It was a freezing afternoon in February, school had finished and half term had just begun. All my other friends were rushing around saying where they were going. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was staying at home. But that didn’t matter, this was the day when mum and dad had agreed to look at another horse with me. True, my other choices hadn’t exactly been ideal for a thirteen-year old girl’s first horse; a 6-year-old who bit my first friend and had not been broken in and a hunter who took off before you were on her. This one didn’t seem too special, the advert hadn’t gone on singing her praises too much, and in fact it dressed her down quite a bit.

Dad met me from school and we hurried off to collect mum from the riding school where she had been getting some advice from my instructor. The directions were very clear, however once into the journey it was plain to see that it would be a good 150-mile drive!

We arrived at their house at about 5.30; we were all very impressed; the people we had come to see appeared to be professional riders.

Fleur was kept in a large stable all of her own. She stood there, her black body glimmering ebony in the last few rays of the sun, her eyes sparkling kindly. She stood quietly while the girl tacked her up and it was soon time for me to get on. She went like a dream, mum had been anxious because she was a TB, but this was great!

I trotted her around, and when we cantered it felt as if we were gliding through the air.

Well, now Fleur is at my house, my darling wonderful horse, she’s got a home forever and ever with me.

By Letitia Johns

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