The pony, the plant, the pheasant...

... and the chainsaw wielding maniac.

Hazardous hacking for Max and I after a nice warm up in the school. He was producing such a lifted trot and going so well, I thought a nice jaunt out in the pleasant afternoon sun would be the perfect way to finish off a good session.

Max was happy enough to oblige until we turned down the bridleway only to meet a veritable ambush of VERY BIG leaves. Attached to plants, they were, not tall, just sort of fetlock height, but quite prolific and obviously sinister.

"Back! We must go back! Retreat!" my brave pony cried.

"Don't be silly Max. Walk on."

And he did.

To give Max some credit, he is not alone in his grave mistrust of this particular foe. Most of the horses on our yard react exactly the same way but I don't know why. The height, the shape, the fluttering in the breeze? Maybe the smell?

We got past them and continued on our way, only to meet a yard mate heading for home. Max thought that was a capital idea and opted to follow, even though it meant going past the foul foliage again. We disagreed, I won, and we carried on our way with Max letting out first a neigh of protest (or perhaps warning to his friend), and then a squeal of desperation that was so high pitched he kind of lost it at the end and it turned into a bit of a dramatic gasp.

"Honestly! Don't be such a big girl!"

"Help! Help! Fear! Fire! Foe!"

"Walk on, sir, if you please."

And on we went, in high dudgeon.

Then, a sudden flurry! Noise! Motion! A leap and then a scurry!

When truly startled, Max first jumps, then goes all low to the ground and scampers with great speed for a few steps, then stops and gets Very Tall.

"Alarum! Alarum! We are besieged by winged demons of fearsome menace!"

"Pheasant," I corrected.

"Monstrous ghouls with fangs and... pheasant?"

"Yup."

"Sure?"

"Uh huh. Walk on sir."

Reluctantly we set off again, but it was one close call too many and I could feel Max had gone past all reasoning on his spookometer; he was on his tip toes and ready to take fright. Er, flight.

We turned onto the lane towards home and this is when I saw the farmer on the other side of the hedge, ahead of us in the distance. He appeared to be foostering with something and I weighed up the likelihood that whatever was being foostered with would be one fooster too far for Max to bear.

We got a little closer and Max, sensing danger, first stood still and bristled, then quickly spun and walked briskly in the direction from whence we'd come.

"Halt!"

"Nope, nope, nope. Ghosts!"

"But home is the other way, Max."

"Time for a new home, eh?"

We turned, we walked forward again, and as we got closer to the farmer, I asked Max to stop and I dismounted. Why make an issue of it, especially when I could feel that he was genuinely insecure about what was ahead.

"Happy?" I asked.

"Happier if you stood between me and monsters."

I obliged and we walked on once more, Max still alert but more relaxed, when it happened: A chainsaw suddenly burst into life on the other side of the hedge!

"We're doomed!" Max squealed as he leapt then landed soundly on my foot then twisted slightly in his haste to get the heck away from the impending massacre.

"Max you oaf! Get off!" I nudged and pulled my foot free.

"You're wounded? Ah, good! They always go for the weak first. Release me! I'll send help!"

It took some doing, but we managed to get past the ravenous chainsaw (and completely unaware farmer) with Max dancing sideways and me limping beside him, until a convenient bank and a bit of distance meant I could clamour back on board for the rest of the journey home; mighty steed and weary wounded.

Max politely requests...

"Kindly take your feet out of the stirrups and step down from the pony!"

Max and I spent a very brief time in the school today. Weather was too unpleasant to go for a hack, and we've been lunging and long lining this week, so I thought a little work on ridden transitions might make a nice change.

Max begged to disagree.

We started off all right, but something didn't feel quite right. Max kept stopping without being asked, or anything being said at all (he will sometimes stop if I say "Good lad!" because he associates that with receiving a treat). Then we had a bit of head tossing, nose poking, and my requests for trot were met with a few steps and then an intractable halt, ears slightly back. He'd move on again when asked, but stop almost immediately.

I decided that perhaps the saddle was too far back and causing some discomfort so I dismounted, adjusted, and got back up again.

We had another go, but no Max wasn't having it and he still didn't feel right. So I checked again, no sign or lameness or soreness, no heat in feet, moved perfectly well with me on the ground.

Back on board for one last try. We set off at a half hearted trot and I fell into a rhythm but soon Max ground to a halt. I urged him on and lifted myself out of the saddle to see if it was my balance, and Max circled in to the centre of the school and continued down the centre line as if he'd been directed to. I turned him trying to get back to the track, but he took himself back down the centre line instead.

I grimaced as I felt a twinge in my shoulder.

"What's up, Max?"

"Baggage! Get off, please."

"Max! How rude."

"Ow! Not comfy. Off."

"But Max..."

"Off, off, off!"

The twinge continued in my shoulder as Max stood stock still, looking calm and good humoured, but unyielding.

Yes, my left shoulder hurt because I pulled it some time at the weekend. The pain runs from the back of my left shoulder to the front and along both sides of my neck and along the collarbone, following the musculature there. It hurts to shift gears when I'm driving, or to engage the emergency brake when parking up.

As I rubbed my neck and tried to loosen the tension with slow head turns, I realised that this was Max's point. My injury was twisting me, unbalancing me, and who would feel that better than Max? He realised what the trouble was long before I did.

