EVERY THURSDAY
The letter
One subject, taken apart properly.
Hooves one week, haynets the next, and whatever you have all been arguing about at the gate. Five minutes, with the sources underneath.
Horses arehard enough.
A letter on Thursdays about the things everyone repeats and nobody checks. Software for the jobs your yard still does in a group chat.
How it goes round here
Nobody here is going to tell you your rug is wrong
Somebody on your yard has a firm opinion about your rug. Somebody else has one about your feed, and neither of them has read anything.
Round here nobody minds what you ride or what it cost. The letter goes out on Thursday, the tools are getting built, and that is about the size of it.
Mud is the great leveller
Every horse in the country is stood in it by November. Whatever the yard cost and whatever the horse cost, somebody is out there at six with a headtorch and a bucket.
Nothing here is for show
The headcollar that has lasted nine years cost eleven quid, and nobody has ever advertised it.
Sources at the bottom, always
So you can check the working, or print it off and take it to your vet and have an argument with better ammunition than usual.
What comes out of all that
A letter, and a bench of tools
ONE OUT, TWO BEING BUILT
The tools
For the jobs the yard does the hard way.
Arena bookings living in a group chat. Track systems drawn on the back of a feed bag. Small, useful software for the bits of keeping horses nobody has got round to fixing.
If you run a yard
Nobody has to ask if the school is free at six
Facility Booking is out. Riders see what is open and book it themselves, from their phone. You decide who gets an account. The group chat goes back to being about lost headcollars.
Free for one arena, and it stays free.
Open your yard
Four questions and it is running. No card, and nobody here to ring you about it.
FOR YARD OWNERS · SEPARATE FROM THE LETTER
Thursday morning, then.
One letter a week, five minutes, sources at the bottom. Something to read in the car park while you wait for the rain to go over.
Free, and one click to leave. No hard feelings either way.