Blog

Axell’s Mercedes

It’s been 20 years – actually more than that, since she was planned the year before. A beautiful mare, Makia, whom I had bought from Poland, was bred to my stallion Mackay.

Her birth became dramatic – as foalings often can be. You can watch a mare for hours, and then step inside for five minutes to grab a cup of coffee… and when you come back out, the foal is already born. It almost happened like that.

We had been keeping an eye on Makia the whole time while she was outside. We were just about to bring the horses into their boxes for the night and only needed to fix a few things first. When we came back out, Makia was already in active labor – right in the middle of the herd. We had imagined a calm and peaceful foaling inside the stable, but Makia had other plans.

It wasn’t easy to keep the other horses away. They were curious and wanted to come close to see what was happening. But out she came – Mercedes – and the foaling itself went well. Now we just had to get them safely into a box before something could happen. Jens had to carry Mercedes inside. She was incredibly big, and learning to stand on her legs doesn’t happen in an instant. Makia was nervous with all the commotion, but in the end, we got them settled.

Mercedes eventually got up and nursed well. Still, I felt that something wasn’t quite right. I called our faithful veterinarian, Bengt Anders Cato, and he came immediately. Together with another vet, he determined that she had developed stomach ulcers, likely caused by stress, and she needed treatment right away.

She had to receive medication every three hours. Hanna Einebrant, who was an intern with us at the time, volunteered to help, and Johan Axell, who was collaborating with us, also stepped in. We took turns – and it worked. Mercedes recovered. And because she was handled and cared for so much from the very beginning, she became a very special horse.

At three years old, she was loaned to an equestrian high school where the students learned to handle and start a young horse under saddle. It was a win-win situation. Mercedes was started under saddle, and the students loved her for her gentle nature and willingness to learn.

She became the mother of several foals – always big, beautiful foals – and she was a good, caring mother.

At the same time, she was always sensitive in her stomach and not the easiest to keep in good condition. A few years ago, she lost several teeth, which made it even harder for her to eat hay properly.

This winter she once again developed digestive problems and lost weight. Still, I felt I had things under control. Her manure improved, becoming firm and normal again, and she seemed brighter. It felt like we were moving in the right direction.

Then, about a week ago, she suddenly started leaving the pasture at night. We added more electric fencing and reinforced everything, but she kept finding places to get out. She didn’t go far – just a little way from the fence, calling to the others. On the fourth night, we had so much electricity running through the fence that she stayed inside.

I went up early to give her breakfast. Nothing seemed unusual. Then Jens came in and said the two geldings were alone again – he couldn’t see Mercedes. When I went out, she was lying down in the shelter.

I thought she might simply be tired after the restless nights and let her rest for a while. But when I came back later, she neighed loudly. That’s when I understood that something was wrong.

Her eyes were bright and alert. I gave her food and water, and we tried to help her up. But she didn’t try to help at all. We decided to give her the night and see if rest would make a difference. I picked fresh grass for her, which she appreciated and ate with good appetite.

The next morning, I could see that it had worsened. She still wanted to eat and drink, but I called the veterinarian and asked him to come as soon as possible. He said he couldn’t come until the afternoon.

By noon, she was dead.

Watching her death throes without being able to do anything was unbearable.

Afterwards, there is only stillness. Tears. And the endless question of whether something could have been done differently.

And then that feeling that brings guilt – relief.

Relief that I didn’t have to make the decision.
Relief that she had always been fragile and required special feeding.
Relief from the constant worry about her weight. I have always been careful that my horses have plenty of feed, yet she often looked thin. When there was abundant grass, she looked normal – but otherwise I carried the feeling that people might think I wasn’t taking proper care of her.

I teach others that guilt can be crumpled up and thrown away.
Yes… it affects me too.

Mercedes was my last broodmare. Now only Maersk remains, 19 years old – my last breeding after Mackay.

It feels deep inside that 40 years of breeding are over. That nearly all of them are gone. To have devoted an entire life to breeding beautiful horses – and now they are no longer here.

It is empty when I go out to feed. No one greeting me. The geldings are not nearly as talkative as she was. She always spotted me from a distance and neighed.

Mercedes…
your blue eyes are now closed forever. 💙

---

There Is No Time for Reflection

Some time ago, I published a summary of a podcast episode where we discussed questions about equine influenza vaccination. The response was overwhelming – so much so that I eventually had to close the comment section. I was even reported and ended up in “Facebook jail.”

