Merry Christmas!

A busy week with too many tales to tell. Tales of Max slipping and having his knees buckle under him while I went out the side door and landed on a pile of rocks. I lay immobile on my right side not sure if I was hurt badly (thankfully not) but my head was focused on where Max was and whether his knees were bleeding (they weren't). Long solo walks with the pony and The Ent, trudging trails untrudged by them before, and confirmation that Max is a very amiable companion on a long walk.

Busy comings and goings at the yard, boxes of chocolates left with signatures from yard horses "For everybody who takes such good care of me!", owners off on holiday bringing bags of carrots and apples to be shared around the yard, and Christmas cards exchanged by leaving them in the feed room, which also acted as a common post box for us all in the run up to today.

Today the hectic stopped and the glad tidings began. Today the Ent and I, after champagne, coffee and opening presents, took a walk to the yard in bright sunshine, blue sky and crisp temps. I was loaded with apples for Max and his field mates, horse treats (a gift to Max from Sammie's mum) and a couple of liquorice bites.

Max delighted as usual, spotting us at the gate and leaving his grazing place to come and meet us in the field. His pal (the smoke dancer) soon followed and we shared out treats and nuzzles. The Boss could not be arsed with the hub bub, so I went to him with a polo, with Max and Smoky in hot pursuit "Oi! What's he getting that we don't got?"

All is well this Christmas day in my little corner of the world. Today, we are blessed.

Today I also miss my friends and family in far flung places, Canada, America, Australia, Hong Kong. Thinking of you all and wishing you a day like I've had today. I may not be able to wish you a horse like Max, but I wish you something that fills your life and your heart the way that Max does mine. Please all go forward and find that thing, and doesn't matter if it was a nonsense childhood dream. Find it, do it, be it.

It's totally worth it.

Happy Christmas everyone!

No flaming way!

Max and I had a useful but short session in the school today, doing our version of lunge work. Mostly we spent a long time before work grooming and hanging out together in an unrushed way, and did the same again after the schooling was done. Little did we know a drama was waiting to unfold for us.

I took Max to his field as usual in the fading daylight. There was a gorgeous pink sunset sky to one side but straight ahead... hmm. Flames. Orange greedy flames leaping out of a metal receptacle right next to the fence of Max's field.

"Uh oh," I thought. "This should be interesting."

Max stood still and looked immensely worried, then properly frightened. We were at the gate, and I managed to get the gate open, but Max was having none of it. He wasn't pretending and he wasn't being awkward, he was genuinely scared. I expect fear of fire is pretty hard wired in his head.

It was quite touching because I could tell from his eyes, the way he looked at me, the way he stood, that he wanted to do as I asked, he just couldn't bring himself to move forward towards the thing that caused such primal fear; it was taking everything he had just to remain by my side.

I tried to talk soothingly while I wondered how to proceed.

Then the answer appeared through the smoke that was blowing across the field. Max's young playmate, the one that removes hoods from rugs and cavorts with abandon, walked sedately towards us, offering little whickers of encouragement as he came.

"Look Max! Your friend has come to collect you. It's OK see?"

Max watched his pal approach and looked from his smoky outline, to me, then back again. I felt a little tension ease in him, so I asked for forward movement and got it.

"Well done Max!"

At this point grey whiskery muzzle came out to meet Max's for a sniff and a reassuring whuffle. I removed Max's head collar, closed the gate, and stood with them for a while, praising Max's friend for being so kind, and praising Max for being brave and trusting.

I had one piece of liquorice for Max as a parting gift, but we agreed that it could easily be split into two and for once, without hestitation, Max shared his treat.

Monkeys in the mist

It is a dreary day here in Hampshire, hanging mist that will not let a sliver of sunshine through, with a still chill that hangs about one like a heavy cloak.

Max had his usual fuss and his bowl offered up a small chopped carrot, pear and a handful of ponynuts as a treat before he went to his field. One of the other liveries remarked that Max always makes his modest offering sound like a glorious feast!

I've detached the hood from his rug now, as the temperature is hovering a few degrees above freezing, and we now know that the culprit is Max's young field mate. The YO has spotted Max and his pal in the evening, two youngsters together, cavorting like colts and pulling each other about by their neck hoods.

As I left the yard today I looked across the lane and through the mist, I saw the murky outline of the three monkeys; the older, wiser Boss, smallest of the three, had turned his back with an air of weary tolerance while Max and his young friend leapt and pranced about together, obviously having a ball.

Horseplay may be discouraged amongst young human children ("Stop it right now before someone gets hurt!") but to watch these horses at play, silhouettes in the mist, was like glimpsing into the land of Faerie, where earthly cares and woes hold no dominion, but must bow to grace, glee and magic.

Smooth moves and pony grooves

What a lovely session Max and I had today! I have no doubt that the work my YO has been doing once a week is building a strong foundation that Max and I can both use to build up steadily together.

He's learning how to hold himself together and use his muscles to greater effect, and I'm concentrating on my balance and staying light in the saddle, light in the hands... every now and then we hit a groove and we're dancing like Fred & Ginger!

The lanes were a little icy today so I wasn't tempted to hack, but I'd wanted to go in the school with him anyway. I've been having a bit of trouble with saddle slippage, so today I stripped out his prolite panels and shim, and transferred in his suberpanel to see if it would make a difference. It surely did. His saddle remained steady, and I didn't have to cut off his air supply tightening his girth to "uncomfy".

There was still a little bit of movement, but very little and just shifting my weight slightly into one foot or the other got us smack dab in the centre again. I am going to order a non-slip saddle pad too, to help us further, but I think we're on the right track!

We walked in for quite a while to warm up, but Max surprised me by not even trying to do his usual schlep with all four of his sweet little feet dragging and scuffing in the dirt, like a child walking unwillingly to school. Instead, he went straight into a good working walk which was very forward going and fluid. After about ten minutes bending and working on each rein, we popped into an easy trot, and pretty much stayed that way for the next half hour.

He's a different Max in trot now, no evasions, no sneaky opportunities to slow down and get himself back into walk, and best of all, no continual reminders from me to stay in working trot and stop slouching; he just trots until I ask him to do something other.

But the trot today...! We had moments of brilliance. We can't keep it together that long, but every now and then, Max would rise up beneath me, and I could feel all the power of him as he worked himself into a beautifully held outline, and suddenly, his pony trot, which can feel like sitting atop a sewing machine, became this smooth, powerful, extended thing that is so easy to sit to, so comfortable and so... well "fast" isn't the word I'm looking for because it doesn't feel fast at all - if anything it almost feels slow motion - but we cover a lot of ground in a short time.

We couldn't maintain it too long and would collapse back down, but then we'd get it back again and have a few more turns of something rather sublime. At one point, I know not how, I even got him moving laterally across the school in trot, basically going forward and diagonally at the same time. I wanted to jump off and watch, but I also wanted to stay on board and feel it!

We left it at just 40 minutes of working and Max could happily have kept going, but I didn't want to bore him, or give us a chance to fall apart and stay that way, thus ending the session on a bad note. So after one very good transition to walk and then to stand on a low whistle, I dismounted, loosened his girth and praised him with great praise (and a teensy piece of licorice).

We hung out together on the yard for quite a while after that. I gave him a brush and scritched all his best places, and he scritched me back, using the tip of his twitchy nose to "groom" me, just as he'd do to another horse.

"You are brilliant, Max!"

"It's true! I guess you're OK, too."

I had a late night phone call last night from my sister and dad in BC. Christmas cookies were being baked and the house made ready for festive frolics.

My dad was chuckling over yesterday's blog entry and threatened to get somebody to knit a scarf for my Arabian boy. My father is one of Max's biggest fans, and gets a kick out of the voice I give him - almost as much as the kick he gets out of hearing me so happy with my childhood dream come true. He commented last night that Max's voice and his personality shine through in all I write and say about him, but wondered if it was something that only I would see through my imagination and close, emotional connection with Max. Would others see what I see if they met Max? Would they hear him speak as clearly as I do?

For those who have met Max, and for those lucky enough to meet him some day, it is clear that the voice I give him doesn't stretch my imagination far at all, and his character is very accurately portrayed. When my niece came to meet Max and have a bareback ride on him, she later, matter-of-factly told her delighted mum that Max was very good, and when she got on his back he let out a big ol' sigh! My sister-in-law burst into laughter and I said "Yep, he's my horse all right. We do sighing."

Where Max stands, there is generally delighted laughter from those who are nearby, and he is held in great esteem and affection by those who know him. He's just that kind of horse. A natural optimist with a brave heart, an entertainer with a keen intellect and a hungry curiosity of the world around him, a kind soul who expects nothing but kindness in return, and the owner of a rather wicked sense of humour - he does droll and slapstick with equal aplomb.

He is a very singular creature and I am singularly blessed to share my days with him.

Just because you're cold doesn't mean I'm cold!

Oh, I remember those very sentiments as a girl, my mum insisting that I wear a cardigan because she was feeling chilly.

I think I have the same scenario with mighty Max, who laughs in the face of frost!

Well, not totally true. Of course he is a robust Fjord, built to withstand what winter throws at him; he can tough it out with the best of them! But he's also Arab, built for the desert. And though his Fjord side may be more than able to deal with dry cold much colder than we experience here in the UK, he's maybe not quite so genetically geared up for the damp, rainy brittle cold of Hampshire. Being Canadian, I understand that one well!

However, yesterday morning, YO told me my Bay City Roller came in with his hood neatly undone and folded back over his neck. No damage, no ripped velcro straps, no sign of a ruckus, just sitting back away from his neck like that's where he wanted it to be.

Hmmm...

Then this morning, same thing. He came in jauntily from the field led by the YO's husband, but the neck cover was again placed back to lie flat along his back, all tidy. Again, no sign of damage, straps intact.

We surmise from this, that he's telling us that it's just not cold enough to merit a turtleneck. He has a perfectly adequate scarf in the form of his beautiful long mane on one side, and he's furry enough on the other to keep him plenty warm, and the neck piece is not just surplus to requirements, it's rather irksome, thank you very much!