"You're right, young sir; that's enough for today."

"Ya think? Sort yourself out, eh?"

I should be grateful, really. At least he gave me a time to make the right decision rather than shooting me out the side door!

Temporary accommodation

Max had to move house today. The feed room, which is right next to his lovely suntrap of a box, is having a new roof, which will involve dust, builders, scaffolding and hullabaloo, none of which will impress Mr Max.

So, whilst the renovations are being done, Max has been moved into a box in the barn. The box itself is probably about the same size, slightly wider, but not as deep. The fact that it's enclosed is great if the weather turns wet and unpleasant. His current box gets a huge puddle in the door if the wind is blowing in the right direction whilst it's raining. The overhang ensures that anyone standing at his door, whether it's Max hanging his head out, or me hanging my head in, gets a soaking.

The downside of the new box is that although Max has one neighbour, he looks out into the dark barn and really can't see the yard at all from his vantage point. There's also a workshop behind him, from which escape sudden bangs, flurries of hammering and unexpected crashes.

So with all that, I was a little worried about the move. Yes, it's only for a couple of weeks, but it's a change in routine, and more pertinent, once upon a time Max had a big problem with being enclosed. His previous owners told me that I would NEVER get him in a box. Ever. At all.

Simply not true. It took a little patience and understanding, but now Max is a pony who enjoys his home comforts. The only real problem I ever had with him was at a previous yard, when I tried to put him in a box that was enclosed, looked out on a wall and was quite dark inside.

His alarm was immediate and pronounced. I hadn't even taken his head collar off and he was trying to clamour over the door to escape. I managed to soothe him enough to get him sorted and lead him out. The look in his eyes had been pure panic. When asked to enter another box instead, one facing other horses with a view of the yard, he happily agreed and spent a couple of hours in there contentedly munching hay and watching me work.

That was nearly three years ago. I know he's matured since then, I know he's a steady soul with a brave heart and a laid back attitude, and what scared him at four years old does not at almost seven. Still I worried. What if this dark box with no view of the yard had him trying to climb out with wild eyed determination once more? What if he hurt himself?

I didn't want Max to get a whiff of my anxiety. Horses are extraordinarily good at sniffing out hidden emotion. You can put on a brave face all you want, but they sense the dishonesty and it unsettles them, probably more than just letting them deal with the truth in the first place. I opted to stay away for Max's move and let matter of fact YO deal with it in her matter of fact way.

He would have been taken to his new home from the field at about seven o'clock this morning. I went to see him at about quarter to nine with his cinnamon dusted apple bites. Poor pony was so stressed he was lying down having a snooze!

I got a lusty welcoming whuffle, but Max had not a worry in the world as he delicately picked bits of apple out of my hand, chewed, yawned, sighed and leaned his big head against my shoulder.

Boom boom boom boom...

Sung in best John Lee Hooker style, please.

Max and I made a double effort today, taking advantage of one last day of fine weather before a week full of rain begins.

I high tailed it to the yard early and we spent about half an hour long lining in Max's bitless bridle, which went extremely well, got a beautiful lifted trot on both reins and TA DA a sustained canter on both reins as well. When I say "sustained" I mean he went round me a couple of times looking mighty fine before I said "Good boy" by accident and he slid to a stop and blinked at me.

"Treat?"

We long lined out of the school and out onto the lane, then back to the yard and right into his box.

It was at that point that I decided to keep him in for the afternoon so we could have a little hack after yard duties. There isn't much grass in his field at the moment, so I'm not yet worried about the dreaded spring flush, but it's good to start preparing early, and the more exercise he gets now, the more likely we will be able to keep his fine form and fend off worries of laminitis striking where it's not wanted. Not that it ever is wanted by anyone, mind you.

Max was up on his toes and we went quite a long way on our own. Our timing, unfortunately, was not good and we were trotting along a bridleway, having just passed the alpacas and had a spin for home over some very dastardly looking plant life when the bird scarer cannon went off.

Boom!

Skidded to halt, grew into a 16 hander instantly, and fairly hummed with alertness.

"It's OK Max..."

BOOM!

A head nod of shock and a snort.

"Well done Max. Hold steady."

BOOM!

Ears pricked, but not a move.

Silence.

"How you doing there, noble steed?"

"Can't speak. Too scared."

"You did really well though."

"Legs don't work. Have to live here now."

"How about walking on?"

"Back home?"

"Forward."

"Towards BOOM?"

"Yes, it's done booming for now."

And he did it! Walked on with just a little squeeze of my calves and a cluck of encouragement, towards the place from whence came the scary noise. He trotted in a slightly unhinged way when a bunny rabbit jumped out from the undergrowth and across his path, and fairly squealed with relief when I turned him left up the hill away from Boomtown and back towards home.

Max had his reward when I moved him onto a grassy verge to make way for a car to pass us, and dropped my stick. Nothing for it but to dismount and pick it up, and it seemed rather pointless to get back up there again when we were almost home, so I loosened his girth, ran up the stirrups and we had a grazing walk home.

Ran into one of our yard friends, had a chat while Max filled his belly with greenery and amazingly, even had a go at the bonnet of friend's car. With teeth!

"Tasty? Ow! No, not tasty..."