff breeze or wander about aimlessly on a heavy chain in a wide circle of compacted and chewed grass. It is evident however that they are tended to on a regular basis with topping up of the old bucket or ancient trough with fresh water and a few loosely strewn handfuls of oats to supplement what must be a rather boring diet.

The horses are of varied shapes, sizes and line of breeding. This is testament to the ancient practices of the Travellers with large and heavy horses to pull carts and wagons down to short legged Shetland ponies for, well, I think just a bit of fun.

The animals represent a form of legal tender, an asset base that can be readily traded (I use the term liquidated with reluctance given the recent controversy of horse meat in circulation) and are therefore cherished and prized even though it may not seem to be the case.

A line of horses on the roadside verge or, in my experience, in series along the raised flood defences keeping the River Hull in its meandering course can be both a stirring but also an intimidating thing. The animals have been hardened by periodic abuse and ridicule from lunatic passers-by who have no conscience or empathy with other creatures. It is natural for them not to court eye contact or even seek any companionship or affirmation. They remain distant and aloof.

I had been cycling along the river bank expecting to have to swoop down onto the lower section when my way would be impeded by an imposing silhouette of a horse. This had been necessary on all previous rides along the river corridor and I had developed a bit of a skill in negotiating the obstacle. This involved not losing any forward speed and momentum in the thicker grass which was difficult what with the rougher surface, prominent mole hills and concealed pothole. I usually had  time the swoop and ascent so as not to get too close to the horses to cause them distress or even direct a swift kick of the hind legs in my direction. I practiced a few of these manoeuvres in readiness for encountering such animals but after two to three miles the bank remained empty apart from solitary joggers and a handful of dog walkers.

At one of the gates to the river path the reason for the absence of Traveller's horses was explained. Tied to the gate post was a very loud and formal printed notice from the Environment Agency demanding removal of all grazing beasts within a specified timescale with the sanction of monetary penalties or impounding of the horses.

I had not come across such draconian measure before but they appeared to have been successful.

It was not until three more miles along the river path that I encountered my first stumpy legged pony. It was legitimately there being free to roam on a pasture grazing as part of a smallholding whose land straddled the bank.

The small horse was one of half a dozen enjoying their freedom and perhaps in their own way flaunting their liberty in support of their bonded cousins. I approached the wooden stile on the bank top on my bike and dismounted in readiness to attempt a shoulder lift and carry of the cycle. I struggled to lift the heavy frame made more of a dead weight to my arms because of the fatigue of the ride thus far. Plan B was brought into play. This would entail lifting the bike so as to just clear the wooden barrier and lowering it down to the ground making sure it could stand upright on the other side. I would then follow through myself.

There was one problem.

The diminuitive pony was standing tight and close against the far side of the stile. It would not budge and so fulfilled the prophecy of doing just what it wanted to do.

I thought that it may be holding out for something sweet as most likely the frequent walkers and ramblers on the footpath would have morsels in their backpacks by which to tempt and coax the pony from its entrenched position. I patted my jersey pockets as though implying they contained a Mars or Snickers Bar but well knowing they were empty apart from bike spares and puncture catches.

The pony just remained perfectly still.

It was, if not quietly menacing, quite a comical sight with its long straggly fringe concealing any facial features or expressions. It reminded me of the Thelwell illustrations of my younger years and I had to laugh a little behind my increasing frustration at the stalemate situation.

I am a townie by nature and nurture and would not even contemplate an attempt to physically move the pony or shout at it to encourage a bit of leeway over the stile. I did momentarily lift up that fringe to make sure that I stroked its nose rather than accidentally poke it in the eye.

I dare not get too close as I feared retaliation in either a bite or a swift kick to my shins. The pony was becoming more and more interested in the knobbly tyres on my bike. One chewing motion through the rubber would mean a long walk home for me.

The stand-off was by now attracting a bit of attention and two more and larger free roaming horses were approaching as though quite prepared to wade in and assist their small relative.

I made a decision to just grab the bike and make a getaway. I calculated that the limited ground clearance and wide body of the pony would make a rapid reaction unlikely and so I just went for it and only stopped to look back at the next gateway some 200 metres further on.

The pony had not moved at all apart from a taunting swish of its grandly bouffant tail as though claiming the moral victory of that afternoon.