"Itchy! Gah! Restricts movement! I'm burning up in here, I tells ya!"

So I've removed the offending coverage from his rug, and he's out tonight still in his medium weight rug, but unencumbered by the "turtleneck". We'll see how he goes.

I'm sure he'll welcome his hoody again when the temperature dips a bit lower, or if we have a night of relentless rain, but for now, on these clear, still nights, with the temperature just hovering around freezing, Max politely requests no molly-coddling with fussy neck warmers.

Ran out of time to do anything with him today - I guess it will be a rare winter Wednesday when I get through the yard work fast enough to still have time to whiz him round the school before I have to shoot off for the office, but that's OK. Tomorrow is another day, and a midweek day off won't hurt him. He's in fine form, looking really fit and well, and with the sunshine beaming into his box, I removed his rug all together and admired him in all his nekkid glory, while I slipped on the ice and froze my hands cleaning out water buckets.

Always a gent, Max allowed me to warm my frozen fingers under his mane, and helpfully breathed steamy snorts on my numb hands to bring them back to life. In his interests, really. Warm fingers are much more nimble for releasing polos from their tight silver foil casing than frozen ones.

He's no fool, my boy!

Lavender and licorice

It's been a cold but fine weekend and Max has been pampered.

Yesterday he had a bath in lavender wash, which is soothing, smells brilliant and is good for cuts, grazes and swellings. It also doesn't need rinsing out, which is great in cold weather.

Muddy fields make for muddy ponies with muddy legs and muddy bellies - and in Max's case, even muddy faces! I wanted to get some of the grease and dust off him too, so a bath seemed like a good idea. Despite rolling his eyes at my request, the Ent boiled the kettle, twice, so that Max's bath was warm and comfortable. Yes, he's a horse and can deal with it, but why should he when there's a kettle around and a bucket, rather than a cold hosing down?

Saying that, he still didn't love being sponged with suds, nor being scraped of excess moisture, but he quite liked going back into his box to dry off in the sun (his box really catches the sunlight) and also the pear he got for his troubles.

Today I had left a note for him to be left in for me this afternoon, but the note wasn't seen and by the time I got to the yard, Max had been turned out as usual.

Despite the apologies, it was probably just as well as I'm feeling a bit under the weather and I probably should have kept to my bed anyway. I decided to just visit Max in his field and leave it at that, but I was packing some black licorice I'd bought specially for him.

Having read several times that horses LOVE black licorice, I decided Max should give it a try, though I expected him to be contrary and spit it out since Other Horses like it so much.

Didn't happen. Max has a new favourite, and bonus for him, I can't stand the stuff so he doesn't have to share!

Sound as a pound!

Not sure that saying works now, considering the pound isn't that sound at the moment.

Nevertheless, Max is sound as a sound thing. He had his session with the YO today and was very forward going and bright as a shiny copper powering through his trot and canter transitions.

I got to the yard a little before my shift started to make a fuss of him and tuck him up in his rug for the field. He was bright as a button and full of mischief, just the way I like him.

He suffered one almighty, clingy hug though, because Sunday was not a good day. We lost one beautiful Olympic horse in a tragic indoor XC event yesterday - the less said about it the better. Also lost a dear old soul at my friend's yard yesterday and it is a very sad loss indeed.

Colic is a bar steward and it frightens me. It strikes out of nowhere and whether it takes your ned away or is just a grumble that will pass is anybody's guess.

It has taken two horses I know now, and in another it has pinpointed a tumour and led to a successful operation and recovery. Luck of the draw.

Some days, we are reminded of just how fragile it all is. Some days we do well to honour the passing of the big hearted, noble equine spirits who walk willingly beside us for so many miles, and then suddenly, walk away from us to a place we cannot follow.

I'll bet the place they go is a good place. It's full of horses, so how could it be anything but heaven?

Won't stop, don't ask me!

Max is very full of himself after his week off. We've done a little work in the school this weekend. He's been sound since Thursday but still best to keep him off flinty bridleways for a bit and take advantage of the soft surface of the school until he's 100%. The last thing he needs is another knock to his vulnerable toe.

I had trouble keeping up with him yesterday as he dragged me about on the lines, full steam ahead. My problem is usually getting more energy from Max, but yesterday "Whoa" was not in his vocabulary. I had to drop the lines several times to avoid being left behind and pulling on his mouth.

Decided better to take a firmer hold of the situation and we worked on transitions in hand to remind him about walk, halt and stand, and then lunged him very large on both reins. I don't want him on any tight bends now that would put pressure on his just recovered off fore, so by moving with him rather than standing in the middle with Max circling round me, I could control the bends and still keep up the brisk pace Max was setting.

It was a good way to have a better look at his paces too, and he looks fine - no glimmer of lameness or discomfort.

Today we did a little ridden, but I kept it short. Wanted to see how he felt (fine) and work on transitions again. Walking and standing seem to have dropped out his repertoire in the past seven days!

There's a hoof in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza...

Max spent some time today with his tender foot soaking in water that had boiled and cooled down a bit to as hot as he could stand it.

This was on the advice of my YO, the reason being if there was anything brewing up in his hoof somewhere, like an abscess, then a hot water soak a few times a day would help to draw it out so we could deal with it.

Max was perplexed on the first go at 7.00 this morning. He lifted his foot for me gamely enough, as he always does, but when I asked him to put it back down in blue bucket filled with steaming water he was not keen. He hovered his foot over the bucket and resisted my coaxing.

I finally managed to convince him by applying downward pressure to make clear what was required, and Max finally obliged, then was delighted to get a loud click and pony nut as his reward! He was so delighted he immediately lifted his hoof back out of the bucket and offered his nose for a kiss.

"No, Max. Foot in the bucket please, sir. It's to help you feel better."

Again he lifted, again he hesitated and them, sploosh! In went the foot with eyes expectantly on me.

Click and pony nut.

Max nodded his head with delight. A new game!

I continued to click as he kept his foot in the bucket and offered pony nuts, one at a time. We managed to stay like that for five minutes.

Back at lunch time, boiled the water, cooled it, got Max back out of his box and showed him the bucket of steaming water. He had a good look and then straightened and looked at me expectantly.

"Foot up please, Max."

He obliged.

"In the bucket now, please."

Slight hesitation and then sploosh again, and again we stood, clicks and pony nuts offered for five minutes.

It doesn't do to get too delighted with oneself over these things though.

Our final dip was late this afternoon. I'd held Max back from his release to the field specifically so we could have just one more go.

Out he came eagerly and spied the bucket and the steam. Up went his foot and sploosh! into the bucket. Click treat, click treat, click treat... nose offered for a kiss and while disarmed by the whiskery muzzle coming towards me, I was unable to stop what happened next.

Max quite deliberately and slowly lifted his hoof out of the water, kicked the bucket over with precision and left me standing in a puddle. All while stealing a kiss!

We may try again tomorrow, though I'm not sure we need to. He's walking much more evenly this morning, and both his front hooves are the same temperature, so hopefully, it's nothing more than bruising after all and my wee hooligan is on the mend.

Max is lame!

Not in a good, telling feeble jokes to make me laugh way, but in a bad, something wrong with his foot way.

I first noticed something was amiss on Saturday when the Ent took him out for their traditional weekend constitutional. It was Max's head movement that alerted me. He was bobbing his head in an unusual way, and that made me watch his feet with concern.

I went to a vet talk last year. They do them in this area from time to time to raise money for good causes. I went to one on laminitis and another on lameness. One of the tips from the lameness talk was that although lameness can be really hard to pin down, sometimes the best pointer is the horse bobbing its head, and the direction of the lean of the head can help you determine which side the lameness is on.

Anyway, there was bobbing, so I looked. Really subtle, but something wasn't right. I thought it was his near fore but wasn't sure. Said to the Ent "I think he's a bit lame" and Ent at first dismissed, but then watched with his keen eye and said "Hmmm... left front?"

Exactly!

Had a good feel, no heat, no swelling, no distress from Max. Got back to the yard and checked to see if he'd picked up a stone, but no, nothing there.

Then flagged down the YO and asked her to watch as I trotted Max back and forth. Four times. She agreed something wasn't right, but couldn't make out where it was coming from. She first thought near fore, then more likely off fore but maybe off hind? She had a feel and agreed, no swelling, no heat.

Sunday same thing. YO checked him early and no heat in his feet. I took him out for a short walk then in the school to trot him round and again thought "Nah... something is off" but it was so hard to pin down.

Today he came in with heat in his off fore. Happily farrier was on the yard today, so YO had him have a good look.

There is no sign of anything obvious, no puncture wound, and he didn't want to dig round too much. The only thing Max had a slight reaction to was a bit of pincher pressure on the toe of his off fore. More of a "get off, you're annoying me" reaction than an "Ouch! Ouchy! How dare you BE GONE!"

When I arrived at lunch time there was still heat to be felt and Max seemed a little subdued, but not obviously off colour.

We hope it's just a bruise to the sole of his foot, but there is the possibility that it could be an infection of some kind, which is more worrying.

Max the Mighty Warrior

Back in the day, Fjord ponies were used as war horses by the Vikings... so I'm led to believe. Today, Max claimed his ancestral heritage with a stamp and a snort!

Between yard duties and office duties, we had time for a hackette out on our ownio. It really was a brief foray out into the wide world, probably only 40 minutes of gentle riding through the sleechy mud of the bridleways. No time to work him in the school first, not time even to prepare him for what we were about to do. A quick grooming session to make sure his girth area was clear, his feet were picked out and there were no annoying clumps of mud in his tail to bang against his hind legs in an irritating way, and then saddle up, mount up and we were off!

He was brilliant, very alert and attentive and we strode along, me first singing Kookaburra, and then whistling it, guiding Max through the sloppy path and around the rabbit holes. We had a few pheasants fly up in our faces, and followed a hoppity bunny for a while, Max with ears pricked "What is it? Why it boing, so?"

All was well, Max had a crafty munch of some long grass that was just too tempting, and we turned for home.

