Pony Gal Pals - through the Ages

For many a little girl, the cliche Pony Obsessive Years start around, perhaps 7 or 8?

Earlier, obviously if One is lucky enough to have Pony Folk as Parents.

Some of my earliest, strongest friendships (and I realise now, the bulk of my current, most profound friendships) may have started with but were certainly cemented by Ponies.

Myself & my Young Pony Gal Pals bonded over:
🐴 'Have you ever Cantered?',

🐴Pony Story Books (Jill & her a million Pony books - enabled me to reassure my parents that I was TOTALLY going to be able to finance a pony on my gymkhana winnings. And lemonade stands.
Even though we didn't really have regular Gymkhanas, and they didn't give prize money. And I've never made lemonade in my life),

🐴Showing off Naming Parts of the Bridle, whilst de' & then re'constructing one

🐴The covering of bedroom walls and doors with pony pictures from a multitude of pony magazines

🐴Fantasies of The Pony We Will Have One Day (FYI that Palomino never did show up)

🐴Multiple drawings of stable blocks with every pony named

🐴Conversion of bedroom doors into stable doors with some stick-on poster (this was the ACTUAL one I had.)

🐴Hours of cleaning & oiling the foulest and filthiest of School Tack. Pfffft. Nobody called it Child Exploitation back then. We loved it & couldn't get enough of it.

🐴Hours of helping out in lessons for Beginners, just waiting for the nod for the Instructor (who we ALLLLL worshipped. My love of silver bangles, I KNOW came from my 1st Riding Instructor)

🐴Hours of pretend lessons - each of us taking turns to be the Instructor (see above), whilst the others trotted or cantered on our 'naughty' ponies in a circle around her.

🐴Hours of Showjumping course construction - sometimes out of sunbeds, sometimes flowerpots, brooms & pea sticks. Once, a lawnmower. Perhaps Arena Eventing was invented in my grandparent's garden in the early 80s?

🐴Hours of cantering imaginary naughty, snorting, refusing ponies, who sometimes went clear but sometimes unfathomably would have a pole down around the above showjumping course*
*to date, imaginary is the only kind of showjumping course I've ever done, clear or otherwise)

🐴Sometimes if Showjumping was on telly, my mount was the back of the sofa, with stirrups made of 3 belts and reins out of a 4th. We had many a successful Hickstead this way, Sofa & I.

🐴The hours till the Weekend were counted down.  The routine of 'all day, every day' at the Stables was sacrosanct

But then, for many, there is a point when The Pony Girl Life stops.
It might be school pressures, perhaps moving to University.
Perhaps an unpleasant injury (my case).
Certainly, when one stops being bank-rolled by the Parents, Ponies do often take a back seat for a while.

But, y'know, for many of us, they never get out of the car completely.
You glance up at the rear mirror and there they are - smelling all gorgeous, soft whiskery muzzles at the ready - just waiting.

................................................................


Till you find your way BACK to PonyLand.

And you find your way to Grown Up Pony Pals.

But the most amazing thing about your Grown Up Pony Pals is .... that when you are together, you AREN'T grown ups at all.

Our inner pony-obsessive 12 year old girls rise to the surface again. We recognise each other joyfully and FINALLY we get to speak to each other in a way we can speak with no one else.

We aren't Mums or Wives or Teachers or PAs or other such terribly grown up things.

Together we are those 12 year old girls again.
(apart from the imaginary show jumping courses, cos lots of us have, y'know, sciatica and bad knees and shit now)

🐴We'll talk about our ponies, each others' ponies, for hours.
🐴We'll watch pony stuff on telly for hours (granted, this often is accessorised by a Something & Tonic  and gorgeous nibbles)
🐴We go out and have adventures together - sometimes there are ribbons to bring home, sometimes there aren't.
🐴We celebrate each other's victories (& we know what they are, however small they might seem to someone outside the Inner Circle)
🐴We love & watch over each other's ponies as if they were our own - we know their personalities, quirks and trials.

