Thread: My Kingdom for a Horse

There was to be a fun ride up in the woods in a couple of weeks time and I was asked by the girls in the barn if I would be dressing up my horse Joe. After all it was an event organised by the Hunt and it was traditional to look smart. I had entered Joe and this was to be our first public outing. I knew he would make his presence felt, so it would be a good idea for both he and I to look spick and span.

Cleaning his tack and making his coat shine would be easy enough but his hair might prove to be a problem. Joe’s mane was not fine and silky like that of an Andalucian, it was coarse with the texture of a fine polypropylene string. Only the long white feathers around his feet were soft. He was typical of his type, namely a common cob. The mane hair did not lay down flat rather it sprung out of his crest in all directions. Of course that’s fine for a horse which was bred to live out on a mountainside but at this event he would be mixing with all sorts of ‘hoy-poloi‘, namely thorobreds, warmbloods and fancy hunting horses of all types. The owners would have spent hours preening their horses to be worthy of the fashion show which to a certain extent this event had become. Joe was there for the fast hard ride and in my mind there was no doubt he, the thug, would make good time around the course. But what to do about the mane? A couple of horse owners even suggested that I hog it, that is to cut it down to the crest of his neck. I was not going to cut off a perfectly practical head of hair merely for fashion. For me that would be sacrilege.


Being a man who had lost his hair by the time he was 22, I could never understand all the fuss about hair. Certainly a bald pate had been no barrier to my being able to pull the odd bird or two. There again I was charming, intelligent, witty and could produce a kindly wicked smile as and when I wanted to get my own way. I also possessed ten sensitive fingers, which if I could get close enough, worked as well as the feathers of a goose. A head of hair was superfluous.

A few days later I was on my way to the local chemist shop. As I opened the door to enter, out came this young woman with a beautiful head of hair. She was a stunning looker. The perfectly straight, dark brown hair glistened and moved as one, almost snake like, as she walked and moved her head. It was immaculate, with every single hair in place. Just how did a woman get her hair to look like that?

Now I was never the shy retiring type, so obviously there was only one thing to do and that was to ask her. She was obviously an expert in matters of hair. I turned back and caught up with her. I touched her very, very lightly on the arm and asked her:
“Excuse me please, but your hair is absolutely stunning”
She stopped looked at me in surprise and then gave me a warm smile.
‘Thank you‘, she said.
“Can you please tell me how you achieved such an effect?” I asked.
“How did you make it all hang down together like that ?“.
This time she looked at me a little more discerningly. She could see that I was bald. She hesitated. I could see a puzzled look on her face. So I said:
“Look I have got a problem with hair and I don’t know what to do about it. I need some help“. In my head I had visions of turning Joe’s thatch into Spanish silk.
‘Well’ she said, ‘there is lots of washing, combing and brushing in the morning and the evening , every day of the year.’
“But there must be some special hair conditioner or shampoo which you use?”
‘Well there is, but that’s part of my secret of success’.
“Please“, I said. “I promise I won’t tell anybody else“.
Again she hesitated and then said one word : ‘Tressomme’
“What’s that?” I asked.
‘Go into the shop’ she said, ‘they stock it’.
“Thank you” I replied. “You’ve probably made my Boy look special“.
‘Your Boy?’ She asked.
“Yes “, I said, “My horse, Joe. I can’t get his mane to lay down flat. There is a special event coming up and I want his mane to look like yours “.
She looked at me straight faced and then burst out laughing.
She said: “Now I know what is meant by ‘My Kingdom for a Horse‘.
With a wave of good bye, she went on her way.

I went and bought the Tressomme at 'ginormous cost‘. All that money for a bottle of hair detergent. I took it back to the stables to see how it might work on The Boy. I warmed the water and followed very carefully the instructions on the label. Joe stood patiently and allowed me to faff about. Then I rubbed the mane dry with a towel. I knew that Joe would not stand still and let me use a hair drier, nor could I fit him with a hair net. I would have to wait and see.

Did it make any difference?. Not the slightest.
On the night before the ride I had washed his hair with the fancy shampoo, rubbed him off dry and trimmed him up the best I could with scissors, as usual. There was to be none of the traditional back combing and pulling of a mane for we fellas.

The following day we rode up to the forest and met with some lads from the local hunt. Joe behaved like the jovial thug I expected of him. He barged his way past horse after horse and came home past the finishing point at the gallop. Over a course of fourteen miles of narrow twisty woodland tracks, we overtook something like forty horses in one of the fastest times of the day. We had a lovely time and we had been lucky not to be banned for thuggery from future events.

Maybe the Tresomme had worked after all.

It was more related to hair, perhaps you should add something about hair in the title? There are a couple of mistakes where you bought the Tressome. the comma of "ginormous cost" is in the opposite direction and "I warmed the water and followed very carefully the instructions ON the label". it is very nice especially if you are going to submit this into a magazine, definitely really nice.

This is why I like the real world. This is a delightful story skillfully told. The recounting of the conversation with the woman, and the description of the ride itself, take the reader to where you live. Especially effective is the description of Joe's behaviour on the couse - 'He barged his way past horse after horse...'

Good work.

Divus, my opinion, FWIW, is that using human hair conditioner on a horse's mane is akin to adding Singer sewing machine oil to a tractor's diff. Or attacking a giant sequoia with a fret-saw.

Nice story, but.

Ten fingers was over-egging it.

Ox, as a man who has been bald on top for virtually half a century, and being a chap whose remaining flimsy whisps are white (even those on my chest) , any discussion about hair on my part comes from a vivid imagination. Thanks for reading.