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?