It stirred up strong emotions. The discussion quickly became polarized – for and against – and even expanded into debates about other vaccines. Despite the consequences, I do not regret bringing up the topic. On the contrary. When reactions are that strong, it shows how important it is to talk about difficult issues. The level of interest was clearly enormous.

Before each podcast episode, I create a few short reels as a preview and post one each day. There was a great deal of engagement there as well – many comments and strong opinions. So when the full podcast episode was released, with clear links to make sure no one would miss it, I was surprised by how few people actually listened.

I had expected that those who were so engaged in the posts and reels would also want to hear the full conversation. That made me reflect. How many people take a stand based on a short post or a one-minute video, where they only see or hear a fraction of the discussion? Have they truly explored what it means – whether they are for or against – or is their opinion based on something they heard from someone else? Is there real experience behind it, or is it simply a reaction in the moment?

It sometimes feels as though we are quick to judge without knowing the full background. We live in a stressful time, where we are expected to take a position on almost everything. Yet there is time to comment – just not always time to listen to the entire discussion.

Many people also choose to write anonymously. They want to participate in the conversation, but not necessarily take full responsibility for their words. We want to be seen and heard – but often only one way. When someone holds a different opinion, it can feel threatening, and then it becomes easier to report than to engage in dialogue.

I do not like when the space to express oneself – whether in a post or a comment – is restricted simply because opinions differ. If you are certain you are right and do not want to encounter other perspectives, why not simply scroll past what you do not like?

I will continue writing my blog, producing my podcast, and addressing new topics. I hope that even those who do not fully agree with me can see it in a broader context – and perhaps also explore the many other conversations and interviews I have shared over the years.

We can never agree on everything. And as I often say: do you stop watching TV just because there is one program you do not like?

Thank you to those of you who continue to follow, listen, and engage.

My podcast is called Horse and Health, and you can find it on most platforms.

There has been a lot of discussion lately about how horses can feel when we are nervous. How they are affected by our mood, our thoughts, and our emotions. But this isn’t new. Anyone who has truly spent time with horses already knows this.

The horse is an expert at reading us.
They notice the smallest change in our breathing, muscle tension, and focus. What we try to hide in our minds is often clearly expressed in our bodies.

At the same time, we live in a society built on caution and performance. We are taught to protect ourselves, to secure everything, to be careful. Helmet, vest, gadgets. We are also taught to achieve, to keep up, to succeed. Stress increases — and with it, fear.

But maybe what we need first isn’t more protection.
Maybe we need more understanding.

When we learn to read the horse from the ground, to understand the signals, to build the relationship before we get in the saddle — fear naturally decreases. Confidence grows from competence.

But that takes time. And time is exactly what many people feel they don’t have today.

Parents stand by the arena, investing both money and hopes. Progress is expected. Results should be visible. Even when it’s well-intended, that pressure is there.

I believe many fears around horses come from this very thing: not giving it enough time.

And let’s be honest.
There is no one who has never felt fear around a large horse. If someone says they haven’t, they are not being completely truthful.

Fear itself is a reflex. We cannot control that first reaction.
But we can influence what happens in the next second.

When a horse spooks, your nervous system reacts too. That is natural. It travels both ways. But if you know how to regulate your breathing, soften your body, and guide your thoughts back to calm — that is real safety. Not ignoring fear, but managing it.

It can easily become a taboo subject.
No one wants to be “the fearful one.” What if people think you’re not competent enough? What if you’re not welcome?

Yet fear can appear at any time.
After many years with horses.
After a fall.
During a stressful period at work.
Or simply because life feels overwhelming.

Sometimes we are not afraid of the horse.
We are afraid of falling.
Of losing control.
Of the unexpected happening out on the trail.

Fear is not your enemy. It is information.

So the real question is not whether you feel fear.
The real question is:

What triggers your fear — and what do you choose to do in the moment after? 💛🐴

---

Do You Have the Right Horse?

This is a topic I come back to from time to time. Not to be repetitive, but because it’s an important question. As a coach, I hear it often:
“Well, this isn’t the horse I thought I was going to buy.”

Think about it – did you feel the same when you were overjoyed with your horse purchase? Often, emotions guide our decisions. We see a horse that may be struggling, or one whose owner isn’t managing it well, or maybe it’s inexpensive because the previous owner couldn’t handle certain habits or health issues.

