Today marks ten years since a little Arab mare came nameless out of the bush, and she and I met each other for the first time. Neither of us knew what lay ahead, but what a journey we have shared together. Abba has shown her extraordinary resilience and iron constitution time and again, bouncing back from a severed tendon, chemotherapy for sarcoids, and a fractured pedal bone. She has gone from melting down in a walk-trot showing class to completing two endurance rides. We have won rosettes at in-hand shows, jumped a tiny cross-country course, and ridden a pair of dressage tests, in which Abba miraculously made no attempt to throw herself out of the ring, despite her views on going in circles in a sand box.Ā
She has blossomed into a mare with outsize opinions, which she is always willing to express, but over the years, we have learned how to compromise with each other, most of the time. She has shared with me the joy of flying without wings, the wind beating in our faces and gravity falling away as she lengthens her stride, almost floating over the uneven ground.Ā
She has shown me that she has nerves of steel, not only when unloading and loading up again on the side of the freeway last December, but also all those years ago when she outran the rogue ostrich. She is so brave, and has unswerving faith that I will never ask her to do something beyond her ability.Ā Ā
She does not believe in wearing a fly mask for longer than necessary, and when the time limit has been reached, she simply hooks the toe of a back hoof under the poll piece and slides it over her ears, so the mask falls off with the velcro still fastened. Blankets are to be rolled into submission, after which they are tolerable. She has come to a grudging appreciation of her rain sheet, over time, though, as she does not approve of water falling from the sky, though she is also dubious about it on the ground as well, so much so that people watching her crossing puddles have said, time and again, how cat-like she is in her fastidious distaste for getting her feet wet. She has also learned that Arab horses do not melt when given a bath, despite her strong prior convictions on the matter.Ā Ā
Her favourite game to play is tag; when she and I have enough space in which to play, and no other horses are involved, she will run at me and swerve aside at the last minute, throwing in a flying change for good measure. She loves to go fast, and before the arrival of Sahara, she used to have to give the other horses a headstart, bouncing impatiently on the tips of her toes, before launching herself after them and overtaking them halfway across the field. Now she has competition, and she and Sahara play dirty, shoulder barging, cutting each other off, taking the inside corner, or starting while the other one is distracted, because they are so evenly matched that the only way to win is to cheat.Ā
She has made so many friends, human and horse alike, and opened doors into worlds I never knew existed, then taken me through them with her, charging on ahead with her eagerness to see what lies beyond the furthest hills. She has changed the course of my entire life, and it is an honour to be a part of hers. Wherever we are going next, we are going there together.Ā