A few months ago I had to bring this beauty home from London:
This is Junie, a gilded horse skull on a 2m tall frame, with a rotting bridle and discordant rumbler bells plaited into her mane. When she moves, she makes a horrendous jangling and chattering noise, and when she's still the smell of decaying leather and river mud radiates off her.
I was sweaty, pissed off, I had been mudlarking so I stank as well, and I was generally not presenting a very warm or welcoming figure as we sat in the first-class lounge and I was acutely aware that the giant horse puppet wasn't the most sociable thing either. And then, a mother and daughter came in - The mother looked exhausted, but the daughter, maybe ten at the oldest, was properly on the verge of a meltdown... Until she saw Junie.
Immediately, she was calm. She came over, very quietly, and asked "Can I look after your horse?" - I looked at her Mam, and the Mam shrugged and nodded. I handed Junie's reins to the girl. What followed was about an hour of the girl in deep conversation with Junie, as if she was a real horse, bringing her cups of water, stroking her nose, checking that her bridle wasn't too tight, walking her around the lounge, and whispering in her empty ossicles. By time I went for my train, she was eating biscuits and happily waved Junie off with a "BYE HORSIE! GET HOME SAFELY!"
