Drink-buying is a terrible problem of mine. Having a few drinks and making dubious purchases first came to my attention during the Covid lockdowns. Like so many of us with little to do, I was cracking open a bottle of wine at liberal hours of the day, often in front of my computer screen, with endless websites willing to sell me things.
I'm constantly getting packages arriving at my house, often with little idea of what I'm unwrapping. Every day is like Christmas morning. But that endorphin hit is often as good as it gets. In fact, I'm beginning to consider the possibility that drinking can lead to poor decision-making.
Ill-fitting clothes are a constant, but one day I came home to a kayak. That's interesting, I thought to myself. It took me a month before I dragged it down to the beach. A wave tossed me off it, I lost my dignity and my favourite hat, and it's been a garage ornament ever since.
Similarly, I bought a mountain bike. That resides, tyres flat, beside the kayak.
I have made some absolutely rubbish decisions after a few drinks, and thus my determination not to buy a horse.
And I didn't. I bought two.
After two beers, it seemed like a good idea. After three, it was one of the best ideas I'd ever had. After four beers, deals were struck. After five beers, Matty and I were figuring out what the hell he was going to tell his wife. I had nobody at home to raise objections to my purchases, but when I woke up the next day, I was questioning whether dropping several thousand dollars on shares in a couple of nags was a good idea at all. A text message from Matty suggested his wife agreed with me.
Months passed before Matty and I accepted an invitation to go out and actually see if these horses even existed. We drove up to North Canterbury on a beautiful spring morning last weekend.
And there they were. Taffy and Arnie, the two most delightful creatures to ever grace God's good earth. Arnie was constantly trying to bite another horse tethered next to him. Feisty, I said - that's a good thing in a racehorse. Taffy stood there zen-like. An even nature, I said - that's a good thing in a racehorse.
Horses are beautiful creatures. So large and strong, and their big eyes seem to stare right into you. I hugged them, and patted them. I whispered into their ears that they were good boys.
The trainer hooked up a sulky, and the next thing I knew I was racing around the track following the trainer and another driver. I had been told to keep the horse between the shoulder blades of the driver ahead, which presupposed I had any idea what I was doing. Three warm-up laps, and then we hit speed for three laps at pace. It was among the most exhilarating few minutes of my life.
We had a cup of tea and the horses were washed down. We waved goodbye to the trainers, Arnie, Taffy and the other horses.
As we drove away down the beautiful country roads of Ohoka, Matty and I began planning our first trip to the races. They are great horses, we both agreed.
"We're going to be billionaires," Matty said.
"This is the greatest purchase we've ever made," I said back.