This is when we met the dreaded foe. A discarded plastic shopping bag, stuck in a hedge, fluttering in the wind and making crackly plastic noises. Max stopped, neck arched.

"I spy the enemy!"

He readied himself for a swift turn and retreat and I prepared myself for the sudden lurch and change of direction. Then Max changed his mind and advanced cautiously.

The bag fluttered more vigorously, crackling in a taunting way.

"Yikes! It's armed!"

Max did an exit, stage left, and headed up the lane a few paces.

"But Max, you're heading away from home," I pointed out reasonably. "How are you going to get your bowl of parsnip bites if you don't go home?"

At this he turned again, faced the bag and advanced, all snaky necked and snorty!

"Back to the devil, I say!" he commanded. "I fear you not! I FEAR YOU NOT!"

Right up to the blasted thing in the hedge, gave it a shove with his nose, and then trotted past, yes, a little hysterically, but we'll let that slide.

"Brave boy!" I exclaimed. "You sure showed that bag!"

"That bag, all bags, I fear them not!" Max snorted.

We were home safe and Max got his parsnip. What courageous warrior doesn't deserve a parsnip to celebrate victory over a dangerous enemy?

You're not paying attention!

Funny ol' Max. We haven't really been up to anything blog worthy, but I've mentioned before about Max and his special treats in his feed bowl, how he gobbles enthusiastically, then rests his head against me while he chews because it's SO good.

Well, yesterday, we were doing that. I finished my shift at the yard, picked out his feet, did a last skip out of his box, gave him some new hay, made a fuss of him and then brought him a little plastic baggy full of half a chopped parsnip, a chopped pear and a sliced carrot with a handful of ponynuts. He saw the bag, he got excited, he went back to his bowl and thumped it with his nose "In! In, in, in! Gimme!"

So I dumped it in for him, and stood by his head while he chomped away, with each mouthful resting his head against me, sighing, chewing and looking all blissed out.

But I heard a noise on the yard, and I looked away from him, out of his box door, listening while I idly scratched his neck. Just wondering who it was, what it was... We've had a recent "crime wave" in our area, milk, eggs, garden stuff going missing, so we're all on alert. I knew the tack room was open and I was trying to figure out if anybody was on the yard, paying more attention to that than what Max was doing.

So Max nudges my hand, twice, to re-focus my attention on how delighted he was. I turned to look at him and "Ah, that's better. Look at me loving my food!" and he leaned his head into me again while he chewed in bliss. Apparently, I have to pay attention when he's eating his treats! Funny boy!

Today, the weather is miserable, and I tucked him into his hoody while he fretted like an impatient child. "Not the clasps, they bind. Out now! Out. Cease fiddling!"

Brilliant boy. He makes my day, every day.

Foul weather friends

Yuck! What a grim day it has been in this little corner of the world. Lashing it down with rain and high winds. As I type this, there is a respite; no rain, but leaden skies and cloud cover that promises that this is just a cease fire, not surrender.

Max was exercised today by YO and she was very pleased with him. I found him tucked up in his box wearing his fleece, with evidence of his hard work still to be seen. She said his cantering his coming along very nicely and the transitions are getting better. He still strikes off on the wrong foot on the right rein, but is getting the hang of "flying changes"! My boy! He's growing up!

He won't do it for me yet, and I guess maybe I could feel bad about that, but I don't. I love that he is responding so well to the tuition from someone more able than myself, and it's up to me to learn and catch up to his level. I have no problem with that. I'm delighted with his progress!

I tucked Max up in his medium weight rug with hood again. The temperature would be too mild if it was a still, dry afternoon, or promised to be a still, dry night, but the forecast is for more wet 'n' wild overnight and I think Max is better off well protected from the elements. Better he comes in a little toasty than drenched with a chill.

Although the paddock where Max and his mates spend their time drains quite beautifully, today it was over-burdened with water and they had a little lake to investigate. The three stooges, set free, all gathered around the edge of the lake.

"Look boys, we got ourselves a swimmin' hole!" declared The Boss, stamping his foot and making a splash.

Max and his best mate tried some splashing too, and we left the three of them there, delightedly stomping in the water like three mischief makers at the public baths, ignoring the posted signs of, "No diving, no bombing, no splashing, no running."

There I was, reluctant to take my poor pony out in the miserable weather, but he's a horse, and he cares not about the weather.

I watched for a while, smiling at their antics, and walked away whistling, "Singing in the rain".

Once again, my pony leads by example "Don't worry! Be happy!" Max finds the silver lining round every cloud.

Max does community service

No, not as a punishment for defacing public property or nicking polos from the local shop - the other kind of community service; being kind and helpful to a local person in need.

In this case, the local person is one of the neighbourhood children, and the service is that the old pony on our yard that she and her brother "borrow" is now a little bit old for the role, so I told their mum (my friend, K) that if they wanted to move on up to play with Max, I'd be very happy for them to do so. They're both good kids, cheerful and caring, they won't be unsupervised and K knows what she's doing and has ridden Max a few times herself.

So today, while I was at the yard cleaning tack and organising my grooming kit, Max was ridden in the indoor school by a very enthusiastic young girl. I watched for the first little while, and was pleased with the care Max was taking. Unfortunately, it became clear he was rather pleased with himself too, and he kept coming into the middle of the school to stand in front of me, offering his nose for a kiss in hopes of a click treat. I removed myself from the school and apparently this bewildered him at first, but he decided K was a good enough adult supervisor and carried on bravely.

Max and his young charge worked on serpentines, mainly, and a little bit of trotting on either rein, but mostly walking while they got the feel of each other. K's daughter is a fine beginner with kind hands and was delighted to learn Max's "trick" - shift your weight forward a little and he stops.

Max may not have taxed himself with hard work, but he sure did plant a big smile on a little face today.

Yesm's is a good boy, Max!

Revisiting parsnips

There was a half price sale on parnisps at the supermarket today, and I remembered how much Max enjoys them, so bought a bunch.

We did a little work in the school today, cut short by a tremendous downpour. Oh, we were sheltered and dry, but the sound of the rain hitting to roof of the indoor school with such force prompted Max to believe he was under attack from many cobblers' apprentices, hammering away with their little silver hammers, and he lost all his concentration.

I released him from his work and let him trot around, tail like a flag, until he settled enough for a roll and a few snorts, and then we just worked on clicker training and not worrying about the rain.

When we were done, I took him back to his box and presented him with his feast. A little plastic bag containing a chopped parsnip, a chopped carrot, a chopped pear, and a handful of pony nuts.

It isn't much, but Max went into his happy trance, chewing and resting his head against me while he chewed... "Oh man! This is sooo good! I'd just about offer you some, but I know you don't want any so..."

The last day of my "holiday" and couldn't have asked for a better way to draw a line under it than happy Max, munching appreciatively on his treat.

Quiet time

The big plan for this week was to do lots of work with Max because I don't have the opportunity when I'm working two jobs.

Today we did nothing at all.

I arrived at the yard quite late, because I know he likes to have his morning snoozy time. It was almost noon when I got to him and shockingly, Max was asleep, sprawled out on his straw bed looking incredibly comfy.

I announced my presence quietly, and went in with his marmite toast. One eye open to look, then head raised, but no inclination to get up. So I fed him as he lay there, piece by piece, and then I gave him scratches and rubs and watched his big head droop and listened to his deep breathing and remembered that it has been months since Max and I have sat together through one of his naps.

I'm so glad I got the chance to do that with him this week. Doing nothing together is just as important as doing something.

Max in the hands of another...

Frustrating and inspirational, watching Max work for my YO yesterday. Actually, not very frustrating because he was so beautiful - only frustrating in that I can't get him to work like that myself. Partly because I'm nowhere near as skilled as my YO (but I'm working on it) and partly because Max knows all the tricks to get round me - the best of which is making me laugh.

I've taken a week off from the office this week but am still working the yard. I spent seven blissful hours there today. Yes, hard graft, but lots of time with Max, and no pressures to push off anywhere else, so I could take my time to fluff up the beds and spend loads of time loving the lovelies instead of feeling like just a little jaw scratch would have to do.

Yesterday I watched Max working in the pessoa for the first time since August. Although I've been carrying on with working him myself, I haven't seen just what he can do in the hands of the YO and my boy has advanced!

Started off in a nice trot and I commented, "It takes me about ten minutes to get him to that point!" to which YO laughed and said, "Oh, he can do much better than this. I'm just letting him work the stiffness off before we really get going!"

Monkey! Hiding his light under a bushel from me.

Well, YO says Max is a bit idle, and if he can find a way to get out of work, he'll do it. He's all about less work, more food.

I was not downhearted about this at all. She gave me some handy tips to push him on, and now I know what he can give, I'm in a better position to ask for it, politely but insistently.

Today we had a go on our own, and although I still can't get him going as well as YO, and we failed to get into canter at all (he cantered and cantered for her yesterday), I know we'll get there with a little more work from me. It's still all about timing, when I ask and where I put myself when I ask.

Max had a bit of a grump on. He would prefer that I don't watch his sessions with the YO because it gives me Ideas. Max prefers me without Ideas, unless the Ideas involve something tasty, or a scratch between his front legs, or a soothing rub of his ear tips.

We had a great old time though, and finished off our session with Max in a light sweat, so I took all his gear off and he had a grand roll in the school before going back to finish his lunch and have a sponge down to get the sweat off his belly. Then light rug on, and out to the field with his mates.

Bonfire night tonight, and the fireworks will be starting soon, but I'm not too worried. He's with his pals, the Boss is nonplussed by bangers and his chill will tell the other two there is nothing to fear.

On this crisp November evening, with the smell of woodsmoke in the air and the exploding lights in the sky, Max extends a hearty horsey welcome to his new Canadian cousin, Jamaika, a stunningly beautiful mare who has had the good fortune of finding a kind and loving guardian who could not be more thrilled. Love it when dreams come true!

Here's to dreams on this beautiful night! Welcome Jamaika! Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!