One phrase I hear a lot is:
“I probably shouldn’t have bought a young horse!”
That cute little foal has grown into a 3–4-year-old, and suddenly the size hits you. Thoughts start creeping in about sending it “to someone who can and dares to handle it.”

Another common comment is:
“I’ll try to find a rider tougher than me, so the horse can get more exercise.”

This happens even to people who have had horses their whole lives. Suddenly, they face situations they can’t quite manage. Confidence wavers when the horse doesn’t respond the way they expect. But every horse is an individual and needs to be treated accordingly.

Many have been taught that you should always send the horse to someone “who knows how.” That may make sense for a breeder, but if you only have one horse and you’re the one riding it, it’s usually better to seek help to learn how to manage it yourself. Otherwise, the same issues often return when the horse comes home – it recognizes its familiar surroundings and the owner who doubts their own abilities.

A horse doesn’t know what’s “right” or “wrong” in riding, but it can feel when you’re nervous. Simply worrying that you’re not skilled enough can make you tense. That’s why I often encourage riders to understand that you don’t need perfect posture or rigid rules to earn a horse’s trust.

Then there are all the comments from others:
“What a talent – and it’s just standing in the paddock! When will you start riding it?”
Suddenly, pressure builds, and you start doubting your time, your age, or your courage.

I’ve helped many riders regain their confidence and rediscover the connection with their horse. It’s not just about having the “right horse” – it’s about truly understanding and working with the one you have. Listen, enjoy your time together, give it patience, and remember: you bought the horse for yourself, not for anyone else to “tame” it for you.

The hardest horses often teach us the most. If you want support along the way, I’m currently offering a free consultation to help you reflect on whether you really have the right horse for you.

Free Work – Internship – Slave Labour?

Last week I wrote a blog post where I reflected on whether it is still possible, as a business owner, to take on interns. It sparked many reactions, exactly as I had hoped. It is always interesting to hear different perspectives, and we don’t have to agree to have a meaningful conversation.

I understand that some people have felt exploited. There are bad apples everywhere – among business owners as well as among employees or interns. This topic seems to touch a sensitive nerve, and even though I was called a slave driver more than once, I still want to reflect further on it.

I can understand how the media often amplifies stories about young girls being exploited for hard physical labour while the boss sits back and watches, and where everything has to be “white” and declared so the tax authorities are satisfied. At the same time, I have also had young men as interns – absolutely fantastic ones – but for some reason the conversation almost always focuses on the “poor girls”.

I am not trying to change the minds of those who have already decided what they think. I don’t want to, and I can’t. But I do find myself wondering about something else: when did it become normal to demand money as the very first thing, before having contributed anything at all? Have we never done something for free? Have we never felt that deep, wonderful feeling that comes from giving?

My own childhood and youth were very much about helping out. If you received something in return, you were deeply grateful. I spent all my free time at an animal shelter, helping out all day long – feeding the dogs, preparing their food, walking them, and cleaning out their kennels. It never once crossed my mind to ask for money. If someone had told me I should be paid, I would have thought they were completely out of their mind.

During summer holidays, I helped farmers clean out their stables. There was nothing more joyful than surprising the farmer when he came out and saw the stable already clean. And of course, you got to stroke the animals while you worked. No money there either – just a happiness that has stayed with me to this day.

My philosophy has always been: give before you take. I still live by that principle. When you go the extra mile for people, they remember you, and meaningful connections are created naturally.

Today, I run a podcast where I interview people from all over the world who have done something good for horses. I don’t earn a single penny from it. I have created a mini-course for riders with fear, completely free of charge. I write a blog here almost every Monday, free of charge, simply to inspire and engage you. I do these things because I want to – and because it makes my heart happy to help someone move forward.

Do I feel exploited? No. Because I choose this myself.

To those who call me a slave driver or a terrible person for having had interns: have you considered that the interns may also have gained something valuable? The feeling of being useful, seen, and needed. The opportunity to be around animals they might never otherwise have the chance to be close to. To meet like-minded people who share a passion for animals. Perhaps even to step away from unhealthy environments that could negatively shape their future. These values are invisible when everything is reduced to money.

The alternative, in some cases, is to stay at home, unemployed, blaming society for not wanting to hire you – while demanding to be paid before you have even shown who you are. I have never forced anyone to be an intern with me. Every single one chose to be there.

