The first inkling I should’ve had that horses were out to get me was when I was eight and a Shetland pony kicked me in the shin. Utterly unprovoked I might add. I wasn’t even waving a Saddle Club book at it trying to get an autograph.
Obviously that moment wasn’t enough to scar me for life, though, because in 2007 I found myself on a horse riding expedition along the beach. Now let me just explain that A) I had never ridden a horse before and B) I had never ridden a horse before what the hell was I thinking?! I like to blame Daryl “The Horses” Braithwaite for being way too inspirational with his lyrics (spoiler alert: he was not there to pick me up, pick me up).
When I arrived at the stables we were matched up with a horse depending on our level of expertise – or severe lack thereof (riding the merry-go-round at the show doesn’t count, I checked). Recalling my knowledge of My Little Pony, I expected my horse to be called something gentle like Cherry Blossom, Flutterby or Buttercup.
My horse’s name was Jet.