Sunday on my mind

My lame foal went back to Sydney today. He had a good stay in Canberra. He rested and maybe because I didn't hassle or coach him, he helped around the house and we did stuff together.

At one point I told him he had a sweet nature. He rolled his eyes and said I was being weird. What came out over the weekend was his old self. That's what I meant. It was good to see, to have him back for a while. I'd give anything to have him back all the time.

Like Mrs Horse, he grounds my manic world with his slightly off balance - and quite inappropriate in this venal day and age - gentle spirit. But I ask you, for all your grasping and saving, just how many cheese and tomato sandwiches can anyone eat in a lifetime? If you have one, you have the world. My third foal tuned in on that young. Now, after some recent disappointments and shocks, most of the time he just sits around glued to a screen. He has always seen things differently and now he is suffering for it.

It is his sweet self that others take advantage of, see as weakness, disrespect. I don't. Thank God for the gentle souls as Spike Milligan once wrote. Doesn't the world need them now? No wonder he is disturbed, sometimes despairing at the dawn of adulthood, a bit like Spike perhaps.

But one thing he mentioned in passing was when he has foals of his own. He says he will do a better job than poor old Horsie. It was a relief to know he sees a future for himself beyond his current funk and gloom. He is only 18.

Although I don't want to make him out to be some sort of Creeping Jesus (I love that term). I am absolutely certain he will never attract disciples. And he is only 18 and like most 18 year olds, has all the answers and none. Most of his concerns are nonsense and trivial to people with real problems and struggles. Yet real enough to him for now.

So many young people are like him today for some reason we haven't yet grasped. But on the other hand, who can blame them? So perhaps we do know why. We just can't name it out loud.

I was quite upset to see him go when I put him on the bus, but I held it in. He gave me a big hug at the bus, a rare treat because the last time he said it might be years before I got another. The last one was in happier times, not so long ago, when The Sharks won the Grand Final. We were there together to see it. He gave me a crushing hug when they won, and held me longer than rugby wins allow. Fathers live for those moments. This old stallion anyway, those spontaneous moments of pure love and sincerity.

Speaking of which, Mrs Horse came back from Sydney shortly after the troubled foal left. I was still upset about that. We went for a long walk. She walked, I talked and talked. Women can be so sensible. I missed her. Everything went back into perspective with a wise word here and there. Tonight the stable will be warm again.