Your Riding Stories - The Funny Story - Prince Harry Pooed in My Garden! Thanks to Amelia Leach for this story of her cheeky Shetland pony known as Prince Harry.
Prince Harry is no different to other Shetland’s, he likes to eat all day, tow you around on the end of a lead rope and is an incredibly cheeky pony. I’m not sure whether because of his name he thinks he’s royalty or whether that’s just him. He was called Fluffy when we first got him but we soon realised his character better suited a name like Prince Harry.
I was washing him one summer afternoon trying to cool him down during a period of intense heat. At this point, it’s probably worth mentioning that he is kept at home. Home is a small hamlet of houses and the closest neighbour just so happens to be extremely proud of his garden, but three gates separated us so concerns about ponies getting into his garden were never really high on the list. But this is Prince Harry. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
So the bath commenced and in need of some shampoo, I tied up Prince Harry and whizzed down to the house to get some. Momentarily forgetting what he is like, I tootled through the gate and didn’t think to close it behind me. I grabbed the shampoo and returned to the stables to find a patch of water, lots of buckets tipped to the ground but no Prince Harry.
I turned around and noticed a trail of water, hot-footed it out the gate, following the trail along the drive, through two more gates (that had also been left open) and into, to my horror, my neighbours perfectly trimmed, pruned, and cared for garden.
“PRINCE HAAAAARRRRRY” I yelled as I turned the corner and saw him happily treading through the neighbour's bed of wildflowers making his way around the side, confidently towards the greenhouse. “NO NO noooooo!” But as we all know with ponies/horses, the more you chase them the more they run. Out came my neighbour, round and round we went until finally, I managed to grab the trailing lead rope and bring him under some sort of control.
The perfectly sculpted lawn now had miniature hoof prints all the way around and chunks had been taken out of precious plants. We skulked out the garden quickly apologising profusely but not daring to look back.
The next day the same neighbour shouted over the fence, “Prince Harry pooed in my garden, will you come and pick it up?”. Needless to say, I went around without hesitation armed with a pooper-scooper and an olive branch in the form of a packet of biscuits.
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