"Owning a racehorse is probably the most expensive way of getting on to a racecourse for nothing..." - Clement Freud
There was a lot of work to do. Almost too much, really. We needed to get a sizeable area of the land levelled to form an enclosed paddock, and we needed to build a comfortable stable, with lots of hay and a water trough and one of those doors that's split horizontally across the middle, and all of this needed to be completed before the horse arrived - a horse that had meant a lot to my late Aunt, whose last wish was that it should remain in the family and be looked after by one of us. Specifically me, as I was the one she had bequeathed it to.
From the moment her lawyer had contacted me to read out her Will, we spared no expense in getting everything ready. We sectioned off an area of the farm where the building work could commence, and after approving some samples for the stable's wood panelled interior, I set my sights on obtaining a selection of reins, bridles and saddles. The biggest plan I had in mind was training it to become a racehorse. So I bought a horsebox we could transport it in.
It was all so exciting, but most of all, it was an honour to be chosen to fulfil this duty for my beloved Aunt Elsie.
"To my nephew, Nigel, I leave my horse. The black stallion."
It sounded so elegant. So regal.
"But you've never even mentioned an Aunt Elsie", said my wife, Saskia, when I told her we would soon be receiving a new addition to our already large menagerie of animals, "Are you sure this isn't a hoax?"
"I'm fairly certain there was an Elsie on my Dad's side", I said, "I met her at a family wedding once, I think. But I must have made quite an impression, because she's decided to trust me with one of her most prized possessions."
"A horse?"
"Yes, a horse", I said, "Apparently, they're very affectionate and they make great companions."
"They also make a lot of mess", she said, "And I'm pretty sure they spit at you, too."
"No, that's llamas and camels", I said, "The only spitting going on will be us, if we miss an opportunity like this."
There was a lot of money in horse racing and even more if you had a consistent winner on your hands that could become a stud.
Her eyes lit up when I wrote down some rough figures on a piece of paper and showed them to her, and she said I should spend whatever had to be spent to get the farm adequately prepared for the stallion's imminent arrival.
So I did. And by the time I'd finished, everything looked exquisite.
All we needed now was the horse.
A couple of months later, after the probate and other legal formalities had been taken care of, the day finally arrived when my Aunt's lawyer would be visiting us to deliver my inheritance.
I made a special trip to the local shop that morning to buy the biggest and shiniest red apple I could find which I was hoping to use to build an early rapport with the creature.
And then, with the apple tucked in my pocket, I nervously stood in the driveway waiting for the lawyer to make his appearance.
Saskia was beside me, clutching a large grooming brush, equally nervous, but looking forward to combing a mane and tail for the first time because she felt that would be the best way for her to begin forming her own connection with the farm's newest resident.
Soon, we heard a vehicle approaching.
And shortly after that, it was pulling up in front of us.
But it was a fancy sports car and it certainly wasn't big enough to be carrying a horse.
The lawyer got out, his shoes crunching on the gravel.
"Are you Mr. Blake?" he said. I nodded. "Then this is for you."
He handed me a small shoebox.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's your horse, Mr. Blake", said the lawyer, looking confused, "We spoke about this on the phone."
I lifted the lid of the shoebox and looked inside. It was a ceramic ornament. A black stallion.
"It's really quite beautiful, isn't it?" he continued, "It's been in your family for several generations."
I glanced across at Saskia. She was already hiding the grooming brush behind her back and rolling her eyes in disgust.
I dropped to my knees and started sobbing uncontrollably.
And as I did so, the apple fell from my pocket and began rolling away down the driveway, mockingly taking my dreams of being a racehorse owner with it...
When they went to the driveway, I felt like there wouldn't be a horse arriving at all... Not sure why. But The whole time I did wonder, who is looking after the horse in the meantime? Where is it eating, staying sleeping? I thought it might be dead! Great story Chris!
Typical. After all that hard work too 😬