01/07/2026
Farewell to Freya
On 18 June at 1:00 pm, Freya was peacefully put to sleep overlooking the valley at the top of the forestry block. Her beloved owner, Christine, stayed by her side until the very end.
Freya arrived at Kākāriki Stables on 3 December 2024 after making the long journey from Hikuai in the Coromandel. She wasn't built quite like the elegant sport horse she would become—instead, she looked more like a fuzzy brown lollipop, with long, skinny legs and a wonderfully round barrel of a body. She stepped off the truck as though it were just another Tuesday. New scenery, new people, new horses? No problem.
Within minutes she had made it clear she intended to run the place, introducing herself by marching straight over and picking a fight with her new brother—and notorious mummy's boy—Splash, right in front of Christine. Freya certainly knew how to make an entrance.
Born in the wilds of Gisborne and mustered as a youngster, Freya never lost touch with her wild roots. She loved being up in the big blocks and always seemed happiest exploring the hills. She was a natural herd leader. Those famous "grumpy faces" weren't just attitude—they were often her way of telling both her four-legged and two-legged herd, "Get behind me, there's something up ahead I don't trust."
She carried that responsibility seriously, always looking after those around her. As Christine's first young horse, it was comforting to know Freya took her job as protector so seriously.
Freya approached life with honesty. She was brave, dependable, and always willing to give things a go. She wasn't afraid of standing her ground, but she also seemed to have her own unique sense of fairness. She could stand like a statue for a nervous beginner finding their confidence, yet remind an overconfident rider not to get too big for their boots. It was never out of spite—just Freya's own quiet way of teaching respect. I've often joked that all I do is stand in the middle of the arena waving my arms around; the horses at Kākāriki are the real instructors, and Freya was certainly one of the best.
As the months passed, Christine began to see beyond Freya's tough exterior. Little by little, the walls came down. Every now and then I'd catch a glimpse of Freya quietly accepting a cuddle or leaning into Christine's affection— making sure it didn't damage her carefully crafted tough-girl reputation.
Jumping wasn't something that came naturally to Freya in the beginning. Unlike Splash, who seemed born to fly over fences, Freya needed time to build her confidence. Christine patiently worked with her, never rushing, always encouraging. Eventually something clicked. Freya discovered she loved jumping. It made sense to her, and once she found her confidence she tackled every fence with determination and sassy flair.
Heartbreakingly, while still so young, Freya began developing ataxia, most likely caused by a genetic neurological condition that gradually robbed her of control over her hind legs. After many difficult conversations, countless tears, and guidance from the veterinary team, Christine made the incredibly selfless decision to let her go before the disease could take away her dignity.
Although Freya's life was far too short, it was filled with adventure, purpose, and love. She found a family who cherished her exactly as she was, and in return she left an unforgettable mark on everyone who knew her.
She was bold. She was stubborn. She was fair. She was fiercely loyal. She was wonderfully herself.
Run free, Freya. The hills are endless now and there's an entire herd waiting to follow your lead once again.
