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by Destrier

This story was a whimsical idea to write, postcard-style, about a holiday in Norfolk, England, where one member of the party voluntarily undergoes a transformation into a horse
in order to pull a caravan. I guess really, of all the transformation stories I've written, this is the most perfect scenario:
a safe, pleasurable, completely voluntary transformation just for a few days. Wouldn't that be great?

The other great thing about this story is that I really did go caravanning in Norfolk, so this story is ninety percent true!

Hi folks!

Had an absolutely brilliant holiday in Norfolk (England) pulling an old-fashioned gypsy-style caravan.

The holiday company were great, and the transformation is actually pretty low-key: they just asked which of the party will be doing all the work, got me to sign a disclaimer against any mishaps (though the process has been a complete success so far), then asked me to step into a bare room with a screen set in one room. Coloured patterns appear on this which are designed to trigger certain responses in your brain while subliminal suggestions reshape your body. It didn't hurt at all - in fact the patterns made me drowsy and I didn't really notice myself changing at all:)

They gave me the rest of the day to acclimatise, and the two friends I took with me took loads of pictures. The process involves no loss of intelligence so I was able to pose for the camera. Got plenty of dramatic rearing and 'cute' shots - the sort you can never get from real horses without camping out with them for several days and praying.

Sunday they fitted my harness - surprisingly comfortable - and taught my friends how to put it on and remove it again. More photos and jokes about how good I look in leather:) Then I had my first taste of actually standing between the shafts and pulling out mobile home - just a quick circuit of the local lanes for an hour or so. I never knew those caravans were so heavy! Even so, it wasn't at all hard to pull. Downhills are actually worst - the caravan tries to shove you along. You just have to take it very slowly and not let it run away with you. The company provides a map and some steep roads are highlighted as unsuitable for horsedrawn traffic.

When we got back, I was taken to the farrier's to have a set of light shoes fitted. The road surface can be quite harsh on hooves I'm told. The shoes are actually plastic and glued in position, but it still takes a qualfied farrier to do this. (Actually, I was rather looking forward to having a set of my own traditional shoes for when I got home - plastic ones just aren't the same.)

The next day we actually set out. It was VERY hot, at least for England, so we just travelled for two or three hours each morning, and then back again in the evening. We could have stayed out all week, but we decided to just make daily trips from base - there are better facilities and the other overnight stops all charge extra per night. I thoroughly recommend the Black Swan pub at Harleston - obviously well used to TF trippers, they serve equine-sized measures too - though you have to pay for them!

The evening peace was shattered on the first weekend by a group of young business people camping on the site. Generally noisy and in considerate, numerous complaints were made by the other people staying at the site, and on Tuesday morning we were pleased to see they had departed without sound or warning overnight. Interestingly, a previously vacant meadow nearby was found that day to be full of pigs. I couldn't prove anything but... :)

The only other caravan out that week was the Nesbitt family. Jayne and her two children, Harriet and William, and husband Michael who was doing the pulling. They did this last year as well and were able to advise us on several good routes to explore. Harriet, six years old, decided early in the week that I was more fun than her father, and that was the end of my peace that holiday! I didn't entirely mind though, and combining our holidays really added to the enjoyment of the thing. Felt sorry for Michael though, who kept getting stung by bot-flies. They didn't bother me.

On Wednesday I hit the Big Three-Oh: my thirtieth birthday. There were a good many jokes at my expense - most along the lines of "Isn't it great - still hard at work at thirty" and the classic "to look at his teeth you'd think he was only a six-year-old", which I was, physically! Had a fantastic time though, and we had a barbeque in the evening with horse-sized servings of vegeburgers for Michael and myself. Being a bit out-of-the-way, a birthday cake wasn't possible, but I blew out three matches on a large chocolate cup-cake, and we cut it into (extremely small) slices. There was enough for a taste each!

On Thursday evening the hot weather abruptly ended and it rained all night. This was curiously refreshing - not cold at all - even though I stood out in it all night. Michael loved it - relief from flies: he turned out to be allergic to the only fly repellent that could be found. My friends complained on Friday morning - partly because the rain on the caravan's canvas roof had kept them awake all night, but mostly because I had discovered the therapeutic delights of rolling and needed a one-hour groom to get the mud out of my coat:)

Friday was all too quick with me trying to extract every last minute of enjoyment from my equine form as I pulled the caravan to Billingford Mill - a recently restored windmill. A lovely journey through quiet lanes, followed by Michael pulling his family. A daunting hill at the end of the journey - down is worse than up when you're hauling that much weight! I would have liked to have seen the view from the top of the mill, but you can't have everything.

And after a final night in equine form, I regretfully took human form again on Saturday morning. Not too sad though: from here I take the train to Staffordshire to meet my best friends Geoff and Ana and their two sons: we're going horse-trekking in Snowdonia:)

The End

Incidentally, the name of the caravan site where I stayed was Waveney Valley Holiday Park, and they appear to still be there and still selling horse-drawn caravan holidays (although sadly, NOT of the transformational variety!) If you visit them, you'd probably best NOT tell them I sent you!