Who needs retail therapy?

I have just come back from a couple of hours of laughing with my pony.

I woke up this morning and began to go about my business noting that I was full of irrational irritation directed towards inanimate objects. I was cursing hair slides, cereal boxes, taps, shoes that flipped out of my way as I was trying to put them on, my car door swinging closed when I wanted it open…

Got to the surgery and warned a couple of my colleagues who were sitting nearby. Said they might need to get one of the doctors to sedate me, but a dart gun would be in order for the deed.

The irritation eased as the morning wore on. Peaceful surroundings, pleasant chat and chuckling with my friends, getting through the workload and solving a couple of problems, a lunch date cancelled that left me with more time and freedom with Max than I had anticipated. The knotted thing inside me began to uncurl, but remained clenched at its heart.

And then there was Max.

Walked into his box and was greeted by a cheerful whuffle and soft muzzle offered for a kiss. Yes, I know he just wants the pony nut reward, but it’s a very endearing start to our time together nonetheless.

Spent ages working the knots and burrs out of his tail, mane and forelock, then grooming, then feet, and then back into his box carrying his roller and saddle pad.

“Harumph!” sighed Max, with a scowl.

I chided him, encouraged him, and eventually we were in the school ready for a session of lungeing, long-lining and play time.

There was nothing special about this session, other than the constant back and forth communication between the horse and his human. The position of the ears, cocked towards and listening, the gleam in the eyes “Me so cranky! Go away, I tells ya!”, the shake of the head, “No, I don’t want to canter. I won’t! I won’t, I won’t, I … oh, all right then, keep your shirt on!”

We trotted together, my posture and energy being met by Max’s with an enthusiastic “Beautiful! Good man!” from me, and a nod of satisfaction from Max.

Every change of rein I’d gather him in, give him a pony nut, make a fuss and tell him he was brilliant, and then off we’d go again.

I think anyone wandering past the school when Max and I are in session must wonder about the clucks and trills of encouragement, the enthusiastic praise and especially the laughter they hear coming from the other side of the wall.

That’s my pony though. He is very worthy of praise, my gorgeous boy and his flashy paces (when he has a mind to show off). Oh, he makes me work for it all right, and that’s part of what makes me laugh.

“Donkey! Look at you slouching! Get on with you, sir. Energy!”

“Sod off, lady. Tired now. I’ll stand in the middle and you run round me instead, OK?”

Crack of the whip (the whip does make a bloomin’ good crack when snapped correctly, but it’s never anywhere near touching the splendid Max and frankly, he pays it little heed) a stomp and a chase from me, a snort and a head shake from Max, with glaring eyes,

“Are you giving me the evils, Max?” I giggle. “Come on, bring me the good stuff! Bring it!”

Ah! And then… poetry in motion. Fluid movement, muscle, posture, grace. He takes my breath away.

“Oh Max! That’s beautiful! Good lad!”

“Stop now?” or the alternative “OK, if that’s what you want then I’ll just go, go, GO!”

And I laugh, and delight in him, and laugh some more as I watch the changes on his expressive face and read the fleeting thoughts written clearly there for me.

Retail therapy was once part of my world. A momentarily satisfying but quickly hollow fix to a busy and sometimes troubled mind.

Equine therapy is a much more satisfying and soul nourishing affair, and will do me just fine. Would not trade these moments with Max for any of the sparkly, silky things that once caught my eye. I once dreamed of achieving “the look”, the elegance of Audrey Hepburn. Well, I’ve got it, but it’s not what I wear, it’s that horse that calls out to me when I drive on to the yard.

You may look at a photo and see an endearing scruffy pony… Take my word for it, he’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”.

The return of Smokey

Max and I haven’t been up to anything special, but the reunion of two old friends is blog worthy.

Max’s dear friend, Smokey, is back in the pony paddock, and I am delighted!

We’ve had a couple of new arrivals on the yard, which meant figuring out who would be turned out with whom.

The original plan was that Max would join Smokey and his current field mate in his new field, and I was a bit worried about that. Not for horses not getting along, but a big field full of sumptuous grass troubled me.

Max has been doing well in the pony paddock. It’s small and slim pickings, which suits Max well. I’ve been watching his weight over the summer, and he’s maintaining good form, although with the rain the past couple of weeks, even the pony paddock has come up juicy, and Max is getting just a teensy bit cresty. Not in an alarming way, but enough to make me hesitate about setting him free in a huge field full of nosh.

