With SWB in Poland part2


🇬🇧 With SWB in Poland – Part 2

We truly felt like the richest people in the country while we were there. Everything was so affordable, and even though I was poor back in Sweden, I could afford quite a lot in Poland.

You could see the difference when we stopped for coffee or a snack somewhere. People would gather around the bus just to look at it. They had never seen a bus like that before. We were told not to give anything to them, as it could cause problems.
But one person ignored those rules – Walter Persson. No one knows how he managed it, but somehow he got Polish children to sing in Swedish just to get some candy. It was both tragic and funny – but the kids were thrilled with the candy, and Walter was certainly generous!

That’s something we had in common. Even though I didn’t have much money, I felt that even 10 kronor was a lot for the Polish people, so I always gave a tip.
Many of those on the trip wanted their exact change back – and I didn’t like that. The Polish people were so friendly and did everything they could to make us feel welcome, so why not show a little appreciation? Everything was so cheap anyway.

Being generous and thoughtful really paid off, as Walter and I found out one evening after dinner at a hotel. It was late, and the staff said that after a certain hour they wouldn’t serve anymore.
Walter asked, “But can’t we buy just a little champagne?”
Sure enough – he and I were the only ones served, because we had tipped the waiters. We toasted each other and agreed: there is justice in the world!

It was an unforgettable trip – and I was tired for 14 days afterward, that’s how intense it was!
I met so many amazing people (even if they were a bit older 😉), and our bus driver got us home safe and sound – full credit to him.

The journey itself was amazing – but it didn’t end there. I gained some valuable connections, and I even have a funny little story about that.

Shortly after we returned home, there was an event at Flyinge. I don’t remember exactly what it was, but it was crowded. The big indoor arena was fairly new, and there was going to be a show.
At one end of the arena, there’s a walkway where you can cross from one side to the other. I was crossing there, looking down into the packed arena, when suddenly I heard someone shout:
“But look – it’s the saddlemaker!”
Everyone turned their heads to me as Gunnar Henriksson came rushing over and gave me a big bear hug!
It was great to see him again – and later, he even helped me with a ton of paperwork when I was preparing to present my stallion in Denmark.

Another great contact from that trip was Inge Wilhelmsson. When we were hosting a breeding evaluation at our farm, I contacted him and asked if he would come as a judge for our Palomino evaluation.
He agreed – and I was proud to advertise that we had an international judge at our event.

I also ran into Walter Persson at Falsterbo, where he was one of the organizers. I was there selling gear from my saddlery, and we had a party before the event kicked off.

And I’m still in touch with Gullvi Borsits – she’s just as lively and lovely as ever, even though she’s now passed the age of 80.

As I always say: It’s all about connections – you never know when you might need them!

With SWB in Poland!

With SWB in Poland!

You sometimes see jokes on Facebook about how boarding schools didn’t exist when we were kids, so there’s no proof of the mischief we got up to back then.
Hmm
 I actually had a camera and used it quite a bit, even though developing photos was expensive. But I thought it was worth it—and I really don’t regret that today. So yes, we could definitely be cheeky even without mobile phones to film everything!

The story I’m about to share involves some big names in the equestrian world at the time. Sadly, many of them are no longer with us, but I hope their children and grandchildren can have a good laugh and not feel embarrassed—because we sure knew how to have fun back then.
I can’t remember everyone’s names, but I still see their faces and hear their laughter. That’s what made this trip one of the most memorable of my life.

I remember when Gullvi Borsits asked me if I wanted to join a trip to look at horses. She organized several tours with SWB and put an incredible amount of time and effort into them. I didn’t hesitate—I really wanted to go! But could I afford it?
I was living alone on my farm in Mörrum and didn’t earn much as a saddler. Gullvi convinced me it wouldn’t be too expensive—at the time, Poland was incredibly cheap.

