I gave up, she had lost all concentration and was prancing with her tail kinked like an Arab horse, nostrils flared and keen to meet the new ponies.
Hola! I shouted and made my way over to the man and woman, they had obviously come to say hello.
And there started a conversation about horses. Five whole minutes, it could have been eight, of talking in Spanish. We talked about why they had ridden here, who they were and did I know the woman across the road. They asked me about Kira, what breed she was and if I had a trailer we could meet and ride on the beach. We discussed food for horses and how to get muscles on their back end and they consistently praised my horse.
Guapa they called her. They kept calling her guapa. And when they turned and said goodbye I could hear them continuing to call her guapisima as they rode away. My once skinny little mare, with the wonky hips and chopped-off mane had turned beautiful, not only beautiful but really beautiful.
I was insanely proud, I'm not sure which meant more - the little mare's perceived beauty or the fact I didn't once apologise for my crap language skills during the whole conversation.
Onwards and upwards.