Real life | 1 November 2018

‘This isn’t so bad,’ said my friend, as we knelt at my old mare’s side as she lay on the ground beneath a tree growing weak.

Aged 33 in horse years, or ninetysomething in human years, Tara had been enjoying an extraordinary renaissance since Darcy the thoroughbred had been turned out to live with her and Gracie the skewbald pony.

My old girl had taken to the young racehorse to the extent that the pair became inseparable and Gracie had to leave them to it and pootle off around the field to graze on her own.

Tara and Darcy shadowed each other day and night and even walked to the water tank together. Having been lame and stiff, the renewed walking did Tara so much good that after a week she didn’t need painkillers and for the first time in years she was medication-free.

She even galloped again. She and the youngster took to racing each other towards the fence when I arrived with their breakfast each morning.