I arranged for people to stay at my place while I was gone—after all, I had dogs, cats, chickens, and horses to look after. I had no idea who else was joining the trip, other than they were from SWB, so it could have been anyone!
I drove to Gullvi’s, where the bus was set to pass by in Vinslöv, and we were among the first to board. I was relieved that Lollo was coming too—I knew her a little, and we were about the same age. That felt like a huge advantage, especially as we watched the rest of the group board.
Lollo and I exchanged looks—we were both a bit disappointed. We agreed the local retirement home must have burned down, with all the old folks who showed up. “Pensioners’ trip,” I thought, sighing. Oh well, we were going to look at horses—how bad could it be?

Let me tell you—it turned out to be amazing!
Those “pensioners” had no filters. They were simply too old to care what others thought. They took turns grabbing the mic to talk about their studs, stallions, and all sorts of wonderful horsey topics.
And when they ran out of stories? They started telling dirty jokes—we were crying with laughter.

The first day was spent on the bus and ferry. I was glad I brought seasickness pills, because the waves were intense.
When we arrived at the first hotel, we had a lovely dinner together. Then someone suggested we introduce ourselves one by one.
Panic hit me. I was shy back then (it fades with age!), and I spent the whole time trying to figure out what I’d say. I didn’t hear half of the others’ introductions. There were around 50 of us.
When it was my turn, I managed to stammer out that I was a saddler from Mörrum and had a yellow stallion by Gullvi’s Pegasus.

After dinner, we headed to the bar. I rushed to get a drink to calm my nerves.
Then a man came over and started talking to me.
“Oh, so you live in Blekinge?” he asked.
“Well
 yes,” I admitted.
“How’s
”—I can’t remember the name—but he referred to one of the stallion keepers in Blekinge at the time.
I said I didn’t know him well, but it was a shame he had the wrong stallion.
“What do you mean?” the man asked.
“Well,” I said, “maybe there’s nothing wrong with the stallion, but he doesn’t match the mares in Blekinge. His foals have no movement, no charisma, they’re pony-sized and all solid brown.”

The man looked at me, puzzled, and said,
“Well, we sent him another stallion, but he didn’t want it. He asked for Neapel back—he could handle that one!”
I couldn’t breathe—we sent? Who was this guy?
Turned out, it was Gunnar Henriksson, one of the big bosses at Flyinge back then.
He looked at me and realized I was terrified I’d said too much.
“That’s good to know,” he said. “No one else dares tell us things like that. Thank you!”

We became great friends after that and talked a lot about horses during the rest of the trip.

Then it was time to find our rooms. Our guide was very kind and offered to carry our bags. I was walking along with mine and said, “That’s kind of you.”
I handed him my suitcase—and it dropped like a rock to the floor. He looked at me in shock:
“What are you carrying
 machine guns?!”
I was strong back then and hadn’t really noticed how heavy it was. I may have also smuggled a bottle or two of vodka onboard during the ferry ride


We had a wonderful bus—new and well-equipped. But Poland’s roads weren’t quite as modern, so we spent long hours traveling.
The poor bus driver struggled to find some of the places—GPS didn’t exist yet, and many of the stud farms were deep in the countryside.
At one point, we almost had to turn around because the trees grew so close over the road that our big bus could barely get through. But we made it!

We got to visit some amazing stud farms, and the people working there went out of their way to give us a great experience. They showed off their stallions, harnessed horses, and performed driving demonstrations for us.
Unfortunately, some visits were delayed, and we arrived after dark, making it hard to take photos. Still, I got a few!

The Polish hosts were incredibly kind, and everyone wanted to serve us their best dish—schnitzel. I love schnitzel, but after eating it four days in a row, I was starting to dream of crispbread.

The worst part was when we had been on the road all day and were nearly at the Russian border. We arrived at 10 p.m. instead of 6, and they served schnitzel that had been sitting in grease for four hours. I couldn’t eat it.
But no worries—I had backup supplies (aka vodka) in my suitcase. One little shot on an empty stomach had quite the effect. Suddenly, I wasn’t shy anymore!
I started singing and got the others to join in. There were a few Polish guests in the restaurant—they each got a shot too and soon started singing Polish songs.
The room came alive, and all our tiredness vanished.

