Winnie, My Wonder Horse
“There is nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse.”
This quote variously attributed to Henry Ward Beecher, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Lord Palmerston, and even Winston Churchill.
My father bought me a pony when I was two and a half. When I was nine, he bought me a large pony and I began riding out through the countryside with other children my age and a bit older. We had no hard hats and no cell phones; it was total freedom. It made all of us independent and self-confident, at least on horseback. But I lost interest when I began dating seriously and fell in love with a boy who was more interested in tennis and architecture. I did not (Yet) know he understood horses.
We married and had children, and at first, I was too busy to ride. After a while, I began fox hunting, and we moved to the country. We had more children, bringing the total to five, three boys and two girls.
During these early years, my husband became even more interested in hunting than I. We hunted together as a family, including our children, as they became old enough. During these years, I had many hunting horses that served me well. Some were dear to me, while others were horses I should have got rid of immediately.
By this time, we were raising Cleveland Bay Thoroughbred crosses. This was because, along with foxhunting, we were now deeply involved in driving horses and carriages. We eventually managed to get four horses to drive a “four-in-hand.” We bought many carriages, including a roof-seat brake and later a road coach. My horse, Winnie, would be instrumental in the breeding of our team of four, as the years passed. But I had no idea how important she would be to our family when I first saw her.
We bought several weanlings, including a pretty filly. I named her Winnifred so that I could call her Winnie for short. She was the best horse I ever owned. And she nearly single handedly built our four-in-hand team. There are many, many stories involving Winnie, but this is how she came to us and became my best foxhunting horse, ever.
She grew up to be 16.1 hands and very dark brown, not a true bay. Though she was half Cleveland Bay, the other half was thoroughbred. She looked every inch the thoroughbred. I admired her as she grew up. But in the beginning, watching my daughter, Helen, ride her, it looked dangerous. Helen rode her skillfully as Winnie shied and skidded, always bucking a few times as soon as she was mounted. “You should ride Winnie,” my daughter said, “ She is a marvelous horse.” I wanted to but was timid about it at first. That trick of hers with the beginning bucks made me cautious. However, I decided to try her and see.
It always makes me laugh when people mistakenly say there is no difference between males and females, that they are “equal,” meaning just alike. Maybe, but I do not believe this.
There are a lot of differences between animals, such as stallions, geldings, and mares. Mares are famously difficult. I know some people who will not own a mare. I am NOT one of those people. Mares are smart.
Winnie was a star. She had common sense, which is just plain ‘horse sense.’ She used this to keep us both safe. She never “ran away,” even galloping with the hounds through huge open fields. I don’t remember her ever putting her foot in a groundhog hole, as happens to all of us at some point. She even stopped bucking when first mounted. She was calm yet energetic, muscled, and fit. She was the best jumper I have ever ridden.
One day, we were cantering towards a jump in the corner of a fence that joined another fence that was surrounding the field we were trying to enter. Two jumps at right angles to each other with almost no room for a “take off.” To get there, we jumped a coup at the corner of the fence, and then the people ahead of me pulled their horses up and made a small circle to start again for the next jump at right angles to it.
NOT Winnie. She was definitely chasing the other horses in front of her and a bit strong to hold. I trusted that horse completely, so I dropped the reins and let her have her head. She galloped up the hill, took that first coup in stride, and as she landed with her front feet, she pivoted with her back feet and took the jump, which then faced her into the next field. It was an extraordinary feat. It was simply a bounce, not a full stride to take the next coup.
Some of the fox hunters who witnessed this said, “That was a $100,000 jump.” That’s because that sort of talent would fetch over $100,000 if I wanted to sell her. But no, I would never sell her. She was my love, my trusted friend, and my partner in foxhunting. We had so many adventures together. One winter day, we were cantering through the woods, one horse after another, when a leafless branch hit my chic navy blue velvet cap and knocked it over my eyes. I was holding the reins with both hands, balancing as we cantered downhill. Blinded by the hunt cap over my eyes, I saw nothing in front of me. But I trusted Winnie, so I just let her have her head as we sped through the trees. I relied on her agility to keep us both safe. Another time, I was riding next to Freddie Prince, who was suffering from Parkinson’s Disease but could still muster the large muscles it takes to stay on a horse. We were laughing and exhilarated in the cold winter air. It had been a wonderful day with great scenting and a couple of good runs already. We jumped a coup into a field I wasn’t familiar with, then rushed into a wooded area with bare winter trees, suddenly galloping down a muddy bank and jumping a wide stream on boggy, uneven ground. Immediately after that, there was a log down, which we jumped, and then more of the stream to clear before emerging on the other side. Winnie came out just fine, and so did Freddie and I. Then we continued across a wide field and up and down some hills before we put the fox to ground, and the Master called it a day.
Later, I had the occasion to return to that area to help a friend find a lost crop. It was horrifying to see what I had basically galloped through and over. It shocked me to see how dangerous that was. However, Winnie did not falter, jiggle me, panic, or get overly excited and speed up. Foxhunting is like that. You do many things in the heat of the chase that you would never do if you had time to think about it and gauge its safety. I have always said that Foxhunting is the best therapy. You don’t need to pay a therapist or take drugs for anxiety if you indulge in this sport. It takes you to a whole new space inside yourself, and it makes you feel invincible while you are riding and for a long time afterward.
I recommend it.
Copyright©. 2025 Bonnie B. Matheson
One thought on “Winnie, My Wonder Horse”
This story reminds me of my first ever fox hunt. I was 5 years old riding my new pony—Gibson Girl. She was a Welsh pony that my father had just purchased for me. I was all excited. We met at the Moran–did you know them? He was a famous plastic surgeon in Washington. His name was Pete. Anyhow–we set off behind the house, which was still woods at that time on River Road. We came to a steep hill–at the foot of which was a creek. As I reached the bottom, Gibby, all of a sudden, put her head down and I went right over and into the creek. Guess she wanted a drink. It was freezing cold and I got soaking wet. My mother was hilltopping and rescued me from the water. Drove me home and into a warm bath. What I mostly remember was her yelling at my father that I ws too young to be fox hunting. My father thought I was the perfect age to start. I survived but my mother was hopping mad. Those were the days. In your post, you described fields, etc. Am wondering where you were hunting those days.