Waterlogged

What’s that Flanders and Swann song? “It’s bloody January again…” (Song of Weather)

I'm starting a little earlier in the morning now, trying to get myself accustomed to getting through things quickly so I can leave the yard by 9.00 am to go on to my other job for 10.00, but when it's like this, there's really not much you can do to hurry things up.

The boxes are filthy. Partly water coming in and making the bedding wet, and partly, I think, the horses thrashing about at night in the wind. It must be a little upsetting for them... well, not necessarily in a fearful way, but doesn't make for a quiet night of snoozing in the straw, does it?

Also, so dark you can't see what you're doing, which doesn't help. Coming in earlier, too, means that the horses aren't all ready to go out. So rather than just taking Glamour Girl Audrey out of her box and tying her up ready to go to the field, I have to take off her two stable rugs, put on her outdoor rug, pick her feet, take her to a sheltered area, then I can take out her water buckets and refill, then I can get the wheelbarrow and tools, then I can get her tea time hay ready, then I can start mucking out. It all takes time, and every quarter of an hour will count for me.

Not just that, but I can't and won't rush the lovelies, especially when the wind is whipping and they're a bit het up. They all want a cuddle and a chance to say hello, and I'll be darned if I'm going to deny them (or myself) that. I think it's important to stay calm for them, too, when the weather is wild, so trying to do things quickly just means it all takes longer in the end.

H and I were talking about Own Horse Syndrome last night. The fact that your horse will balk at something for you, but will blithely go ahead for someone else. An act of spitefulness? Not really. We have our own experience and our own expectations of our horses, and sometimes we create our own self-fulfilling prophesies.

It’s kind of an offshoot of “own kid syndrome”. As a child, I was always on best behaviour at other people's houses, and got ribbed by my friends because of it. "My parents always say, 'Isn't your friend polite? Such a pleasant girl, and so quiet!"

Hey, it's partly down to being brought up properly, isn't it? Parents always saying, "Be polite, be respectful, offer to help if you're asked to stay for tea."

Maybe we could push things a bit and say our own horses follow the same guidelines? Yeah, that's pushing it, but it does no harm to think we've brought them along so well they know it's best to be kind to strangers, as long as they're not threatening them.

Ha!

I was watching the BBC adaptation of Sense & Sensibility (not a patch on the Ang Lee/Emma Thompson cinema version, but OK).

Anyway, it was Sunday night, after my eventful weekend with Max, and I was watching a scene with man on horse, galloping across a field (for dramatic effect) and thought... "I could never do that with Max. Look how unconcerned that horse is, no worry about spooking, no lack of confidence in rider... Sigh."

But maybe one day that will be Max and me. Maybe we will be able to gallop across a field on our own with the wind in our hair and no worries in our heads. Not yet, and I know it's not possible yet. I know I've got lots of work to put in before we can even think of that. And so what? Do I not enjoy what I'm doing with him? We're having fun together, and coming up with new ways to amuse ourselves, and that's just as fulfilling as a gallop across a field.

Plus, the horse I watched was trained and ridden, probably, by a stunt rider who was also well trained. And they weren't alone. There were people all over the place, and probably a flippin' emergency vehicle on standby, and the insurance adjusters, and the horse wranglers shouting instructions, and it was probably the 15th take, and the horse was a bit puffed, and getting to understand that he just had to run across this patch of grass and then somebody would give him a polo.

No good comparing ourselves to something like that, is it?

Maybe that will never be my life with Max. Does that bother me? Honestly, no. It's a horse mad teenage girl's dream to gallop across serene pastures with abandon, not mine.

I still have the horse mad teenage girl in me to answer to, now and again, but for who I am now, my big thrills are also found sitting quietly in the straw watching my horse snooze, or standing at his food bowl watching him greedily eat the chopped pear and pony nuts I've dumped in, pausing now and again to give me a look which I can only interpret as, "This is great! You are tops!"

Or yes, even dismounting when he's scared and seeing him visibly relax a notch because I'm beside him and have said, "It's OK. Scary thing has to come through me to get to you, and you know I won't let it. Walk on. Be brave!"

Or those amazing moments when Max gazes out to the horizon, all alert, and then turns to nudge me, whether I'm on foot beside him, or in the saddle. "Look! Do you see it?"

Love that stuff. Love the relationship we've built and are still building.

So after all that, I've given Max the day off today. I'm hoping he will catch up on his snoozing. I spent a bit of time with him this morning, fed him his toast and marmite treat, and left to do the grocery shopping. Came back to the yard on my way back home, and found him lying down.

Despite my protestations, he roused himself and stood up for a bit of nuzzling. Checked his leg - cut is healing nicely. A little bit of swelling in the immediate area, but he's not troubled, and there's no sign of infection. Gave it a really good squeeze, and nothing nasty came out.

I've turned his muzzle rub into a "Gimme a kiss" command. I say it, he lifts his nose for the rub, and lets me plant a smacker on him, then he gets a pony nut.

Didn't do his undercarriage today. Could have, but decided to give him the day off from that, too. I don't think I have to worry too much about midges today, and he'll get a good scrub tomorrow. The little sores on the underside of his boy bits are coming along nicely now, and he doesn't seem quite so tender there as he was last week.

The Ent was still talking this morning about Max needing to learn who is boss in situations like the one we had on Saturday with the shooting. Tried to explain to him that in those situations, with the most well trained horse in the world, you still might come a cropper if instinct takes over.

We can work on it, for sure, but situations like that are exactly why riding is considered a high risk activity. I don't know that one can ever take the instinctive reaction out of a horse, and why would you want to? As much as Max listening to me might save us one day, equally, his instinct might save us one day.

I wouldn't want anybody to try and train the instinct out of me! You just have to learn to work with it. I do think, if he'd got that freaked out and I was on my own, I would have tried to turn him and take him away from the noise, and then found a long, meandering way home that could get us past the commotion. If it took us an hour or two, I would have done it. I would have found a way to make Max comfortable enough for us to carry on and find our way home.

We think of them as working animals, we once saw them attached to ploughs labouring in the fields, but then are surprised that they can haul us around like there is nothing holding on to the reins? Course they can! Silly to think otherwise!

My only worry is that getting to know Max better might be scaring the Ent a bit. He insists he isn't scared of him, but he thinks Max does need more discipline.

That's reverse "Own Horse Syndrome". With nothing scary going on, Max will drag Ent through a hedge. When I catch up and take hold of the reins, Max gets the "Uh oh!" look. "That was a lark, but better shape up now because she's got that look on her face."

"Say you're sorry, Max!"

"Hee hee! Go on, mum! Did you see his face? I dragged him right through a hedge AND I took his boot off!

"We'll talk about this later. Say you're sorry."

"Was funny though, yes?" whispered.

"Yes, was funny, but behave now! You're showing me up!"

"OK. Sorry, Mr Man. I won't drag you through the hedge no mo', until next time."

I do wonder, sometimes, if it's a bit of fun and mischief for Max, taking the Ent on a merry dance.