But where there’s income, there are expenses—and I needed a toilet. No one knew where it was, so I went into the hallway where a stern-looking babushka was sitting. I asked in English, and she said something in Polish.
I thanked her and went down the stairs, right, then left—and found the bathroom.
While sitting there, I realized that a shot of vodka really does help—suddenly I had no trouble understanding Polish!

One of the days we visited a racetrack where Arabians were racing—fast ones! You were allowed to bet, but only small amounts.
I placed the maximum allowed on a beautiful Arabian that I liked and felt like a millionaire. The betting limit was about 10 zloty.
My horse won, and I made around 70 zloty—I just wished we’d been allowed to bet more!


Karma!

Karma!

In my latest blog post, I wrote about how it feels when people watch you from the stands while you ride. After publishing it, I received a message from someone who told me something quite upsetting: at their riding school, people sometimes stood on the sidelines and filmed riders—only to share the clips in a group chat where they mocked them.

I replied that people should be careful about how they behave—because there’s something called karma.

That made me think back to my school years. It’s not really about horses, but we all go through things in life that shape us into who we are.

I was bullied in school—from third to sixth grade. Three of the class “leaders” chose me as an easy target, for various reasons. I wore glasses, I loved horses, and I lived in a “nice” house with a garden.

Their names were Linda, Lone, and Marianne. I wished I could be like them—fearless, outspoken, confident. They seemed like they could do whatever they wanted. I was bullied for everything. If I got a new dress that I was proud of, it was called ugly and outdated. One time I brought a small stuffed animal to school—they took it and used it as a ball until it broke. I was shy and didn’t say much.

This went on until sixth grade. Then a new girl joined the class—she also loved horses, and I knew her from the riding school. I took care of her, and we became best friends. We still are, after a lifetime of ups and downs.

What did I learn from all this?
That I never want to treat anyone the way I was treated. I know what it feels like, how deeply lonely it can be. That’s why I’ve always tried to be kind, to listen, and to be there for others.

Later in life, I began to understand why those three girls targeted me. My mother always told me it was because they were jealous. I didn’t get that as a child—what could they possibly be jealous of?

But over the years, it started to make sense. One of the girls had a lisp, another had dyslexia, and the third came from a troubled home. Back then, it was common to invite your whole class for birthday cake at home—but none of them ever had a party. You can probably guess why.

Sometimes, attacking others is the only defense someone feels they have. But here’s the truth: people who are doing well, who feel good about themselves and their lives, have no desire to hurt others.

So if you are the one being bullied—try to remember that the bully often doesn’t feel good inside. They need to bring others down to feel in control.

And when the person being bullied stops reacting, it often takes the fun out of it for the bully. If they can’t get a reaction, they can’t feel powerful.

I hope this helps someone out there—maybe someone being bullied, maybe someone who is bullying—to really understand what’s going on, to see themselves through other people’s eyes, and to choose a better way.

Being Watched While Riding – What Does It Do to You?

Being Watched While Riding – What Does It Do to You?

You’re riding in the arena, maybe outside on a track. Around you, there are other riders – or people just standing by, watching. Suddenly, that familiar feeling creeps in:
“Are they watching me? Can they see I’m sitting crooked? Are they judging how I ride?”

If this sounds familiar, you’re definitely not alone. Almost every rider has, at some point, felt observed – and judged.

Caring about what others think isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it can be useful. It can help us improve, reflect, and strive to ride better. But the real problem begins when we start interpreting people’s glances or whispers as signs that we’re not good enough. That’s when the thoughts can spiral and become both harsh and completely untrue.

We are often our own worst critics. Two people standing by the fence talking – suddenly we’re sure they’re talking about us. And what we “hear” in our minds is rarely kind.

But
 what if it’s not about you at all? What if they’re just discussing what movie to watch tonight? Or how their own riding session went?

In the horse world, there’s also a strong culture of “helpful advice.” Everyone has an opinion about riding, feeding, or handling horses – and it often doesn’t matter whether they’re educated or not. In fact, sometimes it feels like the less someone knows, the more they want to advise you.

