Real life | 12 May 2012 | The Spectator

We were hoping the new filly might jump, but we were not expecting her to get started straight away. Ideally, we would have preferred her not to tackle the five foot post and rail fence of her paddock.

It had all been going so smoothly. Famous last words with horses. We brought the foal home and settled her into a stable next to the boyfriend’s huge grey thoroughbred. The two of them greeted each other over the wall, big old Longman reaching over with ease to offer her a paternal snuffle and Darcy straining upwards on tiptoe to touch noses.

The next day we put Darcy in the outdoor school so the other horses could get used to her. The day after that we released her into a small field next to the main paddock, where she grazed happily. But the next day, she decided to jump the fence. The boyfriend heard the squeal. He ran out to the field to find a scene of sheer chaos. Darcy was straddled across the fence, the post lodged beneath her. It looked as if she had impaled herself. Mercifully, the fence then broke so she fell to the other side.

As she whinnied in panic, the horse being ridden in the adjacent ménage reared up and its owner was left clinging as it danced backwards on its hind legs like a Lipizzaner.

The boyfriend said he didn’t know what to do first, but figured that he could do nothing to help the poor rider and so set about trying to catch Darcy. She came to him straight away and at first appeared to be uninjured. But after the adrenalin wore off she began to limp. The area between her front legs was a strange shape, with a weird gap where the muscle should be. By the time I arrived on the scene, breathless and pulling a confused looking spaniel, an ominous pocket of fluid was collecting.