Not singing, just raining...

It's relentless now, this constant, cold drizzle. The air temperature is relatively mild, or would be, if the sun was shining. But because of the incessant damp, I feel like I can't get warm.

Am on holiday this week, from one job, still doing the yard. I had grand plans of adventures with Max, but so far, not much is actually happening. The week is yet young, and an optimist would say that there's always tomorrow. That would be an optimist who hadn't looked at the five day forecast though, and seen more and more of the same, right up until the weekend.

The bridleways are a mess and slippery with it. The outdoor paddock is soggy and unpleasant, as is the indoor school, our only respite at the moment, and having spent so much time in it over the winter, Max and I could both use a break from its shelter.

What to do?

Today I dropped by the yard to mark Max down on the board to be kept in for me this afternoon. I had high hopes, after running a few errands and having a Bowen treatment, that I could return to the yard and at least spend some quality time with him, but it was not to be.

As I drove on my return journey to the yard, post soporific Bowen treatment, I found myself wishing I hadn't kept Max in, because I knew I hadn't the energy to do anything, and I didn't fancy standing in the cold school with him doing nothing.


As it turned out, I was greeted at the yard by an apology; my note had not been noticed, and Max had been turned out as usual.

No matter, I went to find him to at least say hello and give him the pear I had brought with me as a treat. He is in an L shaped field, so there was no sign of him and I slogged through the mud, up the field to get a glimpse.

Barney noticed me first, but almost as soon as clocked me, I heard Max belt out a neigh and then he came into view at a fast trot, whuffling all the way. The mud hampered his eager approach and he helplessly, gracefully slid to a stop just inches away from me. I fancy he was hoping I would take him back to his comfy box to enjoy the warmth and a big pile of hay. That is not the routine though so not an option.

On days like this, I do wish I had only my own routine to answer to, or at least that I had the option of erecting a tasty field shelter full of everything Max might desire, including a dry, warm, bed, so that if he elected to sit out the rain in there, he could do that.

Truthfully, that is probably more my human view of how I would like to seek comfort than Max's. Many horses have just such a shelter in which to retreat and yet still they stand in the pouring rain, cropping grass happily.

It's a thought that is hard to shake for all that, especially on days like this when I am now inside and warming up, and know that Max is still standing in drizzle, big drips running off his forelock and onto his face, his sweet little feet covered in sleechy mud.

But tomorrow is another day indeed, whatever the weather. I will be on yard duty all morning with nowhere else to rush off to, so I can spend loads of time visiting his box and fussing about his comfort. Afterwards, we can hang out, whether it's a big grooming session, a break in the weather for a wander off the yard, or yes, even back to the indoor school for some in-hand work and perhaps a nice scratchy roll to lift away that moulting coat of his. If fortune smiles upon us, we might even do all those things.

And another pear, of course. Always another pear.