Read Online Vets in Love by Cathy Woodman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cathy Woodman
Ads: Link
and mine. ‘That little trick doesn’t work any more. Remember?’
The starter calls the countdown. ‘Three, two, one.’
And we’re off, straight into a fast canter down the gentle slope to a rustic fence filled in with straw bales which Willow jumps fluidly before we gallop across the grass for the next, an enormous log followed by a skinny fence, which catches some horses out. Not Willow though. She has no intention of doing anything but jumping them. It takes all my strength to pull her back under control when we jump off the bank, heading down to the tiger trap and beyond to the water, which is a straightforward trot in and jump out, followed by a pair of gates. It’s fast, fun and exhilarating, and I’m not worried about the time because Willow is going for it, her long strides eating up the ground.
The next is a ditch with a steep drop on the other side. I give Willow a kick and a ‘Click, click’ as she takes an extra stride into it.
‘Trust me,’ I tell her and she responds, throwing herself over the top. I sit back, letting the reins slip through my fingers and we land safely on the other side. The rest is a formality, a long steady gallop over the remaining fences to the finish. I let Willow slow to a canter then a trot, and finally we walk to the cheers of the crowd waiting at the end of the course.
Mum can’t speak and nor can I. She grabs Willow’s reins while I dismount and through a blur of tears relieve my wonderful horse of the weight of the saddle. I can feel Mum’s arms around me and hear her barely audible whisper of congratulation as she gives me a warm hug. I can’t believe it. It’s going to take a while to sink in. With this win, my dream of competing at Badminton among the elite has moved that much closer. I watch Willow stand as Mum throws her cooler over her back. She’s blowing, her nostrils flared and red inside, and her chest is heaving. She’s put her heart and soul into this, and even though I’m breathless and too hot to think straight, my chest tightens – I’m so proud of her. I step close and hug her neck, inhaling the scent of steaming horse and sweaty leather. Noticing one of her plaits has come undone, I remove the plaiting band caught in the tiny curls of her mane and run my fingers through to straighten them out.
Back at the lorry, Mum washes Willow down with cool water and a sponge while I scrape the excess moisture from her coat with a sweat scraper, and throw on a clean rug before I walk her around to let her dry off. When she’s stopped sweating, I let her pick atsome grass while I brush her and tack her up for the presentation.
She swishes her tail when I put the saddle back on and gives me a look as if to say, ‘Not again’.
‘Humour me,’ I tell her. ‘You can have a day off tomorrow.’
‘Your jacket,’ Mum says, handing it over. ‘You can’t go in for the presentation looking as if you’ve been through a hedge backwards.’ She brushes me down as if I’m about five and going to school in uniform for the first time. ‘I’m going to find myself a good place to watch.’
Henry moves up beside me and we ride down to the main arena, almost knee to knee, our stirrups clashing. The arena has been cleared, the jumps stacked neatly onto a tractor and trailer, and the other prize-winners are waiting for us to take the lead and enter first. Willow is excited, jogging along to the presentation area in front of the small grandstand, but she seems a touch sore and I wonder if she’s bruised her foot.
We stand at the head of the line with Henry beside us, his horse champing at the bit and flicking foam from his mouth.
‘Congrats,’ Henry says, his grim expression relaxing into a smile. ‘Well ridden, Nicci.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, realising what an effort that must have taken him. ‘I like your horse. He looks like he’s got a great future.’
‘Even though I can’t believe he was beaten by a donkey.’ Henry’s eyes crease into a
The starter calls the countdown. ‘Three, two, one.’
And we’re off, straight into a fast canter down the gentle slope to a rustic fence filled in with straw bales which Willow jumps fluidly before we gallop across the grass for the next, an enormous log followed by a skinny fence, which catches some horses out. Not Willow though. She has no intention of doing anything but jumping them. It takes all my strength to pull her back under control when we jump off the bank, heading down to the tiger trap and beyond to the water, which is a straightforward trot in and jump out, followed by a pair of gates. It’s fast, fun and exhilarating, and I’m not worried about the time because Willow is going for it, her long strides eating up the ground.
The next is a ditch with a steep drop on the other side. I give Willow a kick and a ‘Click, click’ as she takes an extra stride into it.
‘Trust me,’ I tell her and she responds, throwing herself over the top. I sit back, letting the reins slip through my fingers and we land safely on the other side. The rest is a formality, a long steady gallop over the remaining fences to the finish. I let Willow slow to a canter then a trot, and finally we walk to the cheers of the crowd waiting at the end of the course.
Mum can’t speak and nor can I. She grabs Willow’s reins while I dismount and through a blur of tears relieve my wonderful horse of the weight of the saddle. I can feel Mum’s arms around me and hear her barely audible whisper of congratulation as she gives me a warm hug. I can’t believe it. It’s going to take a while to sink in. With this win, my dream of competing at Badminton among the elite has moved that much closer. I watch Willow stand as Mum throws her cooler over her back. She’s blowing, her nostrils flared and red inside, and her chest is heaving. She’s put her heart and soul into this, and even though I’m breathless and too hot to think straight, my chest tightens – I’m so proud of her. I step close and hug her neck, inhaling the scent of steaming horse and sweaty leather. Noticing one of her plaits has come undone, I remove the plaiting band caught in the tiny curls of her mane and run my fingers through to straighten them out.
Back at the lorry, Mum washes Willow down with cool water and a sponge while I scrape the excess moisture from her coat with a sweat scraper, and throw on a clean rug before I walk her around to let her dry off. When she’s stopped sweating, I let her pick atsome grass while I brush her and tack her up for the presentation.
She swishes her tail when I put the saddle back on and gives me a look as if to say, ‘Not again’.
‘Humour me,’ I tell her. ‘You can have a day off tomorrow.’
‘Your jacket,’ Mum says, handing it over. ‘You can’t go in for the presentation looking as if you’ve been through a hedge backwards.’ She brushes me down as if I’m about five and going to school in uniform for the first time. ‘I’m going to find myself a good place to watch.’
Henry moves up beside me and we ride down to the main arena, almost knee to knee, our stirrups clashing. The arena has been cleared, the jumps stacked neatly onto a tractor and trailer, and the other prize-winners are waiting for us to take the lead and enter first. Willow is excited, jogging along to the presentation area in front of the small grandstand, but she seems a touch sore and I wonder if she’s bruised her foot.
We stand at the head of the line with Henry beside us, his horse champing at the bit and flicking foam from his mouth.
‘Congrats,’ Henry says, his grim expression relaxing into a smile. ‘Well ridden, Nicci.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, realising what an effort that must have taken him. ‘I like your horse. He looks like he’s got a great future.’
‘Even though I can’t believe he was beaten by a donkey.’ Henry’s eyes crease into a
Similar Books