My children have been raised to help out and to support others when needed, without immediately holding out their hand. They are doing well in life, and I truly hope future generations will also see the value in helping others without expecting payment.

This is not slave labour. It is a choice. And that choice says something about the kind of person you choose to be.

---

Interns – Do They Still Exist?

When I was working with horse trading, there was a very well-functioning system for interns in Sweden. You could take on students from agricultural schools, but also private individuals who, for various reasons, had difficulty finding a job. Often the municipality provided financial support, and the intern worked without a salary.

When I write “for free”, I do so deliberately – because it was never actually free to have interns. They were provided with three meals a day, their own room, and sometimes they even brought their own horse. That involved responsibility, time, and costs.

I am fully aware that over the years there has been a lot of discussion about “free labor”, especially concerning young horse girls who were said to work hard without pay. It is a sensitive topic, and the reason I am bringing it up now is that I left the industry many years ago.

In my world, having the right intern has always been a win-win situation. The intern received food and accommodation, but most importantly a realistic insight into what it actually means to work with horses. I never demanded more from an intern than I would have been able to manage myself at the same age. The workday started at eight in the morning, there were plenty of breaks, and they never had to think about cooking – meals were served three times a day, in generous portions.

Those who wanted to were allowed to ride, and the interns were treated as part of the family. They celebrated Midsummer and other holidays with us, and I am still in contact with many of them today. I also received interns from agricultural schools and equestrian high schools, which was both enjoyable and educational.

During my last years of operation, municipalities began to withdraw their internship programs. It became increasingly difficult to find people willing to work in the countryside, and at the same time the debate about “exploited horse girls” grew stronger. Suddenly, one felt portrayed as a slave driver who refused to pay – even though one had offered education, guidance, and a safe and supportive environment.

The truth is that you do not become wealthy from running a horse business. At best, you manage to make ends meet. For me, there simply wasn’t money to employ staff. Hiring employees is extremely expensive once taxes and social fees are included.

In the end, I still tried to employ someone through the employment agency, as some financial support was available. She worked for five days. She dragged her feet and refused, for example, to wipe the nose of a newly arrived horse that had a bit of discharge – “what if it’s strangles?”. She did not want to be around such horses, for fear they might infect her own.

This was despite the fact that I had clearly explained before the employment started that horses sometimes arrived from abroad, and that changing clothes between stables was recommended if she wanted to be extra cautious. She refused to accept that, went home, and never returned. I still had to pay her a full month’s salary, even though she was the one who resigned. On top of that, she spread false rumors throughout the local community that I had strangles in my stable.

That experience was not exactly encouraging when it came to hiring again.

Many of those who today demand that young girls should receive full wages simply do not understand what they are talking about. They have never run a business that barely survives. I struggle to understand why someone with no experience should receive a full salary. Should people also be paid for going to school?

All education is expensive, no matter what path you choose. Many people study for years and graduate with large debts. Here, instead, practical education was offered free of charge, in exchange for help in the stable. Is that really so wrong?

I have countless stories, both good and bad, about my interns. But at heart, I still believe the idea is a good one: helping each other, learning from each other, and growing together.

What do you think?

Riding Schools Are Losing Students

I recently saw an article about riding schools having fewer and fewer students. It made me both sad and concerned. I truly feel sorry for today’s young people who don’t get the chance to experience the excitement, sense of community, and empathy that come from spending time with horses.

I have previously written about many of my experiences with different horses, and I am far from finished. There are so many wonderful memories—not only the time spent with the animals, but everything surrounding it. The planning together with other children, searching for horses that needed a groom. We cycled, rode mopeds, or walked long distances to different places, knocked on doors, and asked if the horses in the fields needed some care. We learned humility and gratitude—just being allowed to be with the horses meant everything, and even more so if you were lucky enough to go for a ride.

Perhaps I partly blame our own generation. After all, it is us who raised our children, who now have children of their own, growing up in a very different spirit.

When I was a child, you had to manage most things on your own. There were no parents who “curled” us or drove us everywhere. If we wanted to do something, we had to make it happen ourselves. That taught us initiative and responsibility. We didn’t have mobile phones, and television was limited. We did have a landline, which could be used for mischief sometimes—especially when it was dark and no one was home. You could call a number, maybe a classmate you didn’t like, and say something completely crazy like, “This is the police!”—or just giggle hysterically into the receiver. But you had to be careful; phone calls were expensive. It cost 25 öre just to make a call, and then the meter kept running. If you called too much, Dad would see it on the bill, and then it definitely wasn’t fun to be a child.

