Fort Sean the horse

I have had a love affair with Fort Sean the horse for 20+ years. It’s a low key love affair as I am not a horsey obsessive, but looking after Sean has over the years become such an integral part of my life and exercise routine I wonder what I would do without him. However, he is currently 24 and the farrier says that horses like Sean, a registered Connemara, bred on the hills in Ireland, can live until they are 40. That would make me 72 so I guess I could die before him. Provision for him is certainly in my will.

I got Sean when I was 35. At 35, my youngest child was 3, I was working full time, my husband had lots of extra-curricular activities including gym, golf, football nearly every week-end, nights out with the lads etc and I distinctly remember wanting something for myself. My daughter and I were having riding lessons at this small, private yard and they had brought 4 Connemara ponies over and were training them up to sell. Was it impulse? Probably. I am coming to realise that many things I have done have been on impulse. I had had some small contact with horses before as my uncle had a farm and his girls had horses I rode, but it was limited. I guess it was something I felt I wanted to do in my life irrespective of whether I was truly prepared for it.

Sean was the least responsive to training of all the four. Two brown/bay ones were highly responsive to training and were sold at great profit. The other grey was a plod and was sold at a much lower price. Sean is 15.1 hands and moves like a horse. I had my lessons on him. While I bought him to stay on the yard, shortly after purchase they no longer had the room and I was suddenly on my own.

I still keep Sean at the yard where I moved to at this time. It is now enormous with some 30+ horses in specially constructed barns, but when we moved it was a lean to shed for 6 in the most dilapidated state and all in with grazing it was £10 a week.

The culture of the horse fraternity is not something I have fully integrated in to. The yard is the only place I have ever seen fully grown women fighting – literally clawing at each other. I have survived through the most horrible bitching and bullying, dog poo put in your storage freezer, humans pooing in your stable complete with toilet paper, endless sarcasm. Horse owners come and go falling out of friends with each other as easily as they fall in. Sean and I, other than the lady who manages it, are the longest residents. I have survived by keeping myself to myself and never indulging in gossip. At times it tests my patience to the limit. Horse poo in particular and how often you are monitored clearing it from the field has been the big issue over the last few years.

I have not been blameless. There was a catastrophic incident when a friend went to collect Sean for me and must have left the gate open. About 10 horses escaped and galloped en masse about a mile, across a bridge over the A505 to another yard where some of the horses had just been moved from. It was a miracle that no pedestrians, cars, horses, property generally was damaged in the process. The owners were incredibly nice about this at the time.

Horses for some owners are a child substitute. They are endlessly pampered and preened and dressed in the latest must have fashion. Sean is the poor relation and has survived on second hand kit throughout most of his life. As he is a big roller, this bothers him not one jot as his preferred state is covered in mud. I have endless snipey comments about how often I shoe him, how much I feed him, how much bedding I have in the stable. I guess I am the one they love to look down on.

Sean was a huge physical challenge to me. Part of the problem, especially once I was on my own, was that I did not have the financial resources or the time to make the most of his potential. I had enough lessons from the lovely Beth who then emigrated to New Zealand to be able to hike out on my own. Beth said something quite empowering to me that I always remember. She said that Sean was lucky to have me and my calmness as he was the sort of horse who would end up in the knackers yard. He was not easily tameable. He dominated in the field and I got lots of grief from owners who felt he had not been gelded properly. He always had to be at the front of the pack, had a set mode of gallop when everyone else would canter so I very quickly ended up with no one to ride out with. He is very strong. For years I rode him full of fear. He took me out my comfort zone all the time. Why did I carry on? I don’t know. He was good to handle otherwise. There is a viewpoint that you should do something every day that makes you afraid. His reputation locally makes him difficult to re-home.

His reputation on the yard is that I am the only person he will let ride him. I have seen him roll over to dislodge an experienced male rider in the early days. Apart from once (when I went to Cameroon) he has been impossible to put on loan or share. When I went to Sri Lanka he just stayed in the field. Yet after 6 months he let me ride him as if it had been a matter of days.

Do I owe him? He has cost me more than enough to pay my debts. In my darkest hours riding him has soothed me. It still does. Horses go at their own pace. The warmth of his body and the feel of his coat when I stroke him and talk to him are a great therapy. I don’t enjoy riding any other horse as my body is so used to the feel of him. To be honest, even though I would not class myself as a good rider, other horses bore me.

Mucking out in the winter keeps me fit. When it is cold and dark and I am the last one on the yard after the London commute, the discipline of just putting one foot in front of the other and without haste going through my hour long routine, gets me out in the fresh air and the legs working.

There are memorable moments out riding. There are miles of bridle paths in the locality. I can ride and see no one, but I see lots of wildlife I would not see otherwise. Sean keeps me close to nature and natural things.

I am sorry I did not master jumping him as he was very excited about it. I am sorry I never pursued mastery of his fears of busy roads. I can’t imagine ever getting him in a horse box again. He is developing cushings disease and has sarcoids. One day he will die and if it is before me a sizeable piece of me will die with him.