My name is Samantha Finlay. I’m from Tallaght in Dublin 24, though my family roots go back to Belfast and my boyfriend’s from Limerick. What I do now? I’m a rider and a groom, but that only tells you the surface of it. The real story is everything that’s led me here — from painted stables and pony leads to stallions, kids with autism, and a whole lot of muck and muscle.

I didn’t come into horses the usual way. I wasn’t born in the countryside or raised with a saddle in the back of the car. No — it was my brother, Martin Finlay, who first got me into it. Growing up in Tallaght, I loved motocross bikes as much as horses, but once I found them, I was all in. Horses are deadly. Back in the day, I worked as a riding guide in Puerto Rico. I was the one bringing people out on treks — deadly craic, really. Later, I worked as an assistant trainer with kids with special needs. That’s where the deeper part of this journey really began.

There was one horse, Elvis — big, black, heavy, grumpy as anything. Didn’t get on with most people. But one day, a child with autism came in. Elvis, of all horses, kneeled for him. Let him up. Walked with him like they’d known each other forever. It changed everything for me. From then on, I started naming horses after people I loved. Maggie — that’s after my aunty and my mum, God rest her. Nelly Lady Best — that one’s got her own mad story. There’s even been an elephant or two, but we’ll leave that one for another day. My first horse was Missy, a miniature Fella Bella. Jet black, in foal when I got her.

We went all the way to Carrick-on-Shannon to pick her out because I was the only girl in the family and definitely the most spoiled. I painted the stable pink, plaited her mane, and spoiled her rotten. Then came Tonto, her red little foal with no job, just full of attitude. I even had chickens — Polly and Dolly — and yes, I walked them on leads. I’ve always been animal-mad.

These days, I’m in a different world entirely. I met a man from Limerick, whose family owns a stud farm with stallions and more mud than you’d believe. I don’t need a gym anymore — not with the kind of work that gets done around here. You’re hauling feed, cleaning out, lifting legs and shifting gates. Muscles you didn’t know existed suddenly wake up screaming. The wellies are always heavier coming back in than they were going out. But God, I wouldn’t trade it. For anything.

This life — this grassroots, hands-on, horse-ridden life — is the best job in the world. There’s peace in it. There’s joy in just being around horses, forgetting the rest of the world exists. If you’ve ever had a horse come up and rest their head against your chest, you know what I mean. It’s grounding. It’s magic. There are tough days. The money, the sore backs, the early nights when you used to be out on the town. But it’s still worth every bit of it. There’s nothing like being out with good animals and better people.

And I’m glad I met who I’ve met on this path. There’s a lot more stories coming — trust me. Before I go, big shout-out to Dee O’Neill, Pat, Dougie, and a few others who’ve been part of this with me. And of course, to Smokey and the owl G, to Maggie, to Nelly Lady Best. Hee hee. You know yourselves. Oh — and if there’s one thing to really know about me? It’s that I love this. I love horses. Always have. It’s the most amazing feeling — they’re caring, they’re honest, and being around them is better than anything.

I wouldn’t change this life for the world… except maybe if I could grow a bit taller.

These horses are big, like!

Article Ends.

A live interview recorded and turned into an article just now on a train by The Grassroots Journo. The future is here, the future is grassroots. Was lovely to meet you Samantha.