At the riding school and the animal shelter, it was easy to make friends—not like at school, where many kids were just mean and teased others. You could tell that some of them had no real life after school. I was so grateful that I had all my animals to enjoy and belong with.

Back then, riding schools were fully booked, and being a groom was something everyone wanted. It was a status symbol. Because of that, riding schools never had trouble attracting students.

I believe that being allowed to manage on your own and becoming skilled at something your parents didn’t really understand was incredibly developmental in every way. When I had children myself, I noticed how cautious I became. There were rules and requirements for everything before they were allowed to care for or ride horses. Perhaps I took some of that initiative away from them. None of my children ride today, even though they had ponies of their own. I often think that maybe I was too protective and supervised too much.

Children are just like horses—they read us. If a mother is nervous about her child riding, then the child will naturally become afraid as well.

My parents probably didn’t think much about the risks. They weren’t knowledgeable about horses at all. Looking back, I sometimes think about how badly things could have gone, but as a child you don’t reflect on that. That awareness is probably what later makes you want to protect your own children.

I truly hope things will turn around, and that children will once again have the opportunity to grow up with animals—especially horses. Being around such a large animal requires humility, respect, and understanding. Let children make their own experiences. Let them get dirty, play in the mud, and grow into strong individuals. I believe you gain a very different perspective on life if you are not constantly being “curled.”

I know how difficult it is as a parent—I’ve been there myself. But if children are not prepared for adult life, things can go wrong in other ways later on.

I sincerely hope riding schools survive.
We need them.

My First Riding Lesson

Almost 60 years have passed since my very first riding lesson. I don’t remember everything, but some moments stayed with me so clearly that they feel as vivid as ever.

In many ways, it seems I was born to live a life with horses. I still don’t know why. My mother was terrified of them and my father was allergic, so neither of them had ever really been near a horse. Yet horses were all I cared about. Whenever we drove past one, I sighed with longing. And at the zoo, it was always the pony rides that fascinated me—not the other animals. I could watch horses for hours.

A girl in my class had started riding school, and I was beyond jealous, but I didn’t know how to begin myself. I was already taking piano lessons and doing figure skating, so asking my parents for something more felt impossible.

Then an opportunity appeared. A large shopping centre was celebrating its first anniversary, and Pilegården Riding School was there with some of their horses, offering children a chance to try riding and advertising their lessons. It was the perfect moment to convince my parents—and when they saw how enchanted I was by the horses, they agreed. I must say, they were incredibly kind and have supported me so much throughout my life.

My mother had a cousin, Doris, the only person in our family who had ever ridden—apart from an uncle who had trotters. When she visited, she told me everything that would happen at my first riding lesson. I was nervous, excited, and desperately wanted to prove that I deserved to continue riding. She even gave me her old riding helmet, mostly made of cardboard really, but I was unbelievably proud when I put it on for my first visit to Pilegården.

The day came, and I felt a mixture of fear and joy. They put me on the biggest horse of all, a horse named Faust. I don’t know how big he truly was—perhaps around 155 cm—but in my nine-year-old eyes he looked enormous.

The stable was filled with stalls, about 14 or 15 horses stood there. A few box stalls existed, but they were reserved for privately owned horses. There was also a smaller stable with four stalls and three boxes, also for private horses. The indoor arena was tiny, maybe 15 x 30 meters, yet 6–7 horses were in each lesson.

Faust was the designated beginner horse, something I understood immediately. He didn’t move an inch when I got on. He sensed instantly that I was completely inexperienced. Doris had carefully explained how to use my legs if the horse didn’t want to walk, but I felt sorry for him and didn’t dare to nudge. The riding instructor led me around a few steps so I could get some walking done—and for me, that was absolutely wonderful. I had done it! I hadn’t fallen off and Faust had been so kind. I was bursting with happiness.

From that moment on, horses became my entire world. All my worries disappeared the second I stepped into the stable. I still remember every horse’s name from that time.

