Forward thinking and puddle drinking

A glorious hack today! The weather called for heavy showers, but so far, no sign of rain, but lots of sunshine!

Had intended to take Max out on his own, but we happened upon a companion (Max's field mate ridden by his sharer) so we had a jolly time going round the block, nattering away and enjoying the fine weather and splendid views.

Max was a horrible grump getting ready, but once we got moving, he was fine, if slow. I don't mind the slow though, because I'm so impressed by how far he has come as a result of our patient work on our own. He's a much more confident boy. He took the lead most of the way, he was fairly relaxed and quite sure footed. At one point, as he was picking a rather precarious path for himself along the slippery ground, I took a big breath and stopped trying to steer him to what I thought was safer ground.

"You can feel what's under your feet, Max, and I have to learn to trust you. So go on, find your way and I'll keep still."

It was difficult for me to let him go, but it was the right thing to do. If I am going to tell him that he can trust me, it's only fair that I listen when he says I can trust him.

Very slow progress we made, but not one plant, and only two turns for home which were very easily sorted with a simple turn back and urge forward again. For the most part he was brave, did not protest, and when really challenged by big fallen branches that looked like coiled snakes about to strike, he paused, assessed, looked back towards me and then moved ahead and past offending object with very little drama.

I couldn't be more pleased with him! One day we will go more quickly and confidently, but it doesn't matter how long that takes. He has come so far and I'm very proud of him. And I am touched beyond measure that the last thing he does before he moves forward is give me a glance. It feels like a final check.

"Are you sure it's OK?"

"I'm sure, brave boy."

"OK, then. Let's do it."

What I'm less pleased with is his sudden interest in drinking from the puddles he used to just play with. We had to stop several times today as he lowered his head for a guzzle, despite my pleas that it couldn't be good for him and he had perfectly fine water at home.

Decided, with all the rain we've been having, that a little puddle drinking today will probably cause no harm - fresh rain water recently dumped, as opposed to stagnant standing water full of ick. Still, eh?

I suppose they drink worse stuff if left to their own devices.

Rent a mob

We are beginning to feel the effects of a little bit of Spring grass coming up, and I'm somewhat relieved to realise that it's not just Max being a punk, the whole hairy lot of them are at it!

Today I was barged by another pony, despite the fact that I was bringing him his lunch time hay. No interest in that, just wanted to walk over me and assert himself on the yard. Another one wanted to knock my hat off. Another was pretty sure my boots needed to be re-designed, and yet another thought it was a funny joke to have a go at the hands that were changing his rugs.

All my generally well behaved, considerate lovelies are doing the equivalent of hanging around street corners, shouting out rude names and looking for trouble.

Just hi-jinx, I think. Feeling well, sensing the change of seasons coming and wanting to strut their funky stuff around the place.

Max's day off today because my time is limited between my two jobs. I did the mandatory clean up job and had time for a quick cuddle, but that's it until tomorrow. The weather forecast isn't looking great, calling for showers, and I do hope it really is just showers. I want to take him out for hill work rather than into the school, but if we really must stay under cover, then it's longlining for Max to see if we can sort out our communication problems.

He pulled my heart strings today as I prepared to scoot off and he tried to delay me. Head over his door watching me walk to my car, watching me get in and drive away. The look he gives me then just makes me want to ditch all other commitments and hang out with him instead.

So yes, maybe we're having a spot of bother with ridden work at the moment, but there's nothing wrong with our general contentment spending time together.

Punk!

That sums up Max today. He was such an ornery git! I know he's almost six, but he's going through the terrible twos. "NO NO NO! You canna make me!"

Or is he? When we have bad days like this, there's always part of me - most of me - wondering how I'm failing him. Is he really just being stroppy, or am I confusing him?

Decided to ride him in the school after work today, to try and hone in on a few things and improve his manners a little. The improving his manners came about from an incident this morning. I can usually walk into his box, ask him politely to move back, which he unfailingly does, and then go about whatever it was I wanted to do for him.

Not today.

"Back, Max, please."

"Coming through! Out now! Out, out, out! What is this twig in my way? I shall toss it aside with my big self."

And he barged past me and out into the yard without his head collar.

"Max! MAX!"

Managed to retrieve his head collar while holding a chunk of his mane, and had to truss him up and lead him back.

"What the heck was that about, young sir?"

"I want to see stuff!"

Not my boy at all. He's never been bargey. So a little ridden work in the school, I thought.

We fought through tacking up "Get off me! Get off! Grr!"

We went off to the school, I mounted up and he walked away while I was still trying to settle "Max! Stand! For Heaven's Sake, you know better than this!"

We continued on in a constant tussle, "This way" "No, that way", "Max, listen to me!" "No, you listen to me!"

I tried to walk him in, but he wasn't having it. I tried to hold my legs totally off him and just direct with seat, but he wasn't having it. Was I really asking for what he was giving me, or was he just having a moment of his own?

I kept stopping him, gathering him up, relaxing my whole self and trying again, but he fought me at every turn.

Got off, checked saddle, checked everything. Tried no stirrups, tried adjusting myself so I was light and upright, but he fought, fought, fought me every inch of the way.

Finally got a few good turns at a reasonable trot where he wasn't trying to tank off, and slid off him.

Looked back at my boy from the ground, and saw those familiar, kind, eager to please eyes.

"I did good?"

"Yes, Max. That last bit was very good indeed."

More groundwork. I feel under so much pressure from the eyes upon us to do regular horse stuff, but Max and I have something to work out, and I'm only going to work it out from the ground. So I must ignore the watchers, and follow my instinct.

Yes, he could just be expressing his opinion because he knows he can. But I've got to listen to my horse, and my horse is telling me ridden school work is a problem.

It's my responsibility to sort it, and sort it I will, with patience and great love for those eager, kind and forgiving eyes. I don't care if it is just Max playing up. He's playing up for a reason, and I will get to the bottom of it by listening to him.

If that makes me soft, then soft is what I want to be.

Freeze!

Not a comment on the weather (although it is still a bit chillsome) but thoughts on clicker training.

The one persistent negative I've read and heard about clicker training is that it can lead to biting. There are some who go so far as to say nothing should be fed by hand at all. There's also an argument that horses aren't motivated by "treats" as it's not really a concept that they understand.

I think it may depend on the individual horse, or individual partnership, I suppose, and each must decide what is best for themselves based on their own experience. I can understand the worries about a horse becoming mouthy with clicker training; I certainly experience that with Max. But he was mouthy before we started clicker training, and he doesn't use teeth, just lips. Still, it's an unattractive habit and one I wish to discourage.

I tried giving him his pony nut reward in his feed bowl rather than from my hand to see if it made a difference. It didn't, really, and was of limited appeal anyway as it only works when we're in his stable, not working on the ground or ridden.

The thing is, he catches on so fast and is so eager when we're in the midst of a session, that I decided, though it may sound counter-intuitive, to try and cure him of what may be deemed an unfortunate side effect of clicker training with... ta da! Clicker training!

There are certain areas around Max's head, neck and chest where I know he will nip at me, so we've been slowly working on those. I move my hand towards a known trouble spot and wait for Max's movement. When it comes, I say "No" and persist, laying my flat hand against him and holding it there. If he tries to nip he gets a quiet reprimand and a little flick under the chin.

When he allows my hand and stops fussing, the second he does that, I click and he gets a pony nut.

It's working!

We had another go today after Mr Lazy Bones got up from his second snooze of the morning.

We're at the point now where I can go anywhere in his traditional "nip zone" and not only does he not go for me, he freezes! Even if he's still chewing his previous reward, he stops, stands stock still and waits for his click.

We still have a way to go. Max is still Max, and when the session is done and the pony nuts have all been chewed, he will still give me a lip tug when I turn my back just to make sure I know that he still can, and he still has a mind of his own. I turn swiftly back to him.

"Max! Was that a nibble?"

He can't answer me though, because he's standing still, like a statue, just in case there might be just a bit of pony nut dust left in the bottom of my pocket.

Hail Maximus! All hail!

We've been having some seriously freaky weather here the past few days, which has meant not a lot of out and about for Max.

We went for a walk with The Ent on Good Friday, did some Alpaca watching and were mostly well behaved, all three of us. Well, except for the big splash. Big puddles abounded, and Max likes to investigate big puddles. The fact that he stomps in them, which resulted in puddle spattered trousers for the Ent, is an unhappy consequence of Max's curiosity and playfulness. Though the Ent insists that Max does these things quite deliberately.

Saturday we had rain, sleet and lots of wind. Too much wind to even make the indoor school a viable option, so Max and I did some clicker work in his box, but nothing more taxing than that.

Today, we went for a walk in hand, just the two of us, and I decided just the head collar was enough, no need for his bridle. We left the yard in bright sunshine, with me thinking I was possibly wearing too many layers of clothes to see off the chill in the air.

We fairly plodded down the lane, but I let Max do as he pleased and set the pace because I'd already decided it wasn't really a working walk, just a friendly stroll.

We turned off the lane and I told Max we'd do a turn around "the sheep field" because it's a fair old size and has good hills to build up those quarters of his. Apart from a curious dog, nothing interfered with our companionable amble.

Until we got to the top of the slippery slope. The skies had become grey, the wind had picked up and then we found ourselves in the middle of a hail storm. Stinging hail stones whipped against my face, but that was of little consequence as Max lost his marbles and I lost my footing.

"The sky! The sky is falling! It's turned inside out! We're under fire! RETREAT!"

"Hush Max, steady. It's weather. It can't hurt you."

"It IS hurting me! Like hot little needles. RETREAT!"

This conversation was carried out as Max, head held high and proud, eyes on stalks, Riverdanced around me in circles, all flailing hooves and tail like a flag.

"Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree..."

I started tentatively, hanging on for grim death as my feet continued to slip on the wet grass."

"NO KOOKABURRA! RETREAT!"

At this point, the hail storm stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Snort. Head toss. Another snort.

"OK, sweetpea?"

"Not bovvered."

We're walking on sunshine!

Well, not exactly, but "We're walking on low level cloud with sunny intervals" doesn't have quite the same ring, does it?

The point is, after days of lashing rain and wind, we've had a still, bright day, and Max and I went for our first walk out in over a week. I didn't ride because he was quite sticky in both hinds, so thought lots of hill work today and tomorrow we'll try riding.

Max is feeling very well, and was an amiable and frisky companion. Tried carting me off a couple of times, so we worked on moving in a more measured way, not pausing to snatch grass, and he came along beautifully after a bit of coaxing. I was really pleased with the way he was moving, and told him how handsome and well he looked. We stayed out together for about an hour and a half, stopping to look at the views, and having the occasional snort at pheasants and a bit of tree that had fallen across a familiar path.

He's out in his medium weight rug now. It's meant to go below freezing tonight, and though I'm sure he could cope, he's lost a lot of his winter coat already and I think the night air will be pretty chilly. Also, I'll be at the yard early in the morning to take it off him so he won't overheat.

Really difficult to know what to do when the weather is like this, and I'm regretting bundling him up now that I'm home... There were a few of us wandering around the yard this afternoon mumbling about "which rug" to each other.

As Max and I walked, we had a little chat about the potential operation coming up, what it would mean for Max and what he could expect. We had a classic Max moment as I told him about how far away the vet hospital is, and that he'd be in the horse box for about an hour, and that he might have to stay overnight.

Max had been walking happily at my shoulder, but the mention of "overnight" made him stop dead and stare at me. It really does seem to me that he's taking in my chatter when he does things like that.

Elegant, though unanticipated dismount

The weather has been rather against us this week, so no meandering walks or lone hacks for Max and me. We've been playing in his stable, doing a bit of loose work, long lining and today, a bit of bareback work which didn't go too well.

Truthfully, the long lining yesterday didn't go very well, either. We were back to square one, as if Max had never had a roller on his back, never had long lines attached, and was quite sure he'd never met me before either, so though he didn't like to be rude, why the heck should he do anything I asked?

Some days are just like that, though, so chalk it up to experience. I hit the point yesterday where I was beginning to feel quite frustrated with him, so took a deep breath, gave him a rub on the forehead, a kiss on his much loved nose, and took all the gear off him so he could have a sniff and a roll. I don't like to work him when I'm feeling frustrated- gets us nowhere!

Equally frustrating today, but my fault, I think. It's a long story, but I have tinnitus in both ears and now and then, I think as a result, I have a few balance problems. Doesn't really affect me much day to day, but today I was no good bareback, I could feel I had no centre of gravity, and Max protested in the strongest possible terms!

Good things about today: I seem to have accidentally learned a new way to make Max back up with a shift of my balance. Even when it's going wrong bareback, I always find something fascinating to take away and think about. His reactions to my little haphazard shifts are so pure and so honest that Max becomes my best teacher.

Bad things about today: I went out the side door as Max decided he'd had enough of trot transitions and decided to have a little canter with his head down.

I slid out the side door, sweet as pie, and landed on my feet, holding the reins and a bit of Max's mane. He stopped immediately.

"Whatcha, mum! You seem to be on the ground. How did that happen?"

"How do you think, monkey boy? Nice display of footwork, there."

"Cheers. I've been working on it for a few days now."

"Have we had enough of that for today, do you think?"

"Well, I'm grand, but you're like a sack of spuds, frankly, and unless you want to be peeled and roasted..."

Enough said. Max is wise, I am a little off kilter and tomorrow is another day.

Max's potential op has buzzed about the yard. Everyone I've spoken to is supportive and hopeful that a simple procedure could make Max's world a better place. Mine too, of course, but the focus is on Max, which is fine by me.

One friend even offered today to provide transport for us. "A nice day out" she said. Take him there, find out what's what, have a bit of lunch, bring him home. No trouble. I'm happy to help if you need it."

How fortunate are Max and I in our friends?

For those of a sensitive nature, look away now.

Predicted storms in the UK have arrived, with rain and gale force winds, but thankfully, not too bad in our neck of the woods. Challenging, yes, but not devastating.

Brought the neds in with their eyes on stalks today, and dealt with mucking out boxes that had housed excited horses unable to sleep in the battering winds.

So here we go... I'd asked YO to arrange a shared vet consultation so I could consider the options for Max's undercarriage.

I have jokingly called this "horse porn" amongst my friends. But the dealing with Max and his singular problem has been getting on top of both of us.

Basically, my boy can't drop his gear to wee, and that's causing problems. I've been dealing with it for two years now, cleaning him daily, out of necessity, because when he has a wee, it pools and collects in his sheath and sheath creases, and it needs to be cleaned out by hand. My hand.

As a young lad, Max tolerated this, but as he gets older, he's less co-operative, and who can blame him?

I've had my worry hat on for so long about this situation, hating that it irritates Max so much, worrying that the build up of urine in his sheath will lead to problems, worrying about the biting insects that will arrive soon to irritate him even more, and basically worrying about my boy just having a natural life.

So sucked it up and asked for a vet consult to consider our options for making Max more comfy, or at least ideas about managing his "situation".

As my vet came in, with his student, I told him I thought I had rather a "unique" problem for him. I gave him the history, as I knew it.

Vet had a bit of trouble getting his head round it, because it didn't add up. He said he wanted to sedate Max so that he'd "drop" for a proper look.

Sedation was administered, and I was left with my lolling boy, singing to him softly as he dropped his head into me. I knew he wouldn't drop because he hasn't before, but vet had said the dreaded "possible squamous carcinoma" and I was aghast.

Max didn't drop. I'd had a previous investigation about a year ago where the vet had said that Max simply couldn't... there was something in the way. A ring of tight muscle that he couldn't get past.

So vet today, surprised at lack of dropping, put on the elbow length blue gloves, just like in "All Creatures Great and Small" and went in to investigate.

Oh, he was fascinated! And oh my goodness, he managed to get hold of Max's "gentleman" and bring it out to the light of day.

Told student to stay at Max's head so I could come back and have a look.

"Hello Max! Here's a part of you I've never seen before!"

"Mum! Honestly! I can't believe you've brought an audience!"

All looked well and healthy. No sign of any nastiness or anything sinister, but what was found was a mass of fibrous tissue, a ledge, that interferes with Max's ability to drop and let it all hang out.

Vet said, "When you said this was unique, I thought, 'You don't know what we've seen. We've seen it all!' But this really is unique!"

He thought, he thinks, we could have an easy surgery on Max, possibly under local and standing, to cut through the fibrous tissue and let Max dangle, retract, and do all the normal stuff that boys do.

He said, "If this was my horse, I'd definitely do it. He's young, the post-op won't be bad, and you'll be saving yourself a world of worry, because the longer this goes on, the more likely it is to cause a real problem."

What a mix of emotions I have now. I am delighted to think I can fix this for Max. There really might be something I can do to take this problem away.

Vet commented on Max's willy while it was out in the air (for the first time??). Said, "It's small, but it's in the range of normal" and my sedated boy turned his head back with a sleepy, "How very dare you! Shall I comment on your equipment in company?"

The upshot is, I now have to contact my insurance company to see if they'll cover us for this. I have to work out transport for my boy, for a surgical consult and potentially get on with it op while we're there.

It's not emergency surgery, but I have to work out the logistics. If this can make Max's world a better place to be, I just want to find a way to make it so.

Horse porn updates as I have them.

While the vets were still there, Max began to rouse out of sedation and offer his nose to me for a heart achingly lovely kiss.

"Are you OK, my lovely?"

Sleepy head nod, yes.

Oh my boy! I'd do anything for him. Should I do this? Should I turn his world upside down and do this?

This little piggy went postal...

I think Max likes Saturdays. It's kind of like work, but kind of like a day off too. I'm at the yard all day, so lots of time to make a fuss of him, and then at noon, the Ent comes over and we take him out for a walk. Two people on the ground suits Max, because he's got his whole self, including his ample bum, covered.

It was drizzly and a bit cold, but off we went. I commented on the fact that Max has become much more forward going on these walks, lately. It used to be a real plod with the people having to shuffle along to match Max's reluctant shamble. Now we all keep up a pretty normal walking pace on the lane, and once off it, pick up pace to stay with Max's eager strut.

The only blot on the landscape was a new pig in the pen by the lane. The resident pig barely raised an eye at our passing, and Max, being accustomed to it, was fairly relaxed too. Until the new pig charged him!

I was walking ahead so alerted by the clatter of those Riverdancin' hooves. I turned to see Max turned to face the pig, eyes big with surprise, at the end of his long lead rope.

"Come on, Max" the Ent chuckled. "He can't come through the fence."

Max trotted briskly on, to me, and snorted his alarm and affront.

We turned off the lane to a rolling field of grass, and here Max and the Ent had a play. I had no wish to keep up, so dawdled along behind, while Max went into his proud Arab trot, and the Ent ran along beside him, easily keeping pace.

I wished I had a camera as I watched from a distance, man and horse, fluorescent green field, dappled grey sky... But a lens wouldn't have captured the delight I felt as I watched Max moving so fluidly against that pretty background, or the laugh that erupted as Max did a double take of the Ent, still beside him, and leaped to the side in surprise, or the warm contentment at the sight of the Ent putting a reassuring hand on Max's neck and giving him a pat.

I like Saturdays too.

In the doghouse

I got wind of some mischief from Max when I was away from the yard.

He got tied up outside an unoccupied but recently mucked out pony box while his stable was being done.

I guess he got bored, because he managed to get his head over the door, pick up the newly replenished water bucket by the handle, and unceremoniously dump the contents into the clean, dry, straw bed. The whole thing had to be redone (it was a big bucket) and exasperated worker told me, "I could have crowned him! Then I looked at his face and he was looking all innocent at me... You can't stay mad at him, can you?"

No, you absolutely can't.

Today we had a play in the school together. We did some work, but it felt more like play. He was moving really well and quite co-operative, and I daringly got on him bareback with no bridle or head collar, either. I just wanted to see what would happen if I had no control but my balance and my seat. What mostly happens is that Max walks with his nose almost touching the ground, he doesn't pay too much attention to directional requests, but he's still very good at stopping and standing when asked.

We had some carrot races, some stretches, and some larking about with a striped umbrella which Max tolerated having held right over his head, though he had enormous eyes and kept trying to sneak away with very slow steps backwards. To his astonishment, no matter how sly he was, the umbrella moved with him!

Now he is grazing in what may be the last sunshine we see for a number of days.

O'er hill and dale...

Finally, Max and I got our walk today, and it was about two hours' worth. Once we got out, and Max settled in, we just kept going.

He protested a couple of times when he could see the way home and realised I was heading in the opposite direction, but he gave in quickly and became quite an eager companion for the second half of our walk, as we started doing hill work. He seems to enjoy hills, being at the top of them, bouncing along down them, and striding up them as well.

No major scares, no major battles, and quite a few laughs. Was really nice to spend some proper time with him after three days of not much at all.

We got back to jokes from the yard about wondering whether they should call a search party because we'd been gone so long, and that somebody should remind me that I'm supposed to ride my horse. That's what my saddle is for, apparently.

Ho ho ho! Oh stop! My sides are aching!

As Max and I were walking along today, I was thinking about this very thing, the "Max should be" doing this, that and the other. At almost six he "should be able to" hack alone with confidence/jump over stuff/hold down a steady job...

Who made these "should" rules? Is there a schedule I don't know about? Should it matter to anyone but me and Max how long it takes us to reach targets, or even set them, for that matter? And if I want to go on a two hour walk with my horse rather than riding him, is there really anything wrong with that?

I don't think there is, but perhaps I missed the memo.

Maximus Mischievus

That's his Latin name, I've decided.

Another day with not enough time to do any meaningful work with Max. Oh, sure, we had a play in his box and all that, but tomorrow... tomorrow, I hope.

Max is coping fine, but I'm pining. If the weather holds, I just want to take my boy out on a long walk in his head collar, so we can gaze at the views together, and just be us. Have a proper chat and catch up on what's going on with us, and remember what it's like to be just me and Max, with no time pressure.

From today's performance, though, I'm just waiting to be told that Max has either knocked somebody on the noggin with his extravagently nodding head, or that there is something wrong with him from the persistent head shake.

Max and I are at the "in between" stage of clicker training with his new stuff, where the lightbulb goes off over his head when he's twigged what behaviour gives treats, and the point where he realises that performing that behaviour ad hoc will not get him treats.

Historically, it takes a few days days for him to work that out, but there is also the fact that I've not been able to spend quality time with him since Sunday and that has slowed us down. He is trying to get my attention as I buzz past him doing yard work because he just wants to hang out and have the attention devoted to Himself.

I get that. If I were him, I'd be doing the same thing.

Today, as he was trying to get my attention with big head nods, "Stop" with my hands held out seemed to work. But my worry is what happens when I'm not there and somebody else is trying to take Max to the field? Somebody who doesn't know the "Stop" command that he responds to for me?

I've created a monster! But only a small monster. We'll deal with it.

Look Mum! No cavities!

Max had the equine dentist today, and hurrah, all is well! He was good as gold, and no trouble with his pearly whites, so we're done for another year.

I arrived at his box this afternoon with a cheery "Are you happy to see me, sweetpea?"

Emphatic head nod.

"Did you see the dentist?"

Another emphatic head nod.

"Did you like the dentist?"

Big ol' head shake. Apparently not.

Then a voice from the yard, "Wow! did you train him to do that?"

"Nah, we're just talkin'."

That would be "No"!

He's done it! Max has learned to say "yes" as well as "no", and sometimes he says both at the same time just to make sure. He figured it out today, first by my shaking my own head while holding his big head in my hands and moving it slowly from side to side. I had tried getting him to focus on targets moving side to side, or even my own hands with snapping fingers, but the most effective was to move his head for him. Only had to do it twice and then he twigged.

He will still respond to the "raspberry" with a nod, but he will also now just follow what I'm doing and mirror it back at me. Gives me hope for eventually starting on things like Spanish Walk in our ground work.

I rode him for about 20 minutes in the school today, just at walk mainly, with no stirrups. I was trying to really stretch down through my thigh muscles by pointing my toes downwards, and also concentrating on not gripping up.

Funny that. I've always felt a bit clueless (historically) about how instructors, or even casual observers, can watch somebody riding and say "You're gripping up, relax your legs down!" I've never felt able to catch stuff like that, watching someone else ride.

Then last night I was watching "Sense & Sensibility" on the telly (the film version) and near the end, the character of Willoughby was galloping away in distress and I saw the rider's feet bouncing up in the stirrups and thought, "Ooh! He's gripping up! He wants to relax those legs down." Get me!

Have to watch it again, actually, because at one point I was fairly sure Colonel Brandon was riding with no stirrups at all and I was well impressed with his position - it was just a fleeting glimpse though. I've got a lot of time for Colonel Brandon! And Alan Rickman, for that matter.

Max and I had another (very) slow but (mostly) steady hack today, marred only by one slight hesitation at turning up the first bridleway, and towards the end, a little Riverdance performed over the appearance of a very menacing post. Ghoulish it was, apparently. Positively malevolent in its intentions towards horses particularly, and humans, possibly. So I'm led to believe.

Here I thought the discarded Carlsberg beer cans littered in one field would cause us problems as they blew about. Nope. Kicked one of them a couple of times without the slightest hesitation or concern. But the post? The very post that we have walked and trotted past on countless occasions, in hand and ridden, with the Ent and without? The very post that, to my mind, looks much as it always has, with no sudden change in size, angle or temperament? For some reason this post was not to be borne today! An affront to the senses, a threat to the body, an assault to the spirit, an anguish to the mind, and a blot on the very landscape.

Who knew?

Worse, who you gonna call? Post busters?