Granted, the field is scrubby and quite good for horses in that it’s never been fertilised and is not rye grass so prevalent for cattle/dairy herd grazing.

On the other hand, it’s a huge field and my worry is that Max would gorge himself, like an unsupervised child let loose in a candy shop. The equivalent of a tummy ache for horses can be colic, and that is not to be taken lightly.

As it turns out, instead of Max going to Smokey’s field, Smokey has come to Max’s paddock. Smokey has put on a barrel load of weight over the past couple of weeks so a rearrangement in turn-out has been the result.

The three amigos are reunited! Brilliant! Less for Max to eat sharing with two instead of one, and better for Smokey who needs to be on Weight Watchers for a while.

I took Max out for the release, and then stood back and watched.

Max and Smokey had a good sniff and arched their necks at each other. The Boss stalked off in a huff: “Here we go, the two delinquents back together. How very tiresome”.

But Max and Smokey? Lovely to see two old friends gambolling again. On a light diet of shared grass, they’ll burn off what they eat in giddy play.

Very satisfying to watch happy horses being happy horses.

Yes'm's is a good boy!

I am beaming proud of Max today. After the trouble we've been having, him and his punk ways, me and my crocked back, felt confident enough in both today to try a lone hack and see how we went. We have a new bridle too, with noseband, and Pee Wee bit set to "punk pony" setting for a bit of gentle re-training.

I lunged him in the indoor school for about 20 minutes first just to help take the edge off a little, and then I opened the big school door, mounted up, rode him at trot round the school on each rein and they Wehey! Out we went at speed, not giving Max much time to think about it.

Onto the lane and just as he was thinking of having a nap, I was on him,"No sir, forward!"

Max was so surprised he didn't have time to disobey.

Up the lane and at the polythene & tyre dragon (covering silage) he had another go at napping; I was firm with direction then quick flick with the whip and again, he went straight on.

We don't worry about the whip, by the way. If you were watching and weren't close up and personal, you might think that Max was getting a wee smack, but you'd be wrong. It's my boot that gets the smack, not Max. The noise and motion is enough.

We reached the farm, where we can either go forward, left or right. We did all of those. Right first, up the track and back. Then further up the lane and back. Then left up the bridleway and back.

My purpose was to keep taking him away from home, so that even when he thought he was heading back to the yard and was in a perfect position to protest, I asked him to turn away and go in another direction. Slight hesitation the first time, but after that, nope, he just did as he was bade.

We went up the bridleway past the pigs, and after he got past them, I finally felt him relax and we continued on, went round a field at a livelier pace, then back down the track and headed for home.

Having been out for a good amount of time, I was quite prepared to just let Max turn for home but at the last minute decided I would give him one last detour, and he acquiesced graciously.

As soon as I got that small "Ok, then" I gave him big praise and turned him for home.

Felt like I was really riding today. After weeks of being stiff and sore in my back, or in too much pain to ride at all, today I actually felt a bit fluid for a change, and I bet that made as much of a difference to Max's attitude as did the new bridle, new bit setting, and new determination from me.

He was a superstar and I told him so.

Doesn't matter that we've slid back a few steps and have to cover some old ground. We're in no hurry and I'm delighted we're making progress again. My best reward was feeling the return of Maxo Relaxo. Must be doing something right for Max to feel confident enough to chill out on a lone hack.

Yay Team Max!

Mr Max's Memory Clinic

Oh, dear! Max and I had a visitor yesterday. Someone who has known Max since he had just turned four, who has watched him develop, has long-lined him and even sat on his back once.

The visit was partly just a catch up for us, but it was also partly an assessment of what the heck is up with Max and his unruly behaviour, and how best to nip it in the bud before it progresses any further.

The appraisal was friendly, with a keen eye as well as good knowledge of both Max and me, and what we've been through and achieved together.

The first surprise, though, was Max's strength. His big, thick neck is mighty powerful now, and gives him that ability to plough right through pretty much any instruction. There is nothing mean-spirited about it; Max is just a martyr to his belly, and if he'd rather eat than whatever else is being asked for him (and usually it's no contest which he'd rather) than he uses his strength and speed to get what he wants.

Basically Max's fitness coinciding with my onset of weakness has put us in a bit of a tricky situation. He has learned he is stronger than me and can use force ad wilfullness; I have not had the agility to work round him and reply with "Yes, you may be stronger, but even so, you can't get round me, laddie."