Max i' the hood

Early November, and Max is back in his tartan rug with neck hood. It seems early to be moving up a notch in his weather protection, but it has turned very rainy with a sharp, cold wind. I expect he’ll be back in his lightweight before long, at least I hope so, but for now, I prefer to know he’s dry and snug, out in the field with his hoody mates.

Friday, and again today, we experimented with long-lining up the lane, but this time, instead of one long line on either side, I used one line attached to his bridle at both ends, giving me “driving” reins. It means I’m closer to his behind, and with Max, that’s only a good thing. Much more able to chivvy him along when I’m close behind him, and there’s nothing to fear from a kick from those hinds, that’s just not Max.

My theory is the more I can build him up lining out in the open, the better he will be at hacking with confidence. I’m still on the ground with him, which is reassuring, but he is leading the way, which builds his confidence.

He doesn’t have to deal with my weight and balance on his back, and I don’t have to deal with it either, so we can both concentrate on moving forward and perfecting our aids. If he gets surprised or scared, it’s very easy for me to be where he needs me quickly.

The downside is Max’s tendency to graze along the way. Today we had a much longer walk with the Ent leading the way, and grazing was still a problem. Not a constant problem, but the greenery proved a distraction for Max and every now and again he’d abandon his post and single-mindedly head off for the grassy verges, ignoring protest from his companions.

“Somebody talking? All I can hear is nom, nom, nom…”

"Max! Head up!”

"Oooh, are those rosehips?”

“Max! Get up! Walk on!”

“A delicacy! So lush, I really could just stand here all day… Oops! Apparently not. All right, I’m walking on, already! Jeez. Get a grip, lady!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Snort.”

I think “snort” is the equivalent of “phht!”. I’ll have to look that up in my English/Equus – Equus/English dictionary…

From ghoulies and ghosties and long legged beasties...

... and things that go bump on the other side of the hedge, dear Lord, deliver Max.

The mischievous spirits are gathering for All Hallows' Eve, and today, they descended upon the head of a young pony.

I thought today Max and I would just go for a long, relaxing walk together, side by side. We set off happily enough, Max a bit grumpy but once we turned off the lane he perked up and we were moving along quite nicely, me chattering away and Max occasionally stopping to look at me. This always appears to me like a pause to say "Really? You don't say!"

Thus we were in amiable companionship when suddenly a noise from the hedge to our right, a sudden flurry, and Max lost his cool and broke away from me.

I had no thought to see what had spooked him, I just wanted him to calm down, stop and let me collect him. After my initial "Max! Max!" of surprise, I checked myself, lowered my voice a few registers and approached him slowly. He turned and allowed himself to be collected, but he was on high alert.

I turned to look back over my shoulder to see the commotion was caused by a dog, whose owner asked if we were all right. They were on slightly higher ground than us with a dense hedge between us. I suppose if I had been riding I might have seen over the hedge and been better able to prepare, but as it was, the dog was a surprise to both Max and I, and I counted myself lucky that no harm was done, and at least we weren't on the road.

We carried on, but I soon re-calculated my route realising that taking Max for long hill walks in open fields was no longer a good idea. He looked beautiful, all arched neck and prancey, but I knew he was slightly unhinged and it wouldn't take much to set him off again, and on foot over slippery ground it was unlikely that I'd be able to contain him. Why court disaster?

So we did a slightly shorter route, stuck to the bridleways, had a couple of arguments and a few more scares

"What's that?"

"Cow."

"Oh my god! What's THAT?"

"Tractor."

"In the name of all that's holy, what on earth is THAT?!"

"Sun reflecting off white plastic near more cows."

We had a little trot to work off some of Max's energy and as we turned for home he began to visibly relax. Finally the yard was in sight and then...

Bang! Rustle! Crash! Fumble!

Lost Max again. On the road this time, but luckily no cars, and being so close to home, he just hurried up the yard's back drive and turned to wait for me to join him with his eyes out on stalks.

"What is it? You're doomed! It will surely devour you. Not me though right?"

A friendly neighbour was up a tree on the other side of another hedge shaking something out of it. Apples? Birds? Sprites? Don't know, but it caused one heck of a hullabaloo, and not in a good way. The one downside of Max's bare feet is that I think sometimes people just don't hear him so don't think twice about sudden moves and loud bangs as they might if they heard a shod horse clipping along the pavement.

I collected Max again, managed to lead him (sideways, on tiptoes, nudging me towards the monster as a sacrifice) past the commotion, then finally home for his carrot stretches.

The last thing I expected today was an adventure, but sometimes adventures are thrust upon us.

You have got to be kidding!

Just looked ahead on the five day forecast for our local area, and Wednesday is headed "Sleet Showers".

Oh please! Already? Sleet? Must it be so?

And clocks went back this morning, so it's dark an hour earlier and feels like hunkering down season is upon us.

No matter. Today was dreary and wet, but mild, and Max and I found a space between the raindrops to have a little trundle about. We worked in the school first for about half an hour on trotting and bending, and then went out up the lane to look at the geese and a brand new baby calf, then high tailed it back to the yard as dark clouds threatened.

I went back over at about four o'clock to return my clean bridle to the tack room, and also to give Max his morning's toast & marmite, which I had carelessly left behind.

I took it to him in his field, and as a result caused an outbreak of Commotion. Max may think of me as his, and all things I bring or hold about my person as his too, but the Other Horses see me as their food slave because that's what I do for them just about every day. They can't understand why Max gets special treatment, and Max is indignant that he is expected to share his person, let alone any treats his person might be harbouring.

Max is not the boss of the field, but second in command (of three, so second is a fairly lowly standing) and things got a little fraught as boss tried to muscle in on the marmite, and Max was torn between deference to boss, and righteous outrage over infringement on his total ownership.

He didn't share and he didn't back down, but he did position me between himself and the boss as a precaution. As for the third "low horse on the totem pole" he didn't even get a look in.

How he do that?

Houdini strikes again.

I left Max yesterday, in his lightweight rug, playing happily with his pony pal.

This morning I arrived at the yard in the dark. Max was brought in with three others by the YO's husband, and I did a quick glance, thought to self "Hmm... Max doesn't look like he's wearing his rug... Nah. Trick of the light!" and I went off to get my gloves then walked back to collect him.

Definitely no rug. Naked, decidedly soggy pony greeted me with a happy whuffle.

"Where's your rug, Max?" I asked.

"What rug?"

Too dark to look for it, so I waited until there was a little light, stomped back to his field and lo, there it was in a muddy heap.

I was glad to find it, and equally glad that however Max had managed to wriggle out of it, he hadn't got entangled or hurt himself in the bargain.

Picked it up to look and there was no damage. It was also still completely fastened in every place it should have been fastened.

Monkey! How he take it off, the wriggly boy?

Set it on the straw bales in the barn to dry, and carried on with the morning's chores, interrupted by one lost dog (found closed in one of the boxes with the lot who'd been brought in) and one semi-cast three year old. The thumping against the walls alerted me. Ran over to find gangly youngster scrambling his feet against the wall of his stable. While I was calculating what to do, he managed to right himself, stand up, and then came to the door and planted his big head against me, blowing with surprise and alarm, with wild eyes.

"Goodness, that was a pickle!" I soothed. "You're ok now though, aren't you, my lovely?"

Stood with him for ages until he settled, assured myself that he was undamaged, then back to work.

This afternoon was glorious, and Max and I were invited to join another livery and her old horse for a hack. Thinking back on it now, I think it's the first hack Max has been out in the company of Another Horse this year. Hard to believe, but true.

We had a wonderful time, and Max was good as gold. Very happy and relaxed to follow his senior, settled leader, and in the end, quite happy to be the upstart and jog past him, while the oldie picked up his game to show the young pretender that he must respect his elders and know his place.

Really perfect afternoon, with fluorescent green fields and bright sunshine casting long shadows on an idyllic Hampshire landscape, and two happy horses who rubbed along together very well.

Back to the yard for carrot stretches and rug adjustments, and lots of praise for young Max who was a brilliant boy today. Sure footed and keen, tireless and sturdy, playful and alert.

What more could I ask? Another day in paradise, reminding me of why I held on to that "one day I'll have my own horse" dream for so many years.

Max ecstatic

A long morning at the yard which went on a little longer than it should have because sometimes, with horses, it's just like that.

I try on Wednesday to finish with enough of a window of time to do a little something with Max before I go off to the other job, but today it couldn't be done.

I'd brought him three little organic carrots for carrot stretches, and a tiny pear as his final treat. This would have been after he'd worked, but as there was no work, and therefore no reason to stretch (I don't like to ask him to stretch if he hasn't warmed up first) I decided to just put the offering in his feed bowl as a special Wednesday treat.

How delighted was Max? He heard them go in with a tumble and clunk, and came back to investigate, while I stood beside him. I love to watch him eat, and I love the sound of it, too. A funny thing, because listening to people eat loudly really does my head in, but listening to Max chomp and smack is a source of great delight.

Even better today. First he found the pear, lifted it out and chomped. I waited for the delirious expression pears put on his face, and there it was. Not just the expression though, because I was close beside him, so he leaned his head against mine while he chomped.

Then back in for a carrot, a bit of pear slobber still dripping, and again, leaned his head against mine and chomped, sighed and blinked with happiness. Same for the second carrot, and same for the third.

When he'd finished, checked to really make sure there was nothing left, he turned his head to me again, planted a soft "kiss" on my cheek and then turned back to the front of his box to get to work on his lunch time hay.

I left him with kind words, the promise of good things and more time tomorrow and a wonderful picture in my head of my happy horse, who greets his simple treasures in life with great gusto and thankfulness.

I will endeavour to follow his fine example of joy in the little things that make life BIG.

Here be monsters!

Max had a new song sung to him today, an old favourite courtesy of Lou Reed: "It's such a perfect day, I'm glad I spent it with you..."

I managed my time well enough today to put in time at the office, get home for lunch and get back to the yard for a hack before the afternoon shift of mucking out began. This will be our new Tuesday routine as the nights begin to draw in. They haven't yet, but clocks will go back soon, and I'd like the routine to be set before they do.