Here’s the key: it’s not about what’s being said – it’s about how you receive it.
You can’t control what others think, but you can choose how you respond.
– Listen.
– Reflect.
– Take what’s useful – and let the rest go.

It’s easy to feel frustrated when someone with little knowledge gives you advice that feels off. But frustration rarely helps. It only drains your energy – and can even slow down your growth.

No rider knows it all. Not even after a lifetime with horses. What matters is accepting where you are on your journey, being open to learning, and always putting your horse’s well-being first.

So next time someone offers you advice – ask yourself: Can I use this?
If the answer is no, just smile, say thank you, and move on.

And if someone speaks badly about you – dare to ask why. People who are secure in themselves and confident in their knowledge don’t need to tear others down.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to your horse. That’s more than enough.

Sitka-The Pony IÂŽll Never Forget!

Sitka – The Pony I’ll Never Forget

Let me tell you about another wonderful pony – and this time, I can mention her by name. Sitka stayed with us until she turned 20. Sadly, when she became very ill, we had to let her go.

I had received four ponies from Denmark – each one sweeter and nicer than the last. They were all sold fairly quickly, and Sitka was the last to leave. Secretly, she was my favorite. She had everything I loved in a pony. A full-up C-pony, eight years old – in the prime of her life. Anyone could ride her, she was kind and steady, jumped nicely, and was a dream to ride out.

One day, a riding school called and wanted to buy her. Since they were located far away, they didn’t want to travel to see her – they preferred to buy unseen. However, they were cautious and wanted to know who I was and if I could be trusted. They contacted my insurance agent, who in turn reached out to my farrier. He confirmed without hesitation that I was 100% trustworthy and often had lovely ponies and horses for sale.

We agreed on a price, and I received 25,000 SEK for Sitka. She left with the transporter, and I must admit – I had a tear in my eye as she drove away. I was truly fond of her. As always, I called the buyer to check that she had arrived safely and to hear if they were as thrilled with her as I had been.

The woman I spoke to said she was “fine, but a bit thin.” Sitka had been in good condition, so I was confused – and slightly offended. It wasn’t just what she said, but how she said it. I didn’t feel at ease with her at all.

Three or four months passed. In early December, the riding school called again. I was delighted – I thought they wanted to share how happy they were with Sitka. But the news was anything but good. Sitka had gone lame, and they had taken her to a clinic. There, the vet diagnosed her with patellar luxation – a congenital defect. According to them, she was in such poor condition that she was “ready for slaughter.” The vet even said she should have been put down as a foal.

I was shocked. Sitka had never shown any signs of lameness while with me. She had passed a vet inspection, had been ridden and jumped – all without issues. The school insisted that she must have been resting before I got her, and now that they’d started using her, the problem had resurfaced. I couldn’t make sense of it.

I asked how she was doing. “She just stands there,” they said. They suggested it would be most humane to euthanize her. I wanted desperately to get her home and see her with my own eyes. But I didn’t have the money to refund the full amount. I offered them another pony instead, but they had lost trust in me – assuming that all Danish ponies must be faulty.

I started researching what patellar luxation actually was. My regular vet barely knew anything. A vet friend of mine explained a bit more, but finally, I called my clinic and got in touch with Dan – a vet who clearly knew what he was talking about. He asked what breed the pony was (I didn’t know – this was before horses were required to have passports), her size, age, and whether she’d been ridden. When I told him what I knew, he said it was impossible she had patellar luxation. If she had, she wouldn’t have been rideable at all. He explained that it mostly affected Shetland ponies, and they were usually put down as foals since they couldn’t be used. He encouraged me to bring her in so he could examine her.

It took some time, and I had many conversations with the riding school. I also didn’t know how I was going to afford it. I asked if they would consider a second opinion from another clinic. They might – but only if I paid for the transportation, the vet’s time, and the entire inspection.

I even called the vet who had given the original diagnosis. She told me she had never said Sitka was “ready for slaughter,” only that she wasn’t suitable as a riding school pony. She added that patellar luxation was extremely rare in horses, but – funnily enough – she had seen another case just the week before
 in a warmblood. I began to feel skeptical.

