Molle and Bertil
I’m sitting here, thinking about what to share in my next blog post. I have so many stories, but unfortunately just as many sad ones as happy ones. That’s life – half good, half bad. When you’ve had as many horses as I have over the years, it’s inevitable that there are quite a few sad stories among them. Those, I don’t really feel like writing about, but I often catch myself having flashbacks when I sit and think back. Images in my mind that I wish I could erase and forget. That’s why I choose to write about the fun things instead – and when you focus on those, the painful memories at least fade into the background.
Today, I want to tell you a story about Bertil and Molle – a story that could have ended badly, but luckily turned out in quite a funny way.
At the time, I lived in a place called Björkefall, in a house I rented far out in the woods. I got water from a well, and there was no plumbing, so whenever I washed myself, I had to go outside and pour the dirty water away. That worked fine in the summer, but in winter it wasn’t exactly pleasant. I also had an outhouse. I had to haul up a lot of water from the well since I had three horses and a dog. The closest inhabited neighbor’s farm was Bertil’s – five kilometers away. In the other direction, there were “only” a couple of kilometers to living people, and nine kilometers to the nearest village.
My friends often asked me if I wasn’t afraid to live alone, but it didn’t bother me – I really liked it. It was just a bit tricky for my clients to find me 🙂
Bertil was always kind and helped out a lot. When he had to go somewhere within a reasonable distance, he always went with his horse. He preferred driving the horse over driving his car.
One day, Bertil came with feed for my horses, and it was Molle pulling the cart. Molle was a big, black North Swedish draft horse – very sweet and eager to work. Bertil used him often for driving in the forest, and Molle would obey the slightest signal.
Of course, I was grateful for the help and asked if Bertil would like some coffee. He rarely said no to coffee, so he gladly accepted. He unhitched Molle from the cart, hung the reins over the shaft bow, and let Molle graze freely. I was a bit concerned and asked if maybe he should let Molle into the paddock or stable instead.
“Nah,” Bertil said, “Molle never goes anywhere!”
But when we came out after having our coffee – he was gone. No Molle anywhere! We looked around briefly, but he was nowhere to be found. Then we spotted hoof prints on the gravel road and figured Molle must’ve decided it was time to go home.
We jumped into my little car – a Fiat 124 – and drove in the direction of Bertil’s farm. We managed to catch up with Molle about halfway home, which was quite a distance. Bertil jumped out and got hold of him. Since the cart was still at my place, he’d have to walk Molle all the way back.
I felt sorry for him, having to walk that far, so I suggested he sit in the car, roll down the window, and “drive” Molle in front of the car so he wouldn’t have to walk. Said and done – and Bertil and I laughed the whole way back, both because he had trusted Molle so much, and because of the funny situation he now found himself in, sitting in the car and “driving” a horse.
We got back safely with both horse and car, and Bertil could hitch Molle up and trot home again. Molle got plenty of exercise – though that was kind of his own choice 🙂