Max was a perfect gent today. We weren't out for ages, but we were out alone, with no walk in hand warm up. Mounted in the yard, and off we went. Beautiful, still day, blue sky, bright sunshine and just a little chill in the air.

Our only moment to pause and consider was when we approached "the sheep field". I guess they're doing silage or something, but there are great, separate mounds, covered in heavy (shiny) polythene held down with masses of old tyres. The sun glints off the plastic, the wind ruffles the plastic, and for all the world, to a cautious but curious pony, it must look like a great sea serpent stranded on land and looking for a tasty meal.

Max paused as the creature glinted at him in the distance.

"What the devil?" he asked.

The pause was short, I urged him on and my distinct lack of alarm seemed to satisfy him that it was safe to proceed and investigate. The serpent was obviously sleeping with a full belly, so we plodded past with barely a snort.

On the way home we stopped to watch the dreaded pigs, which hold no fear for Max now. He insists that the smell of them offends his delicate equine nose, but other than that, he's not bovvered.

It is clipping season now for many of the horses on our yard, and our YO is dutifully spending hours shaving long woolly hair off some of the finer competition horses on our yard. No need for Max now, and I'll reconsider if he starts getting too hot from his work, but I'd prefer to leave him au naturel.

The daily clipping though, despite best efforts to sweep up, leaves little tumbleweeds of horse hair blowing about the yard, and occasionally, a ring of horse hair in the clipping room if we leave it a little while before getting in there with the broom.

It was thus when we returned to the yard, and Max was curious.

"How comes this?" he asked. "Why is the hair not on the Other Horses where it belongs?"

"Oh Max," I explained. "They were too full of mischief. Mischief in the cooler weather causes too much heat, and it's a dangerous time for horses."

"Why?"

"The heat of the mischief builds up and BOOM, they explode, leaving only a circle of hair to tell the tale."

Max was aghast.

"Ponies too?" he wondered.

"Especially ponies," I confirmed. "So you'll want to keep a lid on the mischief, sir."

"Boom?" Max asked, clearly shaken.

"KaBoom!"

This new information was taken in thoughtfully. I've already told him that if a horse eats chocolate his mane will fall out, so there has been no need for me to share chocolate with him since.

"I'll save my mischief for when you're with me, then" Max concluded after his think. "If I go, I'm taking you out with me!"

Oh well. It was worth a shot!

It was a perfect day and I'm glad I spent it with him.

Who you?

I took Max out to his field today, following his two mates. So far so same old thing.

We got through the gate last, the other two had their head collars off, and I tried to lead Max forward, but he wouldn't go. I looked at him questioningly and noted the startled expression on his face.

"Don't know him!" he said, staring at his young field mate.

Said young field mate, who loves Max with a big love, had been clipped at the weekend, and as such, was wearing a new tartan rug with hood to keep him comfy warm..

"Don't be silly Max," I coaxed, as field mate came eagerly forward to greet his best pal.

Max took a hesitant step backwards, stopping when his friend gave him a little call.

"I don't talk to strangers," Max sniffed, and tucked his head behind my shoulder.

I led him to the water trough next to the field mate he did recognise, and then baldy with the new rug pushed in to demand acknowledgement.

Tentatively Max met his nose and sniffed.

"Oh! It's you! Why dincha say so? What this gear?" he asked, pulling at the rug with his teeth. "You look like a girl!"

Happy again, they trotted off together, leaving us standing at the gate laughing at Max and his confusion over a tartan hooded rug and a new haircut.

Charm offensive

Disarmed again, by Mr Max and his mysterious ways. That pony has a way of setting my world to rights and hushing my hectics thoughts, quieting my unquiet mind and pulling my focus in tight, on him.

I have to learn to get a bit less fraught about Fridays. I always feel like I should have all the time in the world to get what needs doing done, but it never turns out that way. Early morning shift at the yard, race through it, race home, feed cats, clean litter box, shower, change, grab something to eat and off to the office job, where I spend a relentless three or four hours barely coming up for air. Then high tail it to the yard to make sure Max has something to eat before I go and forage for supplies at the local supermarket, then home, feed cats, unpack groceries, change, grab something to eat and race back to the yard with a "To do" list in my head of what must be done there, and then when I get home.

I arrive at the yard whipped into a self-induced frenzy, telling myself I should chill out before I handle my lovely horse, because he doesn't need to eat my stress.

I arrived back today and Max was tied up outside while his box was being mucked out.

Got out of the car to open the gate and Max turned to look at me, and gave me a lusty whuffle of welcome. Got back in my car to park up, then back to close the gate. Another whuffle, eager and beckoning.

Walked over to Max and got the vibrating nostrils with tiny little whuffles "Good to see you. Why so stressy? Peaceful here, and I'm happy to see you, my friend. "

And... relax!

He fixed his big eyes on me and gave me a kind, assessing stare. He ruffled my hair and offered his nose, he breathed short little tickly breaths in my ear and nudged me fondly. He lifted all his feet when asked for a clean out and reminded me why I do all the mad rushing round, so I can have these moments of stillness with my Max.

Rug off, fly spray on

It's like August out there today. Brilliant blue sky, hot in the sunshine, and yes, the annoying insects are back.

Yesterday I kept Max's rug off when I turned him out, but went back to him later to rug up because the nights have been quite chilly. The minimum temperature tonight is set to be about 15 degrees Celsius, so no need to sneak back to the yard to make sure Max is warm enough. Happy nekkid Max with his nekkid mates out under the hot sun and the bright moon.

Max went for a long walk with his friend, the Ent, yesterday. It was quite charming really, as they hadn't seen each other for over a week, and whilst the Ent went about his business on the yard, Max watched him with an eager expression. I think Max had missed him!

He was fairly well behaved except for a little al fresco grazing and the odd stop and hard stare at nothing in particular.

Today we just did some work with our version of lunging on his Dually. It's not true lunging, and in just the Dually I'm certainly not getting him into any kind of outline, but it doesn't matter. It's just for exercise and lots of breaks for praise and wither scratches. It was hot enough, and Max furry enough with his incoming winter coat, to work him into a light sweat.

It looks like we have a week of Indian summer ahead of us, and it's very welcome indeed. Tomorrow my Canadian friends and family will be celebrating Thanksgiving. Just another day for Max and I, no long weekend, no pumpkin pie and certainly no turkey, but lots to be thankful for, there's no doubt about that!

Sunshine on a rainy day

The blog has been quiet because there haven't been any tales to tell. I blame the weather. Max and I haven't been getting up to many adventures, just hunkering down and scowling at the clouds together.

He's still getting lunged once a week by the YO, and he's beginning to work really nicely. I don't mean he's becoming more polite or obedient, I mean he's learning how to use his body to best effect. The knock on from that is that he does it for me now too, and I can feel the difference working him in hand and ridden. It's not perfect, it's not exactly the way I wanted things to be, but YO, with all her experience, knowledge and skill, is much more clear in her directions for Max, and now that he knows what clear feels like, he is working wonders at interpreting my "fuzzy" directions, which in turn helps me to fine tune and become less fuzzy.

It's been pitching it down with rain today, but very mild with it. I had hoped to get to Max early enough to do something with him before my yard work shift started, but it was very miserable and neither of us felt like getting our heads round work, so we just hung out, stretched our legs a bit and had a laugh before I released him and his new best mate to their field together.

Slogged through the yard work. It all feels an uphill struggle when the rain is relentless, and even with waterproofs on, I still get soaked through. Everything is soggy, heavy and the straw and hay clings everywhere.

By the end of mucking out duties, the sky cleared a bit, and I went out to say my goodbyes to Max.

The approach to his field is a bit of a walk, and I can see him long before he sees me. As I walked towards him, I could survey the scene, four bums at the far end of two fields, no faces to greet me. I made no calls to draw attention to myself, but suddenly Max's head was up from grazing, and he turned to look at me. The three others still showed me their bums and a complete lack of interest, but Max continued to watch my approach, ears pricked forward.

I smiled, because I could almost convince myself that he sensed me, or heard my footstep, which was different from other footsteps so that he could distinguish between "somebody" and me.

I opened the gate, ducked under the electric tape and made a few steps towards him, still saying nothing. Max then began to walk towards me. I stopped walking and let him approach.

It may seem silly and bland to others, but for me, to see this big, divine creature with all that muscle and power walk forward eagerly to greet me because he chooses to is a never ending source of delight. It is also humbling.

"Hello Max," I said as he reached me and offered his nose. "A bit soggy?"

Head nod.

"I'm taking off home now, wish I could take you with me. I'll be back first thing tomorrow, and I'm at the yard all morning, so I can make a fuss of you. Maybe we'll do a bit of something when I finish working, ok?"

"OK, lady. Bring toast and marmite."

"So be good, take care, stay safe and sound. Watch out for your mates, don't hoon around in the mud like hooligans, it's slippery."

"As if."

"And I love you heaps. Cobblers gorgeous boy!"

"Cobblers" is our family rendition of "God bless." Once upon a time, when I lived alone except for my cats, I'd never leave the house without calling out, "God bless, boys!" Then when it was just Arizona, it became "God bless, kitten, my kitten."

Then I met the Ent, who took up the tradition, but changed it to "Cobblers, kitten Mike!"

So "cobblers" it is, and it still retains all the love, hope and protection of "God bless" in my heart as I say it.

Max tried to hold me there a little longer by going through all his tricks, a leg raised, a head shake, a nod, a nose thrust forward for a kiss.

"I have to go, Max, but thank you... Oh... I seem to have found a pear."

"Gimme!"

There are those who say that Max is spoiled. He's not spoiled. He is pure. He is splendour. He is as unspoiled as a northern Ontario landscape, or Blake's "Songs of Innocence".

The thing about that kind of unspoiled is it disarms and beckons, so that some of the world weary experience just falls away and leaves me with the wonder and hope of a child.

Horses are just for riding? Some of us know better.

Hear deer here dear...

OK, I didn't actually hear them before I saw them, but why compromise a perfectly good title with dreary ol' facts?