Normally, we students weren’t allowed in the stable between lessons. The staff groomed and tacked up the horses because they didn’t want us getting injured. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you got to brush your horse before riding—and that made the whole day special. Later, when we became older and more capable, we could become responsible for one horse, and that felt just as amazing as riding.

Pilegården Riding School doesn’t exist anymore; it closed many years ago. But the memories from those early days have stayed in my heart ever since.

---

I dont have any photos from the riding school, but here is the oldest picture I have with me on a horse (Dolan)

---

The Animal Shelter

Something I haven’t written much about from my childhood is the animal shelter that was located about three kilometers from where I lived in Denmark. I had a classmate who owned a schnauzer with a talent for escaping from home. One day she had to pick him up from the shelter after the police had taken him in. She thought the situation was a bit embarrassing and asked if I would come along. To me it just sounded exciting – it wasn’t my dog who had misbehaved – so I happily joined her.

In front of the shelter stood high walls and a huge iron door you had to pass through. You rang a bell to announce your arrival, and as soon as it rang all the dogs inside started barking. Arriving unannounced was simply not an option. Either a trainee came to open the door, or Jönsson himself appeared.

Jönsson was a large and rather heavy man who seemed enormous the first time you saw him. He had only a few teeth left, and between them he always held a half-chewed cigar stump. He often had stubble on his chin, and sometimes a bit of drool when he tried to speak while keeping the cigar in place. We were only 13 or 14 at the time, so seeing him for the first time was a little intimidating. But he was kind to us, and since I’ve always been curious, I immediately began asking questions. I had loved animals my whole life, so a place like that felt like a dream to me.

At that time the shelter had about 20 kennels for homeless dogs, around 30 cats, chickens, rabbits, and above all two horses: a Shetland pony named Claus and a pinto pony of about 140 cm named Prins. Behind the building there was a small riding arena next to two large dog runs, one housing a Saint Bernard and the other a Newfoundland.

Of course I couldn’t resist asking if I could come and help. I was happy to work for free just to be allowed to spend time there – and I was given permission. I walked the dogs, comforted the newly arrived ones, cuddled with the cats, and was even allowed to care for and ride the horses.

According to himself, Jönsson had once been a professional rider. He had certainly ridden a lot, something he had photographic proof of from his younger days. He entertained himself by teaching us girls to ride. As I grew older, I began to question some of his methods. We rode bareback, which in itself is fine, but he insisted that we should grip with our knees to stay on. We held a riding crop under each knee and were expected to keep them in place for the entire lesson. We definitely developed strong thigh muscles! It took me many years to unlearn that habit. However, he was extremely strict about our posture. We had to keep our backs straight and walk with a book on our heads so we would sit “proudly” in the saddle. That part taught me a lot.

What shaped the atmosphere at the shelter most was the principle that you should always be kind to the animals. No one knew what kind of background they came from, and I’ve carried that insight with me all my life. Everyone did their best, and the animals were given real food – not dry kibble. The shelter had agreements with a bakery, a fishmonger, and a butcher, so all their leftovers were sent straight there. The cats got freshly cooked fish, and the dogs were fed rye bread, potatoes, and meat mixed together, with the broth poured over the top. The dogs absolutely loved it. I enjoyed chopping the potatoes. They were boiled in a giant pot and mashed with a long pole fitted with a cutting blade.

In the kitchen where the animal food was prepared, there were also tables and chairs where we drank tea in the afternoons. In the mornings the entire room was filled with thick steam from all the pots boiling at once. The smell of fish and meat wasn’t exactly delightful, but we got used to it. By the afternoon the air had cleared, and we’d sit down with our tea and eat pastries. Jönsson almost always bought Danish pastries, and after a long day helping out we were always hungry. Sometimes I wonder if all his money went to pastries – there were often many of us girls there. When he went shopping, he drove an old moped with a wooden box on the back where he stored everything he bought.

I went there several times a week, cycling back and forth. I must have had incredible stamina – cycling, riding, walking several dogs every day, and helping out in the kitchen.

A year or so after I started there, Prins died of colic, leaving Claus alone. One day Jönsson called me and told me to hurry out to the shelter. He never called normally, so I knew something good had happened. I “borrowed” my brother’s Velo moped and drove out there, even though I was only 14. I was turning 15 in a few weeks, so it didn’t feel too serious – and it was important to get there quickly.

