therapy?

I had an 'Enid Byton' childhood. My father is a farmer and we lived in a big house with lots of land and animals. Because we had the space and the stables I rode competetively during my childhood. I was very lucky to have had the opportunities that I had and a very supportive mother who used to take me places to compete and generaly encourage me throughout. Which obviously I didnt appreciate at all.
I stopped riding in my late teens and didnt miss it. But as I got older I missed it more and more. My mum has riden all her life and rode extreamly well, completing dressarge tests, cross country courses and endurance (riding for miles and miles within a set time, both horse and rider have to be super-fit to do this) She has since 'retired' as pain got the better of her. She misses it.
My sister-in-law has a horse kept at mums that she has competed on also. I was so green with envy about all this horsey malarkie that( and in my defence I kept it in for years!) I had a bit of a hissy-fit, in a supermarket at my mother. This is not the way to get what you want from her. But I did it anyway!
A week later she phoned me to say that she had found me something to ride. (perhaps she and I should shop together more often!)
Enter Blade. The 'second horse' of a friend of my mums. He was bought for her children primarily but also becasue he had been badly treated previously and the lady that owns him now is an incredable horse woman, representing her country with her very orange, slightly unpredictable mare.
He is a bugger. I have honestly feared for my life at times in the stable. He doesnt like other people in there, which isnt terribly surprising as thats where he was beaten previously.
We have found a way together for him not to try and kill me and me not to run shreaking out of the stable.
To ride he is an absolute dream. I am not thin by any streach of the imagination, but he carries my enormous arse for miles. Happily.
For me going back to riding is like falling in love with a man. I talk obsessively about him, cant wait to see him and buy polos by the hundreds. He doesnt like all the lovey stuff , he doesnt know what to do because for the first 7 years of his live he recieved very little. But we're getting there. He does lean into me, has stopped biting me and pulling faces when I hug him and looks pleased to see me when I arrive.
Reciently I have trotted miles on him, dripping sweat, shouting, swearing and crying about life. He hasnt minded a bit. Why he cant swear as well I dont know. With the 'Blade-therapy', endorphines from trotting and the crying/shouting/swearing I feel better than I did. Alot of that is to do with Blade, and the opportunity that I was given to ride him.

lybx