Beautiful October afternoon in sunny Hampshire. A little chill in the air, but not too bad, no flies either, which is a bonus.

Mr Max and I went for a lone hack, all ridden. He had his special spook hat on today because it was a bit windy. He was very tall and narrow for pretty much the entire trip, and was forever saying "What's that?!... Oh my God! What's THAT? And THAT?"

None of the "thats" were anything much; the funniest was a mound of dirt strewn across our path "Head for the hills!" exclaimed Max as we trotted sideways past it; the bravest was two old rotten bits of branch a bit farther along the same path. These, even to me, looked like pretty angry snakes, and Max spotted them lurking well before he was upon them.

This is where he baffles me. Imagined danger and we have to dance around and try to turn for home, but something that actually looks like it might be a threat, and although he's cautious he does not hesitate in his approach and gets his head down to give the thing a bloomin' good snort of disapproval!

He did this with the branch snakes, and then stepped over them, exposing his vulnerable belly as I guess he had determined that there was no threat. There was a click treat though, gratefully accepted.

As for the deer, spied them in a stubble field that ran alongside the bridleway we were on. There were seven of them, nibbling at whatever it is deer nibble at, and totally unconcerned by Max and I, although they did spot us and watched our progress. This is the cool thing about seeing the countryside from a horse's back. My line of vision was above the hedgerow, so deer were easily spotted, and also, I sometimes fancy that approach on horseback is less threatening to the critters of field and forest. They scatter when I'm on foot, but not when I'm on Max.

Rugged up little green man again tonight. Although this afternoon has been lovely, blustery rain is called for tonight, so best that he's got a little protection from the wet and chill.

Today we have changed his move forward prompt from "Walk on, Max" to "Rock on, Max".

Because it makes us laugh, that's why.

Bears and bears and bears, oh my!

Another beautiful September day here in Merry Ol' (this part of Merry Ol', at any rate). I rode Max yesterday and was concerned that his left hind seemed to keep catching. He was fine in the school, but once out and about, it felt like he was going to collapse like a deck chair.

I don't think it's very dramatic from the ground, because I kept calling out, "There! There! Did you see it?" "No," the Ent replied, "The saddle has slipped a bit to the left, maybe that's what you feel..." This was after I'd asked him to walk behind and keep an eye on Max's left hind (and yes, it might have had something to do with the saddle, and therefore my weight being off kilter, but that was not what I felt).

Max seemed fine though, no swelling, no heat, no pain, so I'm not sure what it was all about.

This morning I took him into the school first to see how he was, and again, after a little warming up, I felt that back leg give. We left the school and I dismounted, deciding to take him out in hand for some hill work and at a convenient point, if all was well, I'd mount up.

What an enjoyable outing! It's been ages since just Max and I went on an awfully long walk together, and I do so love walking by his side, watching his expression change, and standing still with him as he gazes out at who knows what on the horizon. I think he sometimes does it just to psyche me out and give himself a laugh.

"Ha, ha! Made you look!"

The only downside of our walk was other walkers, who invariably want to know if I've fallen off. A legitimate question, I suppose, and quite kind if they're checking to see that I'm all right, but after the second or third explanation it gets old. Maybe I should just fake a limp when I see others approach, say that indeed, I have fallen off and be done with it!

There was another, more mysterious kind of walker out in abundance today though, and Max was not impressed.

Blackberry season is not only a joyous time for equines with a nimble lips and a taste for tangy fruit, it also brings out the bi-ped blackberry pickers, with their tin and plastic buckets, and purple stained fingers (and mouths, for the smaller variety).

Trouble is, these blackberry pickers seem to prefer to work in stealth, the only hint of their presence being a flash of colour on the other side of the bush, and a faint rustling that seems to become louder, more insistent, more threatening, when a horse of vivid imagination approaches.

The faint rustling made me think of a much loved book from childhood "Blueberries for Sal" by Robert McCloskey. I remember the illustrations were all shades of yellow and blue. Sal was out picking blueberries with her mother, and bear was out picking blueberries with her cub on opposite side of the same hill...

Admittedly, I seem to remember Sal was a lot less worried about bears than Max.

"Augh! Bears!"

"There are no bears in Hampshire, Max."

(rustle, rustle... "mmmrf... Hello?" little voice says from other side of bush)

"Oh hello! See Max? Blackberry pickers!"

"bears?"

"No, blackberry pickers."

"bears."

And on we'd walk a little until...

"Hit the deck! More bears! Huge bears! Hungry bears!"

(rustle, rustle, chomp... "Oh, hullo Max! Would you like a blackberry?")

Some of the "bears" even knew Max, and though he was happy to take any blackberries offered, his mistrust was swayed very little by the gift.

I think bear season only lasts a couple of weeks though, so soon this will be behind us and we'll have to invent a new unseen foe of which to be wary.

Beetroot is back on the menu!

Apparently, I have to peel it first to make it acceptable. Tough skin, delicate Max, well why should he nom through the tough outer skin when it is the work of mere moments and purple stained fingers for me to do it for him?

My neighbour, with the garden that puts us to shame, delivered another harvest of beetroot, so I took a small one to Max, carefully peeled, to see if I could tempt him.

"Look Max! Beetroot."

"Pah. Too hard."

"No, it's all ready for you. Have a go."

"If you insist..."

Moments later, Max had a purple frothy mouth, and I had a purple frothy stained shirt.

Went to him with every intent of taking him out for a bit of something in the sunshine, but we ended up doing nothing much.

Big grooming session, a bit of messing around. It was enough. We played, we enjoyed, we were just me and Max, doing what we do best; being mates.

Max doesn't have a job. I hear often that a horse has a job to do, but that's not Max. His only "job" is being Max, being a horse, and that is enough to delight me.

Yes, I enjoy riding, and yes, I love the ground work, but I also love just hanging out and laughing with him, and today was one of those days. Soaking up the sun and mooching about together, playing and nuzzling.

Lovely. After a hard week of much heartache and worry about things beyond my control and apart from Max and me, we spent our time in the best possible way.

I heart my pone.

Blackberry fool

I took Max out into the paddock again today, to compare and contrast working in the Pee Wee bit against working in the copper snaffle in similar circumstances. There wasn't a lot in it, actually, but any "evasion" from Max was limited and lacking any real determination.

He did get a big ol' case of the jitters when we left the paddock and were trying to shut the gate behind us. He did what I can only describe as a "one step bolt". Really gathered his energy into his haunches and leapt forward. One step. Then he came back to me, listened to me, did as I asked, turned back to the gate while I attempted to close it again, all the while feeling like a coiled spring beneath me. I knew he just wanted to run away from whatever was scaring him, but there was never a moment that he felt unsafe or uncontrollable. In fact, I was so not scared that I was chuckling at him and calling him a silly boy.

That was a good lesson for me.

Decided to go up the lane and here we had an argument, as Max determined really, we'd done enough for the day and should just head back to the yard so I could hand feed him carrot bites. So we turned round and round in circles until Max got bored and acquiesced.

It was going relatively well, until I dropped my stick. Got off to retrieve it, and there being no convenient spot to use as mounting block, and Max still displaying a case of the jitters, decided to carry on on foot and see if I could soothe his equine nerves.

It wasn't easy, he really had the wind up him for some reason but we turned up a bridleway, me coaxing and Max saying "Nuh uh. Too scary. Not doin' it."

He hasn't been so reluctant in a very long time, but I managed to cajole him along and then spotted a blackberry bush.

"Ooh, Max. Blackberries! Do you remember them from last year?"

"No."

"Sure you do! You love them."

"No."

"Try one!"

"No."

"Come on silly. I promise you like them."

"Scary."

"What's scary about them? They're sweet and juicy! Try one."

I stuffed one between his lips and stood back to watch those eyes move from irritation at the assault, to bemusement to delight.

"Oh. I do like them!"

"I know."

"Pick me another!"

"You can pick them yourself, remember?"

And out came the dexterous lips, nibbling through the foliage and finding the prize, passing over the unripe, and plucking the sweet.

"Still scared, monkey boy?"

"Nom, nom, nom..."

Trot, trot, trot...

Max knows his business now, and gets down to it. He wears his school hat (I like to think at a jaunty angle though, because he is still a cheeky monkey) and there's no stopping him. Well, yes, there is stopping him, but only when asked, not just because he feels like it.

I noticed this yesterday when I took him into the school of a bit of lunge work after yard work. No need to coax or work up to anything, he just takes himself out where he knows he's meant to be, and waits for the signal to change gears. With a "Trrrottt!" from me, off he goes, and there he stays, trotting, until I ask something else.

Same today in the school doing ridden work. I only had about 20 minutes between yard work and having to scoot home to clean up and get changed for the office, but 20 minutes is enough. Little and often as a good friend just reminded me.

The fact that I was on his back rather than standing in the centre of the school made no difference to Max. I asked for trot, he gave me trot, and there was no suggestion of not giving me trot until I changed my mind and asked for something other.

This has crept up on me a bit. As much as I've hated "nagging" Max in the past, he did tend to give up and slow down if he thought I wasn't paying attention, or just didn't feel like it. And it's not that he's become robotic now, he hasn't, but he certainly has come on in fitness and comprehension.

I am having severe misgivings because it has been suggested, again, that what Max really needs now is a flash noseband as a training aid. For those who don't know, the flash is basically a leather strap that comes down from the standard noseband and is used to strap the horse's mouth closed so he can't evade the bit.

I have never used one, and I never want to. I have strong views about the way I want Max to learn and accept direction, and shutting his mouth so he can't express himself is not among the options. Why would I want him to learn by capitulation? Why would I want him silenced and stilled?

I don't want any of that, but was aware that riding him in the paddock on Sunday, evading was what he was doing, after ten minutes of good work. He just wanted to go his own way, and I could correct him with pressure from my fingers (my seat isn't up to it yet) - looking back, a lot less pressure than it once took to correct him.