So we had a little guidance. First me watching Max in high indignation as someone else guided him on the lines and after getting a quick measure of his tricks, didn't leave him a door open to push at.

Then I took over and was gently corrected on my too soft, or almost non-existant contact with Max. To our cost, I have met Max's sudden bolts for freedom with my own measures to protect myself from the jolt and drop the lines before it hits. Which gave Max more reason to make his escape, which gave me more reason to be ready to let go... vicious circle and a bad habit developed quite by accident.

For now, we have to go right back to basics. I have to be up close and personal, by his side rather than behind him (all the better to get after him and be in his face with my requests) and keep a much firmer contact with his mouth for the next little while as we backtrack to re-establish The Rules.

Max and I had a go on our own today and we did pretty well.

We're keeping the lining sessions short and limited to walk. Ten or 15 minutes of good work (from both of us), finish on an upnote, and then a bit of loose to burn off some energy.

Yes, Max definitely looked annoyed and had a couple of snorts of frustration when his old tricks didn't work.

"No more friends to visit, OK? We don't need friends!"

That's where Max is wrong thogh, sometimes a friend is exactly what we need. He can't see it now, but I can.

Back on track?

Max and I have had a couple of good outings over the past couple of days. It makes a nice change from the boring ol' school and boring ol' schooling.

On Sunday, the Gardener was taking her two children out for a ride on Smokey, Max's old field mate. It was to be a sedate wander around the fields, and the Gardener generously suggested that Max and I might want to venture out with them. My plan had been to work him in the jumping paddock a bit and then go for a little roam around the tracks (if I could get him up the lane), but the idea of a change of pace and good company for both of us made a welcome new plan.

We had to change our own plans as we met some men on bikes pegging out markers on trees for a bike orienteering race in the area which we knew nothing about. Cyclists with flapping maps on their handlebars bombing along the bridleways did not bode well, so after a chat with the organisers, we took ourselves off to the fields and out of the way.

Max and Smokey, with the Gardener's son on board, did persuade us that a nice trot up a hill along the edge of one of the fields was a brilliant idea, so we agreed and let them go, leaving the two walkers behind. I kept Max behind Smokey to encourage him to maintain a sedate pace to save my back, but Max had other ideas. He huffed like a steam train, "Canter, canter, canter!" with each forceful exhalation/snort.

Son of Gardener was cool with that, so I eased up on Max and he shot forward into canter, powering up the hill behind Smokey.

I thought about trying to contain him as I felt my back jolt, and then instead, took advice from two sources; one friend, and one father. Friend had suggested I lift myself a little out of the saddle and find my balance there. Father suggested that Max's eagerness to burst free might be his ardent desire to take me for a real ride: "Let's go, mum!"

"Do you trust him?" asked my father. Of course I do. "Then let him give you the ride he wants to."

If Max was a human child, I'd be an over-protective mum. I try to hold him back so I can check the way ahead and be prepared to guide him carefully over any thing that might trip him up or hurt him. I'm also mindful of what a spook at speed could do to my fragile back. On the other hand...

I eased myself up out of the saddle, I gave Max the reins and whispered "Go on, then, young sir!"

"Hurrah!"

A powerful, exhilarating surge of muscle and speed followed. A gleeful Max handily nipped around Smokey's ample bottom and surged past him, mane flying. We took the lead for a few steps and I concentrated on staying relaxed through my legs and arms, I pushed thoughts of spooking and rabbit holes out of my head and I let Max go.

Damp squib moment, really. As soon as Max got the lead, he slowed into a controlled canter, and as we hit the steepest bit of hill, he brought himself down to a trot, then walk, then lots of head nodding and snorting, prancing prettily, like an Arab stallion that had just won the race.

Then we had a spook. Big pigeon it was. The kind of pigeon that, if minded, could lift a pony clean off his hooves and carry him away into the sky. That, finally, tweaked my back, but we carried on. A second spook about five minutes later, and I decided to get off and walk for a bit. We carried on thus, I eventually mounted up again for the final leg home, and arrived back at the yard pretty pleased with Max's behaviour and my own.

Today we went out in proper summer weather. Hot sunshine has been absent in this neck of the woods for a good few weeks, but it came on with a vengeance today.

