Non-horsey people often think that a life with horses is all sunset gallops, beautifully clean breeches, and perfectly flat-laid equipment. In reality? It's mostly scrubbing green slime off water buckets, picking hay out of your hair in the supermarket queue, and wondering why your bank account is constantly crying.
My life has been a long, chaotic series of muddy boots and velvet noses. It is a journey that eventually led to the creation of Ponies & Pups, but long before there were brightly coloured BioThane dog leads and handcrafted rope halters, there was just a little girl with a very big dream, and a few incredibly naughty ponies.
The Start of the Obsession (And a Small White Lie)
I was that kid. You know exactly the type. The one who could talk about absolutely nothing but horses before I could even properly tie my own shoelaces.
My mum used to take me to the stables when I was barely a toddler. I have these hazy, beautiful memories of being put on a little bouncy grey pony named Gilly Flower and being led down the lanes. I must have been about three years old, sitting up there feeling like the absolute queen of the world. From that moment forward, my fate was sealed. I needed my own pony.
By the time I hit four, the obsession was a full-blown lifestyle. My poor mum searched high and low for a riding school so I could have proper lessons, but the equestrian world is surprisingly strict about toddlers. Nowhere would take me until I was five. So, in a move that I now look back on with immense pride, my mum told a little white lie to Hylands Stables. She told them I was five when I was actually four. Honestly? Worth it.
I started having lessons there every single week. Mostly, I rode a Shetland named Lucky. Let's be honest: Lucky he was not. He had this wicked little party trick where he would just drop his shoulder while turning a corner. One minute you're upright, and the next you're face down in the sand wondering how the ground got so close. If I only fell off four times in a single lesson, we called that a resounding success!
Then, on my 5th birthday, all my dreams came true. My parents bought me Harlequin, a very cute grey Welsh Section A pony.
The Legends and the Lessons
We kept Harle at Hylands Stables, and we spent every single spare hour we had down there. Mum would pick me up from school, and I'd be scrambling around on the back seat of the car, desperately changing into my riding clothes while she navigated the lanes. We'd always stop at the shop to grab a chocolate bar for me, and Polos for Harle, obviously.
It was at Hylands that I met my best friend, Laura. I genuinely don't remember a time when she hasn't been a huge part of my life. We spent every afternoon and most weekends together. Even now, as we fast approach our 40s, we still spend every day together, as she actually runs our yard for my mum!
As kids, we were total opposites. I was quite a wimpy child who heavily favoured the precision of the showing ring. Laura? She was a total speed demon. She was always brave, throwing herself at jumps and living for the adrenaline. She is still the person who keeps me grounded today, usually by giving me a loving eye-roll when I turn up to the yard with my latest neon pink gear while she's managing the actual heavy lifting.
Harlequin taught me more than any human ever could, and mostly, he taught me humility. His absolute favourite party trick in the show ring was during our individual show. We would ride across the diagonal right in front of the judge, and he would put in a cheeky little buck and a shoulder drop. I have many memories of landing directly at the feet of a polished show judge, staring up at her from the grass. He was naughty, but I wouldn't have changed him for the world.
One of my most vivid childhood memories was when my mum entered me into the Heathfield Country Show. I did the Show Hunter Pony and ended up being the only one in the class, meaning I qualified for the PUK (Ponies UK) championships. The adults found this hilarious, because as much as I adored Harle, he really wasn't the quality to qualify for such a prestigious event, and my riding certainly wasn't at that level yet!
Then came the Working Hunter class. My mum had thought the jumps would be 2ft. When we walked the course, it was actually closer to 2ft 6. She couldn't see how I could possibly get Harlequin around it. I ended up sitting in the collecting ring, absolutely sobbing my eyes out to my dad because I was too scared to do it.
Suddenly, a lovely gentleman on a massive Heavyweight Hunter rode over to me and gave me some incredible words of encouragement and advice. I later found out from my parents that it was none other than Robert Oliver! I used to read about him religiously in all the Pony Magazines I nagged my mum to buy me. I went on to ride clear (which was definitely more luck than judgement!) and managed to pick up a second ticket to PUK.
The Year the Light Went Out
If a life with horses is built on incredible highs, it is also defined by devastating lows. I won't pretend it's all been rosettes and Polos.
2024 was, quite simply, the hardest year of my life.
I lost my Welsh Section D, Clooney. I had owned him for over 15 years. He was my absolute heart horse, and losing him left a massive hole in my heart that I genuinely didn't think could ever be filled. He went lame at the beginning of the year and just went downhill from there.