• We shove them onto horseboxes cos "Enough is enough dickhead, we are all bloody knackered now. Let's just go home".
• We stay out of range of certain teeth.
• We roll our eyes at their annoying door kicking. And then, give them a carrot.
• We worry if we hear one of Us has a tummy-ache.
  We know what that means to a Pony Person. 
• We send Whatsapps about the appearance of Poo. 
• We worry with each other & We help calm each other down. 
• We ask help from each other. And we give it freely

And we also cry together and we share the sad times.
Shoulder to shoulder.

When One of Us has to say goodbye to their Pony, the 12 year Old Girls weep.
We weep for the Little PonyGirl who has just lost Her Pony SoulMate.
We weep with Her and we weep for Her.
And We weep for ourselves.
For we have lost one of Us.

Until we all meet up again by the Big Polo-Patch in the Sky.
Just don't expect me to canter there either.

They Aren't Ours to Keep

Right, you are either going to be one of Them That Get It or, Them That Don't.

I think of all my posts, this will be the one that will either speak to your heart OR,
have you scratching your head thinking "what is WRONG with these people?".

That's ok.  You Head-Scratchers can toddle off for a sec - but, do come back later, normal service will resume soon enough.

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OK, so now we are alone ..... let's talk.

Let's talk about saying goodbye to our non-human friends or family members.

Unsurprisingly (given my childhood ie Wherever I Am ...&, not really coincidentally, subsequent life-style choice ie Write About Your Passion ), I have had much experience (sadly) in loss of this nature - starting from childhood, right the way up to last year.

My Folks get it
And they gave it to me.

2012.  The hideous year in which we lost 4 family members (3 dogs - old age, congenital health issues and ghastly accident & 1 cat - suspected shot, by someone I hex, daily).

I have said in the past that I believe very strongly in giving children the opportunity to grow and live with pets (doesn't matter what species).

This is Ollie.
He gets read to.
He pretends he is interested.
He seldom is.
He is a polite dog.

There are a myriad of joys, blessings and lessons that children can get from having a pet.

Yes yes yes, the kids get all the benefits & the old folks get all the poo-clearing & the bills.

Deal with it.  You the grown-ups. 

Gloria.
Our Gloria.
Only knew life in a cage.
Spent last 5 months of her life with us.
Left us, finally knowing
the deep joy of sofas & cuddles

Thiiiiiiiink of the liiiiiiiiittle chil'ren.



One of the least obvious, but VERY valuable, is the opportunity to address death & loss, in a safe way.
Hopefully, before they have to encounter it within the Human Family or Friend sphere.

 Things live.  We love them.  They love us. Inevitably, though, sad times come.  Doesn't diminish the good times.  In some ways it makes them more special.

These were tough things to explain to the Household 6 year Boy.  But, we did.

He was (& still is, at times) sad but he knows what happened.

***

Through my degree (Education & Biology) and then, subsequent research on helping adults (& children) with Pet Bereavement, I learnt a number of important things.

The most important, I think, is to use the words.  YOU gotta be brave.  No one digs using the 'D' word but, this is an opportunity to help your kid, so time to man up.

Say 'died'.  Not 'went to sleep' - potentially, trying to avoid 'the word' can give kids the fear of falling asleep, bed, having an injection themselves etc etc.

Enough.

Talking to Children about death of a pet - here, there's all sorts of stuff out there for you to have a look if you want to.

***

I don't want this whole thing to be about The Kids because when you are a Grown-Up, losing a pet (Species Irrelevant) hurts like HELL too.

There is no skirting around the issue.  No getting away from it.

It isn't simply the loss of the physical  presence of a much-loved furry/feathery/scaly buddy- sometimes we mourn too for the severing of the connection with a former life.

• Perhaps your cat predated your spouse.
• Perhaps your budgie was a pet that you shared with a room-mate that has now moved away.

Now that creature is no longer physically present, you feel your connection with a previous life is also finally ended.

*OUCH*

Sometimes, the loss of a pet reminds us as to what an emotional rock their presence in our lives has been.

