My horse is allergic to beige carpet

The horse lorry arrived and lowered its ramp — and I stood in front of it knowing that my thoroughbred was not going to load.

We were already beyond stressed, having been told our lease at the farm was not being renewed, and with the shooting season bearing down on us. In one week the guns would be going off around us. The horses had to be moved.

But this blasted ramp was covered in beige carpet. If it had been red carpet, Darcy might have been happy. She is so precious, so oversensitive, so self-absorbed that I have no doubt she would have appreciated a red carpet.

But lumpy beige carpet? Oh, no no no.

The old boy explained that his rubber-lined ramp had just been replaced and the new one he had hurriedly covered thus.

‘Here, you take her,’ I said to the builder boyfriend, handing him the lead rope, because Darcy loves the BB.

I took the pony, who bustled along, looking about. Nothing fazes her, but Darcy’s eyes were out on stalks. As we walked through the front gate towards the lorry on the driveway, with its aberration of a beige carpet, she skidded to a halt, front feet way out in front of her, head in the air, as if to say ‘You have GOT to be kidding!’

I took the pony in front, stepped on the ramp, pulled slightly and the trusting little soul stepped up straightaway and let me lead her to the far side of the lorry and tie her up with a haynet. The old boy closed the partition. The BB pulled on Darcy’s rope, rubbed her withers, cooed and begged, but she didn’t move a muscle.