Cassie

Cassie was my first horse. Not a loan, not a share—mine. I still remember the day she arrived. She stepped off the lorry like she owned the place—head high, mane flying, like something out of a storybook. I was fourteen and completely besotted. She had this cheeky glint in her eye like she knew she could get away with murder—and usually did. She once undid every zip on my coat while I was filling haynets. We learned together. I wasn’t the best rider back then, and she wasn’t the most patient teacher, but somehow it worked. She taught me how to sit deep, how to laugh when you fall, and how to keep getting back on, even when your bum’s bruised and your heart’s a bit sore. Cassie loved food more than life itself. She’d mug you for mints and somehow knew the sound of the feed scoop even from the far end of the field. She was brilliant in the school—sharp turns, lovely rhythm. But out hacking, she came alive. She’d snort and strut like she was showing off, and I’d feel like the queen of the world sat up there.She got poorly in winter—colic, then laminitis, then just… age catching up, I suppose. We fought hard, but her body gave out before her spirit did. She laid her head in my lap and gave one big sigh. I think she knew it was time. Now the stable’s quiet. Too quiet. Her headcollar’s still hanging up, and I still reach for it sometimes out of habit. Thank you, Cass. For everything. For being my friend, my teacher, and my dream come true. I hope wherever you are, the grass is always green and someone’s got a pocket full of polos just for you.