Eventually, the head of the riding school called and threatened to sue me if I didn’t take the pony back. She was extremely rude. That’s when I decided: I had to bring Sitka home and see her with my own eyes.

I managed to scrape together 15,000 SEK and agreed to pay the remaining amount later. When Sitka arrived, she walked off the trailer calmly and went into the stable without any signs of pain. What a relief to see her again. But when I walked past her stall, she lashed out at me with fury in her eyes – I had never seen a horse look at someone like that. I truly felt for her. She must not have been treated kindly.

A few days later, I took her to the clinic. Three veterinarians examined her, X-rayed her, flexed her legs – everything. There was absolutely no sign of patellar luxation. What she did have was inflammation in the fetlock joints of three legs. No wonder she had been in pain when they tried to ride her. I suspect she had been overused because she was so kind and willing.

She was treated three times and fully recovered. My youngest son, Aron, joined me on many walks as we gently exercised her. Soon, she stopped threatening us and started whinnying happily when we came to the stable.

Spring came, and as she shed her winter coat, I noticed she had a brand mark. Knowing she came from Denmark, I began digging into her background. I found out she was sired by a palomino stallion – quite the surprise for a chestnut pony, but somehow I had felt it. Aron fell just as much in love with her as I had.

As I mentioned, Sitka stayed with us until she turned 20. Sadly, we had to say goodbye when she became very ill. One year, she even had a foal – a little palomino colt, who grew up to become a talented dressage pony.

The riding school never received the last 10,000 SEK. As Dan, the vet, said – they really shouldn’t have gotten any money back at all, considering how they treated her and contributed to her condition.

Every morning, Sitka greeted me with a joyful whinny. I still miss her deeply. And to think – if I had given in and let them euthanize her, she would’ve been lost forever. There are many so-called “experienced” vets out there – but never trust them blindly.

The Feeling of Happiness!

The Feeling of Happiness

A feeling can’t always be described in words – and we all have different reasons for feeling happy. For some, it’s enough to see the first butterfly of spring. For others, it might take a million in the bank to feel truly good.

We can’t be happy all the time, but there are levels to happiness. Most of the time, we remember those moments when we felt truly, deeply happy. Those are worth remembering – and worth tuning into every now and then. It makes life a little easier to live.

When I look back, there are many happy moments: getting married, the birth of my children. But one moment of joy I’ll never forget was the very first time we hosted a show with our palomino horses. I had attended evaluations, competitions, and demonstrations before – but I had never arranged one at our own place.

There was an incredible amount of work. The whole yard had to be cleaned, the horses groomed, and the children were preparing to take part in the show. My mother was there, serving hot dogs. Everyone helped out. During the preparations, there wasn’t really time to feel anything – there was just so much to do. But one moment stands out clearly in my memory.

My brother, who’s a former musician, had arranged a sound system and music for the show. He brought big speakers, and we placed him at one end of the arena. I went to stand in the middle of the riding arena to check if the sound was loud enough – or maybe too loud. The arena had just been freshly harrowed, the fences painted, and there were flowers everywhere. We had so many sponsors – one of them, a local plant nursery, had donated a huge number of flowers.

I remember standing there, in the middle of the arena, when the music started. Our farm, all the hard work, our beautiful horses – suddenly it all felt like a dream. I got goosebumps all over, and tears of joy started rolling down my cheeks. I tried to wipe them away quickly – I didn’t want my brother to see me standing there crying.

It was a wonderful day, and worth every bit of effort. I still remember it with a full heart.

Over the years, we held other events – breed evaluations, Christmas markets, Lucia celebrations, flea markets, and even a rock concert – but that first one
 that’s the one I remember the best.

I’m sure you have a moment like that too. Bring it out every once in a while and hold on to it. It adds joy to life.Â đŸŒŒ

What is a Palomino?


What is a Palomino?

I’ve been breeding Palomino horses for almost 40 years of my life.
When I tell people that, the first thing they usually say is:
“Isn’t that just a color?”

And yes – in a way, they’re right. In English, palomino refers to a horse with a golden body and a light, silvery mane and tail – or, as I like to describe them: gold-colored with a silver mane.
But what many don’t know is that Palomino can also be considered a breed.

