Matthew

With astonishment I realised that Jenny and I were approaching our ninth year of marriage. We sat, as we often did, hand in hand, on a bench in the grounds of St Nicholas church looking down over the village. It was late summer, grass had recently been mown, the smell and the silence soothed our souls.

‘Matt, I’ve decided to find a home for Putin.’ Jenny said carefully.

I was stunned. I waited, wondering if I had heard correctly. She couldn’t part with the horse. Old Putin, now a senior citizen, was part of her life, part of her past. I too had grown to dote on the animal, he was part of both our lives.

‘Jen, what are you saying? It’s a joke?’

‘No, Matt, Its - well I am beginning to feel that the work, -even the riding, is getting a bit of a hassle. I’ll find him a good retirement home.’

‘I don’t believe it! - you can’t! Jen he belongs with us, there’s plenty of room for him to retire at home and in any case he’s still got a few years of gentle riding in him.’

Jenny was silent, her face set in a stubborn stare.

‘Jen! Look at me.’ She turned to me, with tilted head her face set but I could see misery in her eyes. ‘Why, Jen?’

‘I told you, he’s too much now.’ She looked away. I got up and walked around. We argued some more but Jenny was adamant. We walked home in silence. At home that evening we spoke only in stilted sentences, it was our first major disagreement in nine years.

The next morning I was up early, I knew Jenny was awake but I ignored her, walking out of the house to the stable. I opened up the top half door. Old Putin clumped around, then came to greet me, his large head came over the door and he nuzzled my shoulder.

‘Hello, old boy.’ I took in the oaty smell, the calm impassive face. We looked eye to eye, a wave of emotion swept over me and I hugged the old head to me. ‘Putin, old boy, everything’s going to be alright.’ I said, with tears in my eyes. ‘I don’t understand it, - I just don’t understand it.’ We stood that way for a long time, I drew comfort from his closeness and returned to the house.

I made a cup of tea and took it upstairs to Jenny, She stared cautiously from beneath the bedclothes.

‘Jen. I’m sorry! I’ve been a right heel. I didn’t mean to upset you, I had no right to get onto you like this.’ I put the cups down and held her in my arms.

‘S’okay.’ She said, holding me tightly so I couldn’t see her face, then she cried. Huge sobs, I could feel her body wracked with grief. She cried until long after the tea had gone cold, then just held onto me.

Two weeks later, we trailored Putin over to Fordingbridge; Trevor had agreed to retire Putin at their working farm and training stables. Jenny had insisted on a monthly payment towards the horse’s keep. We offloaded Putin, who stood around quite unfazed. Trevor was in the yard as we arrived, he strode over accompanied by a stable hand, who then led Putin across the yard toward the stable block.

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