Between Clooney and my current mare, I had two Thoroughbreds. There was Saffy, a beautiful TB I bought from Scotland, who sadly had to be put to sleep after various medical investigations. Then there was Fizz. I had purchased him from my friend Eliza (who actually inspired my bright, neon colour palettes that feature across all our products). Eliza is now a Racehorse Trainer alongside her mum Camilla Armour-Poulton, and I had reached out to her when I was "horseless" to see if she had anything retiring. Fizz was wonderful, but tragically, he got colic at home. He was rushed in for surgery and made it through, but a few days later he colicked again, and the vets said there was nothing more they could do. We lost him at Christmas 2024.
It was awful. Losing three horses in the space of one year left me feeling entirely broken. The "pony" part of me felt like it was just gone.
Enter Patsy (and the Chaos)
Then, a friend messaged me about a chestnut mare named Patsy who was for sale through a friend of a friend. I went to meet her and fell instantly in love. She came to me on a 12-week trial so she could build her fitness to pass the vet, and I officially purchased her at the end of it.
If Patsy were a human, she'd be the one who wakes up at 2 AM convinced she's left the oven on, even though she hasn't cooked anything in three days. She is incredibly sensitive and really quite neurotic, but she is the kindest, softest soul. Her brain is ruled by her stomach 90% of the time, and the other 10% is ruled by a desperate need for scratches and cuddles.
Unfortunately, our journey hasn't been smooth sailing. In July 2025 she suffered an eye injury that resulted in a month-long stay at the Equine Hospital. I brought her back into work, but by October, I knew something was wrong. She became stressed bending to the left, refused to go over trotting poles, and her canter became disunited and rushed.
Cue the full lameness workup. She was diagnosed with PSD (Proximal Suspensory Desmitis), a chronic injury involving the suspensory ligament. We tried box rest, Shockwave, and PRP therapy, but saw very little improvement. So, just recently, she underwent a Neurectomy and Fasciotomy: a surgery to remove a portion of the nerve supplying the ligament and release the constricting fascia.
So here we are, back at the beginning. She is currently on restricted turnout, months of box rest, and (to her absolute disgust) a very strict diet to lose some of the weight she's carrying from all the resting. A hungry chestnut mare on a strict diet is not the most cheerful companion! But she is my long road home, and I wouldn't trade her for the world.
The "Pink Dustpan" Lightbulb Moment
While Patsy was dealing with her initial lameness, I was going through my own massive life transition.
I have struggled with Autism and ADHD my entire life, but last year was a real turning point. I finally found a brilliant Psychiatrist who actually listened to me. He got me on the correct medications, and for the first time in nearly 40 years, life actually felt manageable.
I have always been that typical ADHD person who picks up a new hobby every single week. I have to buy all the gear and equipment, totally convinced that this is the thing I will stick to forever, only for it to be shoved to the back of a cupboard a week later. (Please don't ask me how many unfinished art projects I have in my house).
So, when Patsy first went lame, I ordered a "craft your own dog collar" kit just to fill my spare time. I really enjoyed it, so I started digging deeper into the materials and craftsmanship.
Here is the thing about me: I need colour in my life. It brings me so much joy. I am heavily affected by grey, gloomy days. Because of my ADHD, if I add colour to a boring task (like using a bright pink dustpan instead of a grey one), it genuinely makes the task more enjoyable for me! I have always sought out colourful gear for my animals.
During my deep dive into BioThane and Paracord, a lightbulb went off. I realised I could create the most beautifully colourful gear for my pets myself. Honestly, the fact that these materials are entirely waterproof, stink-proof, and wipe-clean? That was an afterthought! I genuinely only pursued it in the first instance because of the colour.
The Muse for the Future
Today, my dining table is covered in BioThane and premium rope, and my dogs Lily and Milo are fully outfitted in gear that can actually survive their muddy walks.
And Patsy? Well, we are a long way off from me being able to get back in the saddle with her. But even from her stable, grumbling about her lack of carrots, she is my ultimate muse. She is the reason I have already picked out a new adjustable neck strap, designed some gorgeous new split reins, and am currently working on a bitless bridle design for when she is finally ready to return to work.
Whether you are navigating a tough neurodivergent diagnosis, grieving a heart animal, or just trying to survive the muddy school-run-to-stables dash, I hope my gear brings a bit of colour to your day.
Life with animals is chaotic, messy, and sometimes heart-breaking. But with a little bit of neon pink and a lot of love, it is also the most beautiful journey in the world.