Blind Horse Rescue Story

Wherever we travel, we all look at the same stars; same moon, and admire horses in the same ways.

Catherine Sprunt lives in Japan wither her parents and her rabbit. She is 13 years old and goes to an international school. She is from Malaysia and Britain, but was born in Japan.

When I moved to Japan, I felt torn apart. My favourite pony, Rupert, was still in England…without me. I had been a regular at the stables and missed him terribly. My parents told me that riding in Japan would be hard, as there was not much open space and stabling and keeping a horse was expensive. Looking for a suitable place to ride took what seemed like an eternity to me. We traipsed from place to place and while the horses and ponies there were great, it was too professional and I didn’t get a homely, welcoming feeling as I walked past the stalls of horses, briefly stopping to slip a carrot or sugar lump into the mouth of a hopeful horse. Finally, we found the perfect place. It was nothing big, but as soon as I walked in the gate, I got the feeling I had been searching for, and I started riding there the very next week.
The first horse I rode was Cassis. Me being a small person made it difficult to find a good horse. In Japan most of the stables acquire racehorses, retired off the track. The horses were often skittish and edgy. Elly was the second horse I rode. She was calm and collected but a good few hands taller than Cassis. I had a few close calls with the two horses but finally I fell in love. When I was given the choice to ride Tachi (Touch and Go was his real name, but if you say it using Japanese syllables ‘touch’ comes out as ‘tachi’), I was thrilled. Tachi was just a pony, but I was just a small girl. His pale, grey coat reminded me of Rupert, but he had a cheeky glint in his eyes. My lesson was after school on a Tuesday, which was ‘disabled day’ at the stables. If I arrived early I would wander down to the far end of the ring, and watch as the disabled children were taught how to ride with nurturing guidance and love. I watched intently as one boy rode Tachi around the sectioned off area, no lead reign attached. I used to think that disabled people were ‘different,’ but now I realize they’re just the same. When I watched that boy ride without assistance, I knew that Tachi knew who he was carrying, and carried his rider with pride and dignity. Now when I go down there, that boy is cantering, and even jumping.
When it was my turn to ride, the disabled lessons still carried on at the far end of the ring, but Tachi’s shift was over. I would sit up straight in the saddle, and warm Tachi up, circling the ring over and over, and with each round, I passed the area where the disabled children learned to ride. Every time I passed, I had mixed feelings. Half of me wanted to sit up straighter and ride on faster. I wanted to show them what I could do, and impress the disabled children’s instructors. The other half of me wanted to slouch, just a little, and go just that tiny bit slower. I wanted to show the kids that if I could do it, they could do it and there was nothing more to it. Every time I slouched and pulled on the reigns lightly, I had a feeling that Tachi knew what I was doing. He knew what I was trying to show those children, and he helped me. When I rode past, Tachi gave me an encouraging feeling. He let me know that I wasn’t higher than them, I wasn’t lower than them…I was an equal, and maybe they couldn’t do what I could do, but they could try just as hard, and sweat just as much to do it. Tachi helped me see what I had ignored all of my life. Tachi helped me to realize that it doesn’t matter how you look or what you can do, it’s how hard you try.