05/26/2026
I heard a man today shouting crossly on the internet about ‘your piece of s**t horse that cost twenty-five hundred dollars’. The implication, made very clearly, was that his highly expensive horses were much, much more valuable in every possible way.
I laughed quite a lot. (Well, once I got over my Mabel-ish burst of fury. Mabel is my shadow self and she can get extremely grumpy.)
I laughed because the red mare, who transformed my life and gives me joy and laughter every single day cost one thousand pounds. Florence cost no pounds. Tern had a price tag of zero. (They were both given to me by their kind owner, my friend Emma. Her husband John even drove Florence here all the way from Newmarket. They are the kind of horses who would easily fall through the cracks, possibly because there are other people out there who think that value is measured in money. Emma knows they will live here, in the Scottish woods, for the rest of their days. They are a bit like Sidney the Lurcher, who came to me two weeks ago from the wilds north-west of Inverness. All of them needed a particular kind of home, and I can give them that home, and it is my enduring gratitude that I can.)
I laughed because I felt so lucky that I don’t have to go through life thinking that the horses which are worth something must cost tens and hundreds of thousands of pounds. I feel lucky that my horses don’t need to win anything or even really do anything to make my heart swell. I feel lucky that we get to dwell in companionship and peace and that’s what matters.
I can’t claim any credit for this. (Mabel, my dark side, would like to claim a lot of credit because she can be wildly self-regarding and she secretly thinks that everyone should live like her and she can’t really understand people who don’t. Look at me, she says, with far too much unrestrained ego; I have stumbled upon the secret of the ages! Horses! In the woods! What are you mad people doing in a high rise in Dubai? With no animals?!)
I can’t claim credit because this is sheer luck. I happen to love the no money horses, because they are dear and funny and beautiful. I love them because I can see the dawn horses in their eyes, and almost hear the songs of their fifty-seven million years of evolution. I love them because they connect me to everything that is important - the heart, and the good Scottish earth, and the great life skill of showing up. I love them because they make me a better person, and you can’t buy that with cash.
It’s a pure twist of fate. The poor shouty man. He did not get that luck. He is trapped in late stage capitalism with nowhere to go. No wonder he is yelling.