• Maybe that dog joined your household as a pup in a different country, moved around the world with you been a constant in a life full of upheavals.
• Maybe your horse, acquired, finally, as an adult, returned you on a daily basis to that Pony-Mad Little Girl from *ahem* decades ago.
  (a phase that everyone, btw, reassured your parents you would grow out of!)

OR .....

It does not have to be anything like any of those things.

Perhaps you just really REALLY miss your friend.

Because a Friend is what these things are, to us, The Ones That Get It.

And, as much as it hurts when they leave us, I, for one, am so glad that I Got It.

And finally,

The Rainbow Bridge*

A long time ago I read something which I found very helpful.

A concept to meditate on (in between all the gulping sobs, snot-catching and eye-dabbing) which I, personally have found very calming.

(Note: I paraphase and have added my own take on it all)

Simply, these entities are not ours to keep.

They have their own journeys to follow, their own paths to follow.
As do we.

We are blessed to have been able to travel along together, for a while, but ultimately, our respective roads will branch.
This is true for all of us, regardless of hairiness, scaliness or number of legs.

They are not ours to keep.  That bit, in particular, feels right.

So, when the time comes, we must let them go & wish them well. 

*Bloody poem wrecks me.  You have been warned 

Goodbyes - the hidden Expat Tax

Did you know?

Expats, certainly ones living here, are soulless, money-grabbing, selfish capitalists who only wish to accumulate more of the filthy lucre. At any cost.

We booze and swill hundreds of ££ or $$$'s down our ever-open, ever-stretched gullets like so many young magpies.

Gorging. Gorging. Gorging.

Having invaded, and driven out the smaller weaker of our kind, from their palm-tree shaped nests (swimming pool included), we roar with evil laughter whilst rolling naked in our money-pits (we all have them), twirling our evil moustaches.

Apparently.

All of us.

I don't think so.

Can I just say, before we move on, that I am not convinced that I drink/get drunk here, any more than I did in either of the other countries I have lived in.

In fact, I think there is a good chance I do it less.

Now, this is NOT because I am oppressed, by virtue of my weaker inferior sex nor in fact ... as everybody outside the MiddleEast seems to think* ... because I am not allowed to.
*Ditto driving.  Ditto eating pork.

Here, let me explain.

I like to call it:

The GeMTHH (GetMeTheHellHome) Quotient 

It looks like this:



Essentially, we need to establish if A is greater than the value of G

A = Amount of Alcohol-induced Fun likely OR Alcohol-Required to Induce Fun
G = Getting Home Afterwards Aggravation / Urgency

Thus, in Dubai, I often drive.

In HongKong, you step outside (unless it is raining), *BOOM* there's a cab & before you know it, you are getting yourself the Hell home.

It is less easy, in my experience, here in Dubai. Unless, I guess you are doing your Mr Creosote obscene amount of consumption in a hotel.

I just like to get home, when I want to go home.

I don't wish to order a taxi at a specified time BEFORE I've even begun to have all the Fun .......... nor do I wish to, when I have decided to call 'time' on the Fun to wait for what could be anything from
"10 minutes away" to
"30 minutes coming" to after all that,
"not coming now. No taxis."
(assuming they even answer the phone at that point).

I digress.  Yet again.

I have a habit of doing that.

See? I did it again.

Taxis and drunkedness is not what I want to talk about here.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Goodbyes.

That is what I want to talk about.

Good byes are the hidden Expat Tax. And it weighs heavy on us all.

There are the most commonly thought of Goodbyes -
* the agonisingly sad driving away from home, airport-bound.

* the stomach-churning Let's All Be Brave & Practical Until the Very Last Second and Pretend This Isn't Really Happening.

OR the hideous farewells actually AT the airport.  The Stomach-Churn will follow you here.  You cannot escape the Stomach Churn.

Both scenarios.  Horrific.  The guilt.  The good ol' fashioned waaaaaa-hahhaahahaaaaaaaaa sadness.  The suppression of the I Wanna Drop Everything and Run All The Way Home reflex.