We rode out with the retired Hunter, and his rider, my friend, the Baker. A sedate, shade seeking hack was what we were after, but again, Max had other ideas. We had some great trotting, a few good canters, again with me lifted out of the saddle to spare my spine, and again, a bit of an argument over easing up and just letting Max worry about the path ahead. As soon as I let him him have his head, he got himself in the lead, gave a satisfied snort, then back to a smooth trot.

There is no doubt in my mind that Max enjoys a hack out. You can see it all over his face, and I can feel it in him, too. Today was exceptional, one of the days where he feels completely relaxed and at ease. I think this is partly because the Hunter is such a steady old hand. Max respects his authoritative presence and feels safe in it; safe to cower behind him when it's a bit scary, and safe to be brave and lead when he knows Hunter is bringing up the rear.

This is mirrored by my own ease chatting away to the Baker, and trusting her as a steady hacking partner (in much the same way Max feels at ease with the Hunter). My comfortable way channels through to Max, so it conjures an easy vibe around us to hack through.

No bad behaviour to speak of, except Max's determination to snatch at the "fat hen" plants that are lining the bridleways at the moment. No, I don't know why they're called "fat hen" but the Baker assures me that is what they are called. They're everywhere at the moment, and Max can't get enough! His grass reins keep him from getting his head down, but nothing can stop him from these shoulder high delicacies that are easily snatched.

He is so determined about them, taking me off into the hedges, much to my annoyance.

"Max, that's enough now! Walk on sir, and look sharp! We're working!"

"Phtt!" Max got his head down as far as he could and went into a stiff legged trot.

This is a classic "eating evasion" with Max. He learned it in hand with The Ent, and once he figured out it was an effective tactic to get round the Ent, he plays it at every opportunity, with me as well, in hand, and under saddle.

Very hard to be cross with Max when I'm laughing.

"You cheeky monkey!" I admonished, looking down at Max with a gob full of fat hen.

"He wants what he wants," I explained to the Baker, "and he will have it. He's never mean or spiteful, but bags of sheer determination!"

"You're a good match then," said the Baker with a smirk. "Where do you think he gets it from?"

Post script: Just looked up "fat hen". It is from the spinach and beet family. The name, as I suspected, comes from its perceived value as a feed for poultry. Latin name: Chenopodium album (google was my friend) (I hope).

Back off!

For the first time in almost three weeks, I have been back in the saddle again!

My back has been feeling a teensy bit better, though I still need to see someone to sort it out. I figured would just have a little go on Max and see how things feel. Last time I rode him, anything beyond walking hurt too much.

So on a hot and muggy afternoon, the first we've had in weeks!, Max and I went into the school because although it's boring, hot and dusty, it's our safe place for concentrating.

He was wearing his saddle and bridle, and we did our version of longeing, which means I walk with him and keep him on a big circle, rather than staying stationary in the middle and working him round me. Much better for Max to have a larger circle to work on, and also more guidance from me as to what I want. Horses are clever things, and pick up body language and changes in energy very quickly, so I move with Max, and put in the energy myself, which Max will match with his own. It's down to that natural following the herd thing horses have.

I'm still getting the hang of it, in the early stages of trying exercises from the excellent book "Dancing with Horses" but Klaus Ferdinand Hempfling, which I have read with great interest. I am delighted to find that his instructions, with practice, definitely do get an amazing response from Max as he follows my posture and energy, and collects from his hindquarters and goes into quite a light movement and the very beginning, just the glimmer of self-carriage. It's incredible stuff, and I'm going to stick with it, in amongst our other exercises and play-time fun.

After after ten minutes of good trotting on each rein, with some work on transitions up and down, I got on his back to see if I was up to it.

I felt OK, but Max told me my back is definitely NOT better. Although I have felt a little less strained physically, Max was coming to a dead stop and then looking back at me, patiently, with an ear cocked. I re-adjusted and asked him to walk on. He turned in tight little circles.

He did this beautifully and smoothly, but we have been here before. I have learned this reaction is the way Max tells me that I am arse-about backward crooked and, "If you don't mind, Lady, dismount! Off, off, off!"

I re-adjusted again and we did have a little bit more of a go than that. Tried some sitting and rising trot which wasn't painful, then a little canter which was painful.

We stopped then, with big praise for Max because he had a go even though he was lumbered with crocked rider.

I am going to seek out help for my back this week to try and get me straightened out for my own benefit and Max's too.

In the meantime, I am encouraged to note that my boy is still sensitive enough to feel when I'm not balanced, and is opinionated enough to protest, rather than just wear it and end up crocked himself.

