I SUPPOSE some might say I have had a narrow escape.

But that isn't how I feel right now.

Last week, the Teen was told that the big, beautiful horse she has nurtured back to full strength is leaving the yard.

She was gutted and so was I - and I don't even ride, or in fact, know anything about equines.

In a desperate bid to keep her, I offered to pay half the livery fees, so big and beautiful could stay.

In the meantime, busied myself browsing glitter hoof polish, leopard skin horse rugs and sparkly snaffles - it is Christmas after all.

I spent two sleepless nights dreaming of horse riding with the Dog across the wintery woods.

But it wasn't meant to be, her owners had already signed forms and paid deposits.

My offer had arrived just too late.

"What are we going to do now?" I wailed to Flo's dad.

"I don't know. You can pick up horses all over the Forest for a fiver."

Dear reader, for someone whose family line can be traced back to Brusher Mills, the infamous Forest snake catcher, I worry about him, I really, really do.

"Yes, I know, but where will it live? I can't put it in the garden and anyway I don't want to own a horse, I have no skills in this arena."

"Well until something else turns up you will have to satisfy yourself with your other pets."

The trouble is the Dog and the Cats are very unsatisfying indeed.

For some reason that I cannot yet fathom, neither of the cats seem to venture out these days and demand the caviar of cat food on demand. My brother says I should just put gold coins on their plates.

And the Dog is shameless and not quite the full shilling. He refuses to sleep downstairs and insists sleeping next to me at night.

It is all wrong, wrong, wrong.

The horse loan at the yard where the Teen spends most of her life seemed so right, right, right.

Bah.