Darwin the pony was a dream come true, she really loved him and he loved her, but then he had to go, writes MICHAEL HARDING

ONCE UPON a time in Westmeath, there was a chestnut pony called Darwin.

He grew up on an organic farm, eating herbs, and he had long brown eyelashes, and enormous brown eyes.

Darwin had a girlfriend: Gem, a grey, in the next stable was his favourite mare. Each morning he put his head out to look for her. Each evening he talked to her through a gap in the wall between the two stables.

When they were being put out to the fields Darwin always wanted Gem beside him. And going to a show, he was only happy if Gem came with him. Otherwise he would kick the walls of the horsebox, from Mullingar to Wexford and back again, with rage.

Darwin, they said, had a sense of humour. He always flung his feed bucket out over the stable door when he was finished, as a joke. And he would turn his hind rump to the door if someone he didn’t like came in.

But a stable yard can also be the setting for great tragedies. One day, a man, worrying about his debts, was holding the reins of his daughter’s pony, and gazing at the sky, as the farrier worked on the horses’ feet, when suddenly his heart burst, and he fell down dead.

On another occasion a little boy was found crying in the corner of an empty stable, because his parents had just announced to him that on account of financial problems they had sold his pony.

And one of the saddest things in a yard is the sight of a horse not ridden, because the young rider has lost interest, and the lovely beast is left abandoned, unexercised and lonely.

But Darwin was not lonely.

For one young girl, he was a dream come true, and he took her over all the fences she ever faced, though it was more than jumping kept them together: she really loved him, and he loved her.

He loved to toss his bucket at her. To roll on the ground with her, and blow breath into her face, to stretch for apples, or just chew Silvermints, while she plaited his tail. She came every day after school, without fail, whether it was wet or fine, and together they learned to jump higher and higher over the fences.

He jumped so well that within the first year of their relationship he had chalked up over 200 points, for clear rounds, at various shows.

As a Grade A pony, he went on to win so many leagues and competitions that he became fussy about photographs, and often refused to stand beside other horses he didn’t like, when the photographer came to capture his image for the local newspaper.

But when the young girl grew too big for ponies, she knew that she must sell Darwin so that he could continue his adventures with some other princess.

For a few days everyone in the yard was silent. The young girl hugged him and played with him, and told him how much she would miss him.

She rode him bareback to be close to him, and played her usual games with him.

And then, one morning in May, the lorry arrived. The young girl gave the driver apples to give Darwin at various times on the long journey, to comfort him.

The lorry driver was a kind man and he listened carefully to her, and reassured her about everything. People stood around in tears, broken-hearted, afraid to look each other in the eye.

But the young girl was brave, and she did look Darwin in the eye, one last time, as the ramp was lifted and locked, and she smiled, so that he wouldn’t think she was upset.

That evening Darwin crossed the Irish Sea, and travelled as far as Devon where he spent a night. Then he and the driver crossed to Calais, and on through Europe, as far as Denmark. Finally they arrived in Sweden, by ferry, to meet a new princess.

What hurt the girl in Westmeath most was knowing that he had gone so far away.

But on that May morning, as the lorry drove off down the lane, beneath the green beeches, everyone headed up the yard again, with wheelbarrows and forks. There were other horses to feed. The young girl was older now, and life in the stable yard had moved on.