Originally published on Substack
The old one — curry comb, dandy brush, body brush — is sitting in the garage collecting cobwebs.
My new grooming kit consists of five human hairbrushes taken from my vanity.
Before I ride, I do very little. A small plastic brush to get rid of dirt, leaves, grass — anything that might be uncomfortable under the saddle or bridle. That's it. No long grooming routine, no frantic currying, no polishing. Just: don't let them be uncomfortable.
After I ride, I get off and offer water.
Leo drinks straight away. Freya usually doesn't.
Then the tack comes off.
And they rub. Everywhere.
I usually end up braced against the fence while they use me as a scratching post. I offer my body — usually my hip or backside — and let them get on with it. I love it. It's one of my favourite things.
If they're sweaty, I hose them.
Freya makes that decision very clear. She walks straight to the wash bay if she wants it. She loves water — from a hose. She'll swim, but she doesn't dive under, roll, and splash like Leo, who I'm fairly sure was a hippopotamus in another life.
Leo doesn't like the hose unless it's really hot. But he'll swim in any weather. Which makes no sense, but there you go.
After that, I take them to a grass patch they like.
Leo rolls every time. Freya not so much.
The Brushes
This is where the grooming actually happens.
They choose the brush. They choose where. They choose how long.
Freya loves her withers done. It completely switches her off. Then she'll shift slightly — telling me where next. Under the neck, chest, tummy. Or she'll just wander off when she's had enough.
Leo is different. He likes the top of his neck, around his ears, under his throat. He enjoys it — but only for a couple of minutes. Then he's done and goes back to grazing.
No pressure. No expectation.
The Paddock
Once I've packed everything up, I take them back to the paddock. About sixteen horses live there. Not all friends, but a kind of family.
Leo has Zinc. She adores him. She waits at the gate and will sometimes call to him, urging him back.
I take off their halters.
And they don't just leave.
They stay.
They come back in, rub on me again, ask for scratches. They linger. Sometimes for a few minutes. I'm usually the one who breaks it off.
What This Actually Is
It would be easy to say they're affectionate. And they are. But it's also something else.
It's relief. It's feeling safe. It's having a say in what happens to their own bodies.
There's a big difference between a horse that's held in place and groomed and a horse that can walk away at any moment.
Mine walk away. And then they come back.
Not the grooming kit that controls. Not the one that does things to them. The one they can use.
And leave.
And come back to.
That's the difference. And I think that's why they stay.