I'd ridden in the copper snaffle then, because I wanted to try it out. Today, I switched him back into his Pee Wee today, and was even more pleased with the less wayward version of Max. Not foot perfect going round those bends, but no open mouth, head down evading, so I don't see any reason to consider a flash noseband to be wrapped round that sweet face with its open expression.

Let's keep the trust in those eyes, I say!

Second blast of summer

I wouldn't have believed it this morning, as I stepped out into a typically brusque autumn morning. I could see my breath, I had to scrape condensation off the windows of my car, and felt that familiar "Brr! Winter's coming" vibe.

I wore liner gloves under my yard gloves because my finger tips were numb (nothing like trying to wrangle a metal handled pitchfork that has been outside all night when your hands are already cold - oww!). Even mucking out boxes in quick succession didn't do much to warm me up. Nor did I welcome a bold rat who came into one of the boxes and sat on the straw to watch me. Well covered he was, and looked quite comfy until I squealed at him! "Argh! Out! Go!"

I unzipped my fleece, but didn't remove it. I took off the liner gloves once I could feel my fingers again, but still felt the chill in my hands.

There was steam rising off the muck heap, and the neds were alert and perky. Got delayed by beautiful bay mare, same age as Max, whom I've dubbed my "time waster". She very prettily sticks her head out of her box, blinks her big brown eyes at me and beckons me over to her, as she sets her head up just so, to indicate that she'd really enjoy having her jaw scratched. She loves the attention, and I could stand there for ages chatting and scratching the points she she offers up, like a big pussy cat. She's such a tart!

Rushed off after giving Max his marmite toast and a big hug, because I knew work at the office was piling up and I needed to get on. As it turned out, it continued to pile up while I was there, and I stayed on doing overtime and then racing back to the yard well after my appointed meeting time with Max.

He'd been kept in, but he was not happy. Frantic little whuffles as I arrived and parked up.

"Hey! What time do you call this! No food in here and my water is covered with hay. I hate that! Help! Help! Neglected pony! Call the authorities.... Hey... ooh! Is it? Could it be...?"

I stuffed his gob with a small pear to cool his jets, and then led him out of his box into the bright, sunshine. It's hot! No sleeves could be wearing shorts, hot! Fly spray onto Max's ever so slightly, woolly just starting to come through winter coat, hot!

I was knackered from the office. Too long in that chair and my back was aching, too many hours frantically typing, so my hands were aching, too.

We just played. We stood in the sunshine, bantered and joked and played. I could curse myself for not doing something meaningful with him, taking him for a long walk, or riding him out on this perfect day (I hope tomorrow is perfect because I'd like to ride him when I'm less achey), but after a whirlwind of a week, and feeling quite stressed, it was really lovely to just hang out and do nothing much.

First I set him up with some hay and fresh water, which he set upon like he was starving. Not a bit of it, he's well looked after in my absence, but for Max, there does seem to be something special about what is provided specifically for him, specifically by my own fair hand.

I understand. No sandwich will ever be as good as the one my mum makes for me. It's a gift, the food offering made by somebody who loves you and thinks you're "all that". Always tastes better.

He drank deeply, smeared me with water drips, then chewed contentedly while I draped myself across his back, felt the warmth from him and all his contentedness, and the warmth from the sunshine beaming down on us, and let all the tension of the day ease out of me while I felt, listened to and breathed in the gorgeous scent of my Max. He is Mr Sense-o-Rama! If I could bottle that feeling and sell it, I'd be a squillionaire.

But it's kinda cool that it's just for me.

Wednesday work-out

Historically, Max has Wednesdays off, but not today.

I decided early on, since I didn't have much time to do anything meaningful with him yesterday, that despite the four hours of yard work in the morning, and four hours at the office in the afternoon, I would try to get my act together and energy up enough to have a mini-schooling session with the boy between jobs.

I whizzed through the yard work like a demon, and managed to have Max saddled up and ready to go by 11.15.

My YO has been lunging Max in a copper snaffle, and she said he was going really nicely in it, so I wanted to try it ridden to determine how he felt in that, as opposed to his Pee Wee, or the Tom Thumb Scrubs I rode him in a couple of weeks ago.

Max came to me with a sweet iron snaffle, and he hated the bejeezus out of it. Very melodramatic as he pranced around, mouth agape with borderline hysteria:

"Gak! No! Take it out! Out, out, out! I can't breathe! I can't see! My feet! I can't feel my feet! I've gone numb... Oh Lord help me, my tail's dropped off!"

Comparing that original snaffle to the copper one the YO is working with, the copper is more slimline and does fit quite nicely, no banging on his teeth or possibility of obstructing his delicate airways or knocking his hooves clean off.

We did about 20 minutes of trot work in the school, and I have to admit he did feel pretty comfy in it. No resistance, no open mouthed protests, just good consistent work, fairly attentive and responsive.

I'm not sure though. I have to go back to the Pee Wee now to compare and contrast, because I still think the Pee Wee is most comfy for him, and despite lack of brakes and steering, he seems most relaxed in his eye and demeanour with no bit at all.

All that aside, was delighted that I managed to fit in a short schooling session on my tight schedule. It felt lovely to go to the office having ridden my boy, and I will try to keep it up in the future.

We are all out of carrots until I do the grocery shopping (when? Tomorrow? The next day? Where can I find me a "wife"?) so we finished off with banana stretches, which worked every bit as well as carrot stretches.

Max loves him some banana!

Beetroot surprise!

Just back from a shift of yardwork. I kept Max in for the afternoon because I hadn't had much time to play with him before my shift and half wondered if I might do something else with him afterwards, but mostly, I just wanted to hang out with him for the afternoon, have him where I could see him and stop for a fuss every few minutes.

Before it all started though, I approached his box with chunks of carefully sliced beetroot from our big stash. He eyed it greedily as I approached, and snarfled down the first offering with gusto.

Next slice, yep, still great stuff! Next slice...

"I've had this before. Have you got anything else?"

"You like beetroot, Max!"

"Do I? Let me try another."

Slice offered.

"Ptoeey!" as he spit it out. "Bored with that now. What else ya got?"

What I've got is purple stained fingers from carefully slicing up beetroot, and a bunch of leftovers. They were, however, very gratefully received by another horse on the yard. I asked his owner if she'd ever tried it on her ned, and she hadn't, so we stood back and watched as he went into a little beetroot ecstasy trance on his first taste.

I still have a motherlode of beetroot to get through, and there's only so much borscht I can make, but I have an inkling that if Max remains less than keen, I can find some other neds willing to take up the banner for bright purple root vegetables, and help me out with the surplus.
We did try one other horse, the YO's mare, who was very eager until it was in her mouth, then acted like a kid being forcefed spinach, or any other yuck vegetable of choice.

"Ow! Bleurgh! What is this stuff?! It burns! It chokes! Why are you trying to poison me? I thought you liked me! Argh!"

We had to give her an apple bite to soothe her poor, assaulted tastebuds and restore her faith in us and her place in the world.

Beetroot, buckshot and balance

There was a country game fair going on in the neighbourhood today, which meant lots of people having a go at clay pigeon shooting, and lots of announcements on the tannoy, both of which carried on the wind to our yard.

Having decided to try another hackette like the one last Sunday, with the Ent on foot, I weighed up whether to ride Max in his Pee Wee bit again, or try it on his Dually. I opted for his Dually. Silly me!

OK, it wasn't totally silly, because out of every "challenge" comes an opportunity. I wasn't totally reckless either; Ent had a lead rope that he could attach to Max if things turned chaotic.

We started off with Max on the lead rope as well as the reins, and as much as I felt like a child being led on a pony, it was a good start to measure how Max felt about the noisy commotion about him. He was totally relaxed, so the lead was removed and we flew solo.

All was fine until we turned off the lanes in into the stubble fields. We were fairly controlled trotting away from the Ent, but turning back towards him, Max lost his cool and went a bit loopy. We were on uneven ground, I had no steering and not much in the way for brakes, either. I was disappointed to find myself almost unseated by Max's antics, with my legs way too far back, and gripping, which certainly didn't help to keep Max calm, focused, or tell him that I wanted him to stop, not go, go, go!

We collected him up eventually, but before the Ent could clip the lead rope back in place, Max had a little leap of excitement which practically bowled the Ent over!

The rest of the way home was on the lead. I still had some "control" with the reins, but the rope was there to keep us safe and together. We went into the "sheep field" and let Max investigate a sleeping dragon (silage under green plastic tarpaulin held in place by many old tyres). He was very brave for that, considering the guns were getting louder, and two hooligans were out on dirt bikes, paying no attention to the country code, and driving through ploughed fields with no regard for what was around them. Eejits.

I didn't feel Max lose the tension in his body until we were almost home, but I used the last bit of smooth road to ride no hands, no stirrups and work on balance and lengthening down through my thigh muscles. I experimented and watched Max's ears rotate back towards me as he "listened" to my movements.

Finally home, and Max had his prize. Yesterday my neighbour brought me a motherlode of beetroot from her garden, and there was a HUGE one with Max's name on it. I had to cut it up into manageable slices, and the boy ate with gusto!

I have always wanted Max to go bitless, and now I'm not sure if it's going to be possible. Bits aren't inherently bad things, and some horses will do better with them than without. Max may be one of those horses. It could be, though, that with a bitless bridle with a little more finesse, rather than a training halter, we may get better results. It could also be that I just need to get more skilled with my seat so that Max is listening to that rather than just my hands, therefore his bit or lack thereof, shouldn't really come into it much.

A Sunday ponder...

Mr Needy MacGreedy

Max had a case of the "cling ons" yesterday. He gets like that now and then, just wants me to stay with him, not making a fuss, just standing so he can lean his big ol' head on me and look soulful. He also wanted LOTS of hay, and anything else I had on offer (not much) though the two issues were separate. If I took him a handful of hay in answer to his quiet whuffles, he would choose to stand with me, instead, until I moved off to get back to my chores, and then he'd get down to eating.

