Polly the Cob teaches me a lesson.

2259 new words written. Twenty pages edited. Brain falling out of my ears.

I never quite understand how writing can be so enervating. I understand that the brain uses up a vast amount of energy, but still, I am not working down a mine. Yet, as I hit 4pm with two hours of work still to do, I feel as if someone has put the thinking part of my mind in a blender. What, who, how, why? it splutters. A faint grey mist descends over my vision. I squint at the screen, like an old lush trying to light a cigarette. Where was I? Who am I?

Deep breath, count to ten, start all over again. I’ll get it done.

Actually, the deep breath bit worked quite well. I think when I am up against a hard deadline I often forget to breathe. I really should have learnt yoga in my formative years.

Because of all this brain melt, there is not much blog for you. But you know I love nothing more than sharing a story, so I’m going to redirect you to the HorseBack UK post I wrote this afternoon. It is about Polly the Cob, a sweet coloured mare rescued by World Horse Welfare from a life of appalling neglect and suffering. She now works at HorseBack with veterans and servicemen and women who have undergone life-changing injury or walk the long road of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I am always grousing about the lazy assumptions people make about thoroughbreds. (How dare anyone suggest my glorious Zen mistress of a red mare is hot and wild and nuts in the head, I yell, in the echo chamber of my furious mind.) Cobs come in for their fair share of cheap stereotypes too. I had never known a cob until I met Polly, and even though I fight labels with every fibre of my being, I did think that they were not necessarily my cup of tea. Without being conscious of it, I had imbibed the nasty prejudices: big and hairy and slow and heavy. I have been shown the absolute idiocy of this. Yet another equine teaches me yet another life lesson.

Polly is a dear, and I love her. And she does a lope off a kiss as expertly as if she were secretly a Quarter Horse, underneath those flying feathers.

Never assume. I’ve actually been writing about that very subject this morning. I had it down, in theory. But it took a gentle little cob finally to drive it home.

Here is the link to her story: https://www.facebook.com/HorseBackUK/photos/a.269393705567.184638.197483570567/10152608849455568/?type=1&theater

And here is her pretty face:

I love this one. I swear she was posing for the camera as she spotted me: