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.