Sure enough, Jönsson had bought a new horse: a chestnut gelding with a blaze. He became “mine” while I was at the shelter, as Jönsson put it. I couldn’t take him home, but I was the one who decided everything about him. I named him Ali Baba, and he became my whole world. He had never been ridden, so I broke him in, trained him to drive, and taught him a lot of tricks. I could make him rear and buck on command.

Two years later Jönsson passed away, and I was terrified of what would happen to Ali. His brother inherited everything, including the horse, who had been Jönsson’s private property. Luckily he had heard that the horse was considered “mine,” so he gave him to me. It was hard to hold back the tears. I was allowed to keep him at the shelter for a while until I found a new place for him.

My time at the shelter ended when the new manager, Mrs. Sørensen, took over. She didn’t like girls hanging around, and one by one we were all thrown out. I found a place for Ali, and the shelter continued on, it 54 years ago – it actually still exists today, though it’s run in a completely different way.

On the picture you´ll see Jönsson and Prins:

Looking at a Horse in Hungary

I have a background as a horse dealer, and I now live in Hungary. During my active years, I bought many lovely Hungarian horses and brought them to Sweden. Hungarian horses have always been popular, especially for riding schools, because they’re usually well ridden and well handled.

So I’m no longer surprised when people contact me and ask if I know this or that dealer or breeder here. Hungary is a big country, and I’ve mostly bought from private individuals. Dealers were often located in certain areas and belonged to groups that you simply learned to avoid when buying horses.

Most people who reach out to me get the same advice: don’t buy a horse without seeing it. There are many good horses here, but you need to come and look yourself. Some people I’ve sent to friends of mine who occasionally help find horses for a small fee. I trust them, but they’re used to dealing with the cheaper horses – not the performance horses with German or Dutch bloodlines that many Swedish buyers are looking for nowadays. And that raises the obvious question: how did such horses end up in Hungary?

Recently, I was contacted again about a horse with a German pedigree. The video and description showed a really nice horse. But I couldn’t help thinking: Why is a horse like that in Hungary unless something is wrong? Horses of that calibre usually sell for a lot of money, so of course you start to wonder. Sometimes it’s something temporary that can be fixed – sometimes it’s simply a misunderstood horse. But no matter what, it’s always a risk. And when a lot of money is involved, you have to decide for yourself whether the risk is worth taking.

I’ve taken that risk a few times myself – sometimes with luck, sometimes not. The important thing is not to let your emotions take over and not to pay too much. When you’ve seen your “dream horse,” it becomes very easy to overlook certain details, especially when the seller has a wonderful story to tell.

This time I agreed to go and look at the horse. I haven’t bought horses for many years, and I thought it could be fun to see if things had changed. On the way there, I talked to my husband and said that I doubted the beautiful facility shown in the video even existed in that area – I had never heard of such a place.

We were supposed to meet the man who owned the horses at his home and then follow him to the stable. The roads were full of potholes, and we drove for three and a half hours. We had been told they spoke excellent English, but when I called an hour before arrival, I realised that without my Hungarian I wouldn’t have understood a word!

When we followed him the last bit to the stable, it was exactly as I had imagined. No indoor arena, no riding arena, no paddocks in sight. Just three boxes with three horses. They rushed into the box, threw on the halter, and dragged the horse out. This particular group of people has a special way of yanking and pulling on the lead rope. They want the horse to look lively, tail up and head high. This hasn’t changed since my trading days. I’ve often tried to explain that we Scandinavians prefer calm, balanced horses when viewing them, but they still show them in the same way.

I checked the horse, measured it, and had the little round man trot it up and down the street while dogs barked and children screamed. No rider, no place to let the horse loose. It didn’t surprise me – I’ve seen it many times before – but back then the prices were completely different. Horses are perishable goods: a horse that was ridden three months ago might not accept a rider now. If it has “rested itself sound,” all the issues might return as soon as you start working it again.

The sellers were very kind and even offered coffee and Palinka – perhaps they thought a little shot might loosen us up! Luckily, we weren’t the ones planning to buy the horse. I thought they were lovely, actually – I could easily have taken all three home with me.

They looked disappointed when no deal was made, but that’s life. We headed home again, hungry after the long day, and found a wonderful restaurant where we were served a huge schnitzel. After all the bumpy roads, it was a perfect end to the day. And the best part was that our dog forgave us instantly for being away so long when he got the half schnitzel we brought home for him.