Then, a bumper day for Mr Max, as one more person finally got the better of his evasion tactics. I took him into the school to do a bit of work on the long-lines. The jump stands were gathered in the centre of the school, just tall, weighted white plastic poles, so I spaced them out into a track of obstacles for Max to weave in and out of. We got on pretty well with that; it was an exercise to encourage bending in Max, and also to see just how well we were both doing at changing direction.

The Ent came and joined us, the long lines came off, and Max had a little lunge session, with the Ent at the controls. I stayed in the centre with them for the first little while, then retreated to a corner to leave them to it. Ent was quick to pick up the signals from Max so he could act on them quickly, and before you know it, with a buck and snort of protest, Max found that the pushover Ent was no longer so easy to get round!

Pear kisses

What's a pony of little means and no access to the cashpoint to do when it comes to gifts for his favourite human?

He was obviously giving it much thought today, as he lay in his box, straw tangled in his mane, eyes shut tight, lightly snoring.

"Mornin' Max!"

"Snrt."

"It's my birthday, Max!"

"Pfft."

"Shall I come back and see you later? Have you got me a present?"

"Ssh! Sleepy time now. Shoo!"

Yes, he was thinking hard all right!

Full morning at the yard, so Max's day off. I spent a little time with him after my shift to check him over, remove straw from his mane and forelock, pick out his hooves, and give him a pear as a parting token of my esteem.

I gave him a big hug round his neck, "Get OFF me woman!" and told him I wouldn't apologise because he was just too huggable, and I get to do stuff like that on my birthday: hug ponies, squeeze kittens, stamp my feet and demand special treatment.

It was then that Max decided to steal a kiss, velvety nose nuzzled against my cheek while big eyes stared at me.

"Aww Max! That kiss smelled of pear."

"Pair of what? Heh heh hee! Oh stop, my sides are achin'!"

Sheesh.

Max, the Iron Horse and the Hydra

The rain held off long enough today for a hack, so after a bit of warming up in the indoor school, off we went, with the Ent taking the lead on foot.

Max is back in his Tom Thumb bit, for the moment. Just trying a change because YO commented that Max was fighting his Pee Wee bit during his last lunging session. I think the problem is that YO has adjusted the Pee Wee to sit too high in Max's mouth. She said he was trying to get his tongue over it, and that's my clue. He's never done that before, and his trying it indicates to me that he was finding it uncomfortable.

Have tried to explain this once before, but got a look of incomprehension and, "But look at these cheekstraps! Too lose! The bit's not doing anything!"

Thought it wise to swap bits over before tomorrow's lunging session, and also to see how Max went in his Tom Thumb anyway, since he hasn't used it in a while. He did quite like it when we first started using it.

Was doing a bit of reading up on the Tom Thumb last night because I've heard so much noise about it being one of the harsher bits around. There's the old standby, of course, that a bit is only ever as harsh as the hands holding it, but I was still concerned enough to do some research, seeing as he was about to be lunged in one.

As it turns out, there are two version of the Tom Thumb: The US one, used in Western style riding, mostly for neck reining and yes, it is quite harsh; The UK one, with copper rollers in the middle and sweet iron main body, jointed in the centre, known to be quite mild. Max has the UK version, also sometimes known as a Tom Thumb Scrubs.

He went well in it today, and once he got working, was salivating nicely and playing with the copper rollers, but I freely admit that he feels better in the Pee Wee, and I think I'll continue to use that one for riding. I'll see how YO gets on with the Tom Thumb tomorrow, try explaining again that the Pee Wee is designed to sit low and also that it has another position she could try for lunging, or see if she wants something else all together, as long as it's not an outrageously expensive Myler, or any kind of snaffle (Max HATES the nutcracker action on snaffles), then I may just buy him a bit specifically for his YO sessions, while he and I carry on with the Pee Wee.

We stuck mainly to the lane today, because the tracks are all so muddy and slippery. Max was a bit sluggish, not stepping smartly, but going from fairly decent walk to jog and back. Don't really want a pony that jogs along, so we'll have to work on that. We diverted into the fields to get off the road, and the feel of soft earth under his feet pushed Max's buttons and he started getting a little prancey and difficult to hold.

It's hard to explain what I can feel when Max does this - it's like he becomes a different horse underneath me. He kind of rises up, it almost feels like he slims down, too, although I know that can't be true. I can feel every bit of excitement in him, every tremor in the hindquarters, every prickle of electricity in his neck. It used to scare me because he feels a bit wild and ready to bolt. It doesn't scare me any more because I trust Max and we've done enough work together to know he'll listen to me... that and I know he's still Max. He might bolt, sure, but he'll stop when he gets tired!

I concentrated on pressure with seat and hands to contain him and instant release when he made the slightest positive response. As a result, on a windy day in a muddy field atop a hill, when it looked like we weren't doing much at all, Max and I seem to have climbed up a rung in the ladder of understanding each other.

"Oh, I see!" said Max. "Now that's a very clear signal. Yes, of course I can slow down."

I got clear, Max got responsive, I immediately eased, Max got comfortable, so more responsive, so I didn't have to ask so often.

That is when a string of classic cars came along the lane next to us, with a proud "look at us" beep from the lead car. There must have been a rally somewhere they were all off to.

When I say "classic", I mean "jalopy", and when I say "beep" I mean "Aoooga"! Headlamps out on stalks, spoked wheels and running boards. Beautiful, old, brightly coloured cars, chugging along the lane in front of Max's astonished eyes.

He knows about tractors, combine harvesters, lorries and the familiar modern day car, but had never seen anything like this. He danced prettily after them, head tucked in towards his chest, snorting and shaking his head in amazement, while I tried to hold him steady but give him his freedom to explore at the same time (it's a fine balance!).

We caught them up and stopped to watch the parade go by.

"They're just cars, Max. That's what cars looked like when horses had to step aside and motors took over the roads."

"I prefer the fields anyway" Max snorted, ears pricked as he watched.

The Ent caught us up, and we returned to the lane, where our next challenge was a monster of many heads and countless legs clad in multi-coloured gore-tex.

"Yikes!" Max exclaimed, as he scrambled towards them at an angle. "What vile creature is this? A dragon? A horse eating demon?"

"Ramblers, Max. Not one creature, just lots of people in a bunch. Walking."

"Oh. How disappointing. Shall I show them how splendid I am anyway?"

"I think so, yes."

We sidled past them, Max trying to look fiery and imposing. He struggled, but was admired anyway, for his colouring, highlights and kind eyes.

Then the final trot home, relaxed and just Max again; no fiery steed, just my cheeky pony.

I see a little silhouette of a...

Little Green Man!

Unbelievably, so early in September, I've just taken Max out into his field in his bright green Rambo lightweight rug. This rug generally doesn't come out until November, and it sees Max through the entire winter, bar a couple of weeks when he moves up a grade to his medium weight with hood to fend off proper cold and icy temperatures.

He's a robust native-type, and the whole rug question has been playing on my mind, because he shouldn't need it. I argued with myself about his tough native background, Norwegian even, built to withstand cold weather, and wonder if my anxiety is more about me needing to think he is feeling comfy and warm rather than Max actually needing a rug.

I have held out while those about me have fallen and rugged up. I can understand those with warmbloods, finer thoroughbred types, but once I saw the ponies and cobs wearing their lightweights, I went into pack mentality mode.

Even that didn't sway me too much initially and I let Max tough it out for days because he is a tough nut, RAR! and I am a worry wort.

But the weather here is so dismal; driving rain, high wind and although somewhat mild during the day (mild when you read the temperature - it doesn't actually feel mild by any stretch of the imagination) once the sun goes down, I reckon it gets a bit chillsome out in the field at night.

If it was just temperature, if Max was out during the day and in at night, I wouldn't be rugging. But with all the wet and wind, I've finally given in. Max was the last rugless pony standing, the last bastion of true grit, shaking his hoof at the elements... But not tonight.

The final tipping point for me was this morning when I arrived for yard work at 7.00 and gave my nekkid boy a check over. He was soaked through, so much so that I had to use his scraper to drain the excess water off him. I felt the tips of his ears, and they were cold. Then I ran my hands along his back, particularly where his kidneys live, and that was cold too. So after drying him off as best I could, I put his fleece on to take away the chill and soak up the remainder of the wet while he was in his box for the morning.

Sod's law, when I went to him this afternoon with final decision to rug up for the field firmly in mind, the sun peeped out, the rain stopped and it felt a little bit warm.

Hmm... do I? Don't I?

I looked at the black clouds speeding towards us on the wind and thought "Yes, I absolutely do."

I did take consultation first with the two yard birds doing the afternoon shift. As we talked, gathered around the door to Max's box, he went through his series of tricks to try and get my attention.

"Excuse me? Me time now! Hello? Your Max would like a word, please. Aren't you supposed to be adoring me?"

He got cursory strokes on the nose while I chatted, but I was not focused on him; none of us were, and boy, did he know it! So he picked up the sleeve of my jacket in his teeth and gave my arm a shake.

"For Heaven's sake, Max! How rude!"

"Polite wasn't working for me. Some attention, please. Haven't seen you for HOURS! Got stuff to say."

"Fair enough. Speak."

"I was wondering... I think I smell a pear in your pocket?"

"I do have a pear in my pocket, yes."

"So, I'm assuming that's for me, right?"

"I had intended to give it to you, yes, but I'm having second thoughts now with all the rowdy..."

"Pah. Hand it over. We could go through the whole 'will she/won't she thing' if you like, but you know you're going to give it to me, so let's just cut to the chase, eh?"

I did not capitulate immediately, but Max did get his pear in the end, after hooves cleaned out, general check and some faffing about to teach him patience (he tried to hypnotise me with his powerful gaze, but I've got wise to that one).

So he's in his field now, rugged up. The sun has danced away, fickle thing that she is, to look for drier land. I will sleep better tonight knowing Max has a little protection from the elements (and the teeth of his playful fieldmates) which won't overheat him.

The final decision was down to Max though. As we were gathered in front of his box anyway, I asked him the question: "Max, would you like your green rug on for tonight?"

Emphatic head nod.

"Are you sure?"

Another big nod.

Thus spake Max, and thus did I.