Straw potato

Max's skills at adapting his environment to suit his comfort have reached a new plateau.

I thought it was a one off, but now, three days in a row I have found him lying down contently in his bed, straw stuck in his forelock and mane from a good stretch and scratch, quietly munching hay that has been dragged over from its usual spot in the corner of his box to one more convenient atop his straw bed. This way it is within easy reach of his chomping gnashers: breakfast in bed.

Max can't reach his hay spot from his prone position, therefore he must move it before he lies down, with intention and forethought.

When it comes to creature comforts, as with most things. Max knows where his priorities are.

Aw! All grown up!

Had a hellacious day at the yard. Lots of stuff going on, preparing for the arrival of my sister from Canada and was hoping to start early and leave