There is another kind of Expat Goodbye too.  Which also hurts.  And doesn't require you to go anywhere.

The one where people leave YOU.

No no no.  WE leave!  WE do the leaving! Goddammit. ..................................WE do NOT get left!

This Goodbye happens when other Expats leave, to either stop being Expats or, to go be Expats somewhere else.

Making strong connections with other people can be really hard anyway, but, when you are an Expat can be really extra-hard.
Our world is very transient.

When you live away from family & friends, people that have known you through the bad haircuts, teenage dramas or relationship euphoria and hiccups, when you DO make what feels like a real connection, it can be quite intense.

I've touched on this Friend thing before - in The Rugby Post & also, in The Happiness Vampires

Friends, the good 'uns, become an immediate practical source of support when you do not have your family immediately at hand.

Sometimes that support comes in the very simple form of just a Proper Belly Laugh.

Maybe handing you a cold one, that makes you contemplate a certain algebraic equation.  Remember what we were talking about earlier?

Or letting you roll in their Money-Pit.

Goodbyes suck. All of them.
Whether you are the Leaver or the Leave-ee.

Happiness Vampires

You knew didn't you?

You knew as soon as you thought about it, those 2 words, what I was talking about.

And, that person/people appeared to you (in your head, I mean).

Those Joy'sferatus.

Having discussed it with a few of my Non-Vampyric Friends, I know that I am not the only person who have made these sorts of acquaintances or has found themselves in this kind of 'friendship'.

Friendship, proper friendship, is about sharing.  

Sharing Experiences ie DOING things together.

Sharing Laughs, 

Sharing Thoughts, 

But it isn't all about the giggles, there are crappy times, crappy experiences.

We should share them too.

If you aren't prepared to share the shit then, let's not kid ourselves & call it a Friendship.

But, & here's the thing that is getting my, proverbial, goat, I think we all have come across someone who seems to only be interested in sharing their junk & has no interest in yours.

To them, your role is to make them feel better.  And, by the way, they won't even know they are doing it.

The Research - based on a lifetime's work.

In my studies, the Happiness Vampire can take 3 forms.

A) When they only want to talk about themselves. For hours. 

Sometimes it is all about how well they are doing with something OR, conversely, how worried they are about how well they are doing with whatever & your role is to blow smoke up their arse.  

This is a phrase that I hope, Sweet Reader, you understand is purely metaphorical.  This is obvious. No really it is.

B) When they only, ONLY, want to moan & bitch about how bad their life is. How hideous everyone is around them.  How everyone is out to get them. That sort of thing.  The proportion of Upbeat vs Miserable Arse ratio hovers around 10:90. All the time.

C) When they appear to be a really good caring friend & then, it turns out that they were only using you for something & then now you are no longer of use to them (for whatever arbitrary reason) you are ditched.  At best, ignored. At worst, bizarrely turned into The Enemy (see B)

Perhaps I have been unlucky but I suspect we've ALLLLL met one, some or all the above.

They don't even have be a Friend (with a capital 'F'), even acquaintances can bring you down with the moan, moan, moan or the insinuation that they are about to have a fight with the next person who they feel deserves it.

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Definition: a Good Friend

When the bad times come, 'cos they do come, 'cos this is Life and, more's the pity not a hilarious rom-com - THEN is precisely when you need your mates to wrap you up in cotton wool, indulge you, stroke-y head, pat-y-hand, eat-y choccies together, get the kettle on, get wildly drunk etc etc.

The aim of a Good Friend, to which I think we would all like to strive, is to help.  If you happen to be in an OK place & someone you care about isn't, you must step in.

And you do it gladly.  Not because you have to but, because you really really want to.

Be there. Share. Care.

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The Solution

BUT, when the There, Share & Care is a one-way street.  Then, that is bullshit and, if that is the case I will be charging a fee for all the listening, the joy-draining and the smoke thing.

ADDENDUM:
I should also say that I find the permanently chirpy & happy, equally creepy & alarming.