Palomino is what we call a color breed – just like the Knabstrupper or the Pinto – where horses are bred not only for their color, but also for conformation, health, and performance. It’s not a single, uniform breed, but rather a type that can include many different sizes and backgrounds. The goal of Palomino breeding is to produce beautiful, healthy riding horses with good conformation – whether they’re big, small, ponies, or even miniature horses.

The Palomino breed exists in several countries, including the UK, Germany, the Netherlands, and Denmark – but sadly, no longer in Sweden. When I lived in Sweden, we tried to establish a Swedish branch of the Danish association. It survived only as long as I served as chairperson – it takes a lot of energy and commitment to run an organization, and no one else was able to take over when I stepped down.

There was quite a bit of interest in Palominos at the time, especially when I was most active. In Swedish warmblood breeding, the palomino (or isabell as they call the color there) wasn’t very popular among judges. They preferred chestnuts and bays – colors more suited to the army’s needs. Pegasus and Pompe were gone, and only Bernstein carried the cream gene.

But among horse buyers, the color was always very popular. More than once, I’ve heard people say they dreamed of owning a palomino since they were children.

Today, Palominos are becoming more accepted in breeding programs, and golden horses are popping up everywhere – in breeds like the North Swedish, PRE, and warmbloods.

I started my Palomino breeding program with a stallion named Mackay, who I’ve written a lot about. He was a Swedish warmblood by Pegasus–Elektron, though he was never approved by the warmblood association. However, he was accepted by the Palomino registry. He sired many foals of all types, and many of them inherited his beautiful color.

It was never hard to sell foals that had the palomino color – but breeding is always a gamble. Two palominos can produce a chestnut foal, and those were sometimes harder to sell than the golden ones.

Two palominos can also produce a white foal, called a cremello. Cremellos have blue eyes and a white coat but still have skin pigment. It’s important not to confuse them with albinos. Albinos have red eyes and no pigment in the skin – and in fact, there are no true albino horses, even though some people think so.

Cremellos actually offer a genetic advantage:
If you breed a cremello mare with a chestnut stallion, the foal will always be palomino.
If you breed her to a bay stallion, the foal will always be buckskin (gold with black points).
This makes the cremello horse very valuable in breeding if you want to ensure the foals inherit the cream gene and get that special color.

If you’d like to learn more about Palomino horses, you can visit the website of the Danish Palomino Association:
👉 https://palomino-psa.dk/

Two of my own Palomino horses are still active in breeding in Sweden today, and it makes me so happy to see that the passion lives on – that others share the same love for these golden horses as I do.

If you’d like to see some of my horses through the years, feel free to visit my website:
👉 www.palomino.se

Positive and Negative – Two Sides of the Same Coin

🐮 Positive and Negative – Two Sides of the Same Coin

There are images that stay with you for life. One such image is etched into my memory from my very first riding school – a scene that both shaped me and opened my eyes to how we treat our horses. Today, I want to share that story. Not to stir up drama, but to explain why horse welfare is something we need to talk about – honestly and openly.

When I started my blog and my podcast, I made a promise to myself: to keep everything in a positive spirit. I was so tired of all the negativity flooding the internet. Over time, I’ve found many fun and heartwarming stories from the past. But when I sit down and try to refresh my memory – to really look back – the flashbacks often bring with them the heavier things too.

And of course, I know: where there is good, there is also bad. And often, it’s from the hard times that we learn the most.

One of those flashbacks takes me back to my very first riding school – a place I truly loved. It was my escape from school, where I didn’t really have any close friends. I wore glasses and was good at both writing and math, which didn’t exactly make me popular among the kids who liked to bully others.

When I close my eyes and think back, the very first image that comes to mind is of our riding instructor, Henry Thomsen, standing with all his might, whipping Ali – a horse tied up in a stall, trying to crawl up into the feed trough, eyes filled with terror, sweat pouring, his whole body trembling.

