My Dad & Two Little Ponies
Life lessons and resisting euthanasia
I took this photo 👆 the morning after I found out my Dad died.
I’d been off the piss for a few months but got really, really drunk that night… So the next morning, while I was nursing a hangover that could kill a clydesdale, I walked Timmy the Pony about 20 times…because I didn’t know what else to do.
My Dad died unexpectedly in a hotel room but it wasn’t a dramatic overdose or anything like that… He died of oldness and unhealthiness but it still knocked me for six.
Anyway, that morning I was having some long, involved, hungover, out loud conversations with him..
“Dad, I know you would’ve preferred that my dependents were a tribe of snotty nosed childerbeasts instead of paddock full of laminitic ponies.. but please hear me out 🙏”
“While you’re up there, could you have a word to the guy on the gate?”
“See this little guy here? This little pony… Well he’s my best friend.. I know.. I know… It’s ridiculous but he really is. If you could pull a few strings so that he gets denied entry for a few more years, that would be great. I can’t let him go just yet”
“I mean.. if you want to get into specifics, I’m only in this stupid situation because of you and your dumb life lessons”
See, I didn’t spend much time with Dad while I was growing up but he was a real stickler for life skills and learning valuable lessons.
Most of these ‘lessons’ sailed waaaay over my cute lil head but some of them really stuck.
Anyway, one of the biggest lessons he taught me involved a grey Shetland pony called Tommy.
Early one morning in 1987, my Dad got a call from the Grand Poo-Bah of Pony Camp telling him Tommy had broken his leg.
“Don’t worry though.. We’ll get him down the knackery before the kids even wake up”
No. Nope. No Sirreeee. This was unacceptable to Dad on a lot of levels…even though the bounds of his horse knowledge was limited to:
a) the fact they were expensive
b) that they were dangerous at both ends and painful in the middle (a joke that got a solid workout for at LEAST 20 years.. maybe 30 )
I can assure you, we were not a horsey family by any stretch…
In fact, we used to transport Tommy, with our Rhodesian Ridgeback on the back of the ute…One of my brothers would stand on the back of the ute gripping Tommy’s bridle with one hand (who needs a halter?) while his other hand held onto the ute.
Once they were secured, we’d set sail down the gravel road with Dad driving and me and two more brothers jammed into the cabin.
It was single Dadding of the highest order
Anyway, let’s get back to the broken leg incident…
Dad told the Pony Camp Poo-Bah not to touch Tommy and said him he was going to call a few vets.
“Ya can’t do that mate.. The kindest thing is to put him down”
And that comment was a huge, wavey, red rag to Dad.
Soon enough he found a vet that agreed to come and fix Tommy’s leg.. and a few hours later, instead of being sliced up for pet food, Tommy was sporting a snazzy white cast which gave him another 18 years of life (the later ones with severe laminitis.. but sheesh I can only tell one story at a time.. )
Anyway.. while all this unfolded while I was 7 years old.
I remember it clearly…
I remember how Dad spoke to me like an adult and explained what was going on.. And I remember how Tommy’s eyes stayed open during the anaesthetic and that it was my job to keep the flies away while his leg was re-set under a tree at the Showgrounds…
Later on Dad made sure he explained things to me so that I would understand his motivation and learn ’the lesson’…
“Darling.. please dont believe people when they say “The kindest thing is to put them to sleep”
“There will be times when it’s important to help an animal die.. but sometimes people say it’s kinder to put them to sleep because they dont have the money, motivation or time to help their animals get better”
“They say it’s kinder.. but that’s often not true”
“Right now, I could spend money on fixing Tommy or buying you a new pony. I think it’s more important to help Tommy. Do you understand that?”
Yes. Yes I did.
Even though I was confused about how you’d ‘help an animal die’- I wholly understood Dad’s lesson about giving animals a chance.. and I also understood that people were sometimes full of shit when it came to “doing the kindest thing”
… So fast forward to thirty something years later when I’m camped out like a psycho on a hill, refusing to let a little grey pony die… and having a conversation with my now dead Dad.
“Dad we still don’t know.. We dont know what’s wrong with Timmy but it’s hurting me seeing him in pain every day..Isn’t it kinder to put him to sleep?”
And look… I’d love to say that I had some kind of revelation that worked it’s way through the broken synapses of my hungover brain that morning.. while the fumes of my own breath were a fire hazard in themselves…. but no.. My Dad had already made his point in 1987.
I feel lucky to have been my Dad’s daughter and am forever grateful on behalf of two little grey ponies. Timmy, I wont give up on you xxx
Love you Dad 💞
(P.S. Just a heads up that 18 months later – we are dealing with the naughtiest, most attitudey, fighting pony…. Everyday I’m in awe that he has come back from the dead 🙏)