After a few weeks of quite wayward behaviour and attitude from Max, I appreciated his generosity today, and his kind and measured discussion with me, through "feel".

It's not just about my "feel" for how Max moves, it's a two-way communication so how Max "feels" about me is also important.

"You're not quite there yet, mum, but I'm ready when you are. Sort yourself out, eh?"

I shall sort myself out. Many people have told me I must, and I know that I must, but the gentle reprimand from Max today is the last word.

Uh oh... the maple candy is gone...

It's been a slow week (weak) for Mighty Max and me. He is bristling with energy and attitude, while I have been laid low with some kind of low grade virus thing.

There has been speculation that I have been in the hands (trotters?) of the dreaded Swine Flu, and it is possible, though I think unlikely. I've certainly been exposed to it through my work, so maybe. Or maybe it's some other irritating virus that sucks energy.

We're finding over here that some people truly get put through the wringer with swine flu, but others, many others, not so much. Not even proper flu, really. Yes, chills, aches, weakness, but not so weak so as to be confined to bed. I always think "flu" is when you can't get out of bed; if you can, then it's not flu.

But the lingering effect, yes, that does seem to be swine flu in the summer in the UK, and the lingering effect is what I'm dealing with now. I start out full of energy, but quickly revert to no energy at all.

I missed three and a half yard shifts last week because I just didn't have the strength. I went more than 24 hours without seeing Max, which is unprecedented if I'm not out of the country on holiday.

I'm pretty much back on form now, and Max and I have slowly gone back into work. He's fit as a fiddle, and I'm aware of the fact that at this very impressionable stage he's reached, it's important that he can't get round me, so I have to be firm and a strong, dominant leader. To be honest, that's a bit of a challenge; I've got zero stamina!

So we've been doing little bits in the indoor school, re-establishing boundaries and taking breaks for play to make sure Max is having fun, and isn't overwhelmed by me being forceful with him. A little bit of good work, big praise, and then play time.

The work is very concentrated, centred on firmly establishing me as leader, and it's all from the ground because I know I can't possibly do it from the saddle right now.

Yesterday, we did some brilliant ground work, and then I let Max loose while we had play time and clicker training. I energetically tried to take him over a loose jump with good and bad consequences. We've done it before, so I know he will follow me and go over a jump. But we haven't done it in a while, so it was a slightly new thing to Max.

He watched me with interest, was very alert to my speed and energy, followed me at a determined trot, watched me jump and then I turned back to look at him when I was done.

As I looked back at him, I realised I shouldn't have gone over the jump myself as I felt the extreme protest from my back.

What did Max do? He paused in front of the jump and considered.

"Come on Max!" I encouraged, massaging my lower back. "Come to me!"

So he quite deliberately lowered his head, picked up the lightweight jumping pole in his teeth, removed it from the pegs that held it, dropped it to the groud, and bustled over the pole on the ground. As he reached me, he offered his nose for a kiss with a twinkle in his eye.

My Max! I know I go on about clicker training, but I've come to realise that Max likes it when I laugh, and sees that as a reward, too. So sometimes, I think he does comedy pony stuff just to make me giggle because he thinks that's just great.

And he's right, it completely disarms me and whatever else has gone not quite right before, it reminds me that we have a connection that is beyond schooling, groundwork, riding, beyond any of that. At the heart of it, I can stand next to my pony, arm flung over his neck helpless with laughter, while he stands there too, chuckling in his own way.

"That was good wasn't it mum? Made you laugh! Better now? Happy?"

"Yes, Max. Happy is good."

Today, we did a bit of the same, although I tried to mix it up a bit so he wouldn't be bored. I found my own energy was lacking, and I got puffed well before Max did, but no matter.

We finished off doing the work and had a little play time, working on lifting all of his feet with clicker training. He did well and we finished off with his jackpot prize, which today, was his last maple sugar treat.

Oh, it was sublime! Pulled it out of my pocket and let him have a sniff.

"Oh! I must have it! Give it to me now!"

Offered, and then the delighted eyes, the nodding head as he savoured the sweet, maple Canadian goodness.

"That's it, Max, your last maple candy."

"Is there more? Please more? How can there be no more?!"

He frisked me to make sure, but sadly, no more was to be found, so he licked my hand to get the last bit of maple goodness, and then followed me like a good boy out of the school and out into his field for a final carrot stretch.

"Nice carrot, Max?"

"OK, but not very maple."