It’s an image burned into the back of my eyelids. It’s impossible to describe the full scene with words – the smell, the tension, the fear. And above all, the helplessness of not being able to do anything. I must have been around 10 or 11 years old.

Earlier that day, Thomsen had given a lesson to the more “experienced” riders. He had tried to “teach” Ali something by striking him with the whip. Ali responded with a powerful kick straight to Thomsen’s ribs, knocking the air out of him and sending him to the ground. Half an hour later, he went into the stable to “teach Ali a lesson.” We children saw everything, unable to stop it – until finally an adult stepped in and told Thomsen, “Ali has probably learned what he needs to now.”

Thomsen had a problem with alcohol, and the whole riding school was in chaos during that period. I’ll share more about that in my next blog post. But this story – this memory – is one I want to use to deliver a message.

This experience opened my eyes. First and foremost, you don’t punish a horse half an hour after something has happened. And even more importantly – you don’t punish a horse for reacting to being whipped. That is a natural reaction. The whip should never have been involved in the first place.

I’m sharing this story to show you what I stand for today. Many people (I hope) have never seen something like this. And some may still wonder what horse welfare really means. There are levels to everything – but in my opinion, Thomsen represents one of the worst examples of how things should not be done.

Then there are those who want better performance from their horses and resort to whips, spurs, or harsh bits to punish them when they don’t obey. And there are those who punish out of fear – to protect themselves when a horse bucks, tramples, or does something dangerous. I’ve been in that place many times myself. I’ve worked with so many different horses – my own stallions, and horses I’d never met before. In hindsight, I’ve often realized I could have handled things differently. But in the moment, it felt like self-defense.

I believe that one reason people resist the modern idea of horse welfare is fear – fear that things will go too far, that we won’t be allowed to “demand respect” from the horse anymore. But supporting horse welfare doesn’t mean letting the horse do whatever it wants. It’s just like with children – they must learn to sit at the table, go to school, and function as grown-ups. But we don’t need to hit our children to teach them. They can still respect adults – if we show them the way.

Respect is something you earn from the individual you work with – if you are a good teacher. If you are consistent and clear, and you guide them in the right way. Respect cannot be beaten into someone. If you use force, the other will fight back.

Respect is about give and take. About reading the one you’re working with, and understanding what affects them – and why. It comes with knowledge, and above all, with self-awareness.

We humans are the ones who must help the horse – without violence – to become our partner. To give us as much joy as we give them.

How I Bought Ragyogo!

How I Bought Ragyogo

About 15 years ago, I had a stallion named Mackay. We had many wonderful years together, but he was getting older – around 24 or 25 at the time. I realized it was time to start looking for a successor.

I was specifically looking for a golden-colored stallion, preferably a cremello, but they don’t exactly grow on trees. So, the search took a while. Eventually, a lady reached out to me saying she had a cremello stallion for sale. News spreads fast in the horse world!

She sent me a video, but he didn’t really appeal to me. Then she mentioned that a friend of hers in Germany had a palomino stallion available for lease. I wasn’t too thrilled about that idea – I haven’t had the best experiences leasing horses. If I was going to have a stallion for years to come, I wanted to own him.

But then she suggested I could lease him first, and then buy him later if everything felt right. That actually sounded like a really good deal – getting to know the horse first before making a commitment. I was all for it, but I wanted to see his papers – to know if he was approved and how.

Every time I asked for documents, she sent something else. That made me a bit suspicious. I had seen photos and a short video and thought he looked beautiful, but I had a strange feeling about the whole thing.

So I asked a friend who speaks Hungarian if she could help me check the papers. She couldn’t really tell whether he was approved or not, but she did find the name of the current owner. She suggested calling him – which I thought was a great idea.

The lady had told me the stallion was in Austria, being ridden by a 16-year-old girl, and that he was very sweet. But when my friend called the owner, whose name was Tamas, he went completely silent at first. Then he said:
“Yes, I do have him for sale – but he’s still my horse, and I haven’t decided who I’m going to sell him to.”
So, the lady didn’t have the right to lease or sell him at all!

I contacted her and said this didn’t feel right. I told her I was happy to pay for the contact, but I didn’t want to do business with her friend in Germany – she hadn’t even bought the horse, nor had she been given permission to.

That’s when she completely lost it. I got a full-on scolding – she said I had ruined their business deal, that I should never have called, and that I could go away with my “bad Swedish.” I still believe I did the right thing.

We called Tamas again. He said that if I could offer the horse a good home and take proper care of him, I could buy him directly. He checked my website, saw how our horses lived, and that old Mackay was still healthy despite his age. My friend spoke well of me, and in the end, he agreed to sell me the stallion – on one condition: he wanted to come to Sweden and see where the horse would live.

I thought that was a wonderful idea. I said they were all warmly welcome. The whole family came to visit, and it was a very nice experience. We’re still friends today. They felt the horse couldn’t have ended up in a better place.

That’s how Ragyogo – or Ragge, as we called him in Sweden – came to us. He actually had a very long official name, but Ragge suited him perfectly.

We had a few lovely years together, but sadly, we had to say goodbye when he was 19. One day he simply couldn’t get up in his stall. It was heartbreaking. He was a truly beautiful and kind stallion, with a big personality.

Molle and Bertil

Molle and Bertil

I’m sitting here, thinking about what to share in my next blog post. I have so many stories, but unfortunately just as many sad ones as happy ones. That’s life – half good, half bad. When you’ve had as many horses as I have over the years, it’s inevitable that there are quite a few sad stories among them. Those, I don’t really feel like writing about, but I often catch myself having flashbacks when I sit and think back. Images in my mind that I wish I could erase and forget. That’s why I choose to write about the fun things instead – and when you focus on those, the painful memories at least fade into the background.

Today, I want to tell you a story about Bertil and Molle – a story that could have ended badly, but luckily turned out in quite a funny way.

At the time, I lived in a place called Björkefall, in a house I rented far out in the woods. I got water from a well, and there was no plumbing, so whenever I washed myself, I had to go outside and pour the dirty water away. That worked fine in the summer, but in winter it wasn’t exactly pleasant. I also had an outhouse. I had to haul up a lot of water from the well since I had three horses and a dog. The closest inhabited neighbor’s farm was Bertil’s – five kilometers away. In the other direction, there were “only” a couple of kilometers to living people, and nine kilometers to the nearest village.

My friends often asked me if I wasn’t afraid to live alone, but it didn’t bother me – I really liked it. It was just a bit tricky for my clients to find me 🙂

Bertil was always kind and helped out a lot. When he had to go somewhere within a reasonable distance, he always went with his horse. He preferred driving the horse over driving his car.

One day, Bertil came with feed for my horses, and it was Molle pulling the cart. Molle was a big, black North Swedish draft horse – very sweet and eager to work. Bertil used him often for driving in the forest, and Molle would obey the slightest signal.

Of course, I was grateful for the help and asked if Bertil would like some coffee. He rarely said no to coffee, so he gladly accepted. He unhitched Molle from the cart, hung the reins over the shaft bow, and let Molle graze freely. I was a bit concerned and asked if maybe he should let Molle into the paddock or stable instead.

“Nah,” Bertil said, “Molle never goes anywhere!”

But when we came out after having our coffee – he was gone. No Molle anywhere! We looked around briefly, but he was nowhere to be found. Then we spotted hoof prints on the gravel road and figured Molle must’ve decided it was time to go home.

We jumped into my little car – a Fiat 124 – and drove in the direction of Bertil’s farm. We managed to catch up with Molle about halfway home, which was quite a distance. Bertil jumped out and got hold of him. Since the cart was still at my place, he’d have to walk Molle all the way back.

I felt sorry for him, having to walk that far, so I suggested he sit in the car, roll down the window, and “drive” Molle in front of the car so he wouldn’t have to walk. Said and done – and Bertil and I laughed the whole way back, both because he had trusted Molle so much, and because of the funny situation he now found himself in, sitting in the car and “driving” a horse.

We got back safely with both horse and car, and Bertil could hitch Molle up and trot home again. Molle got plenty of exercise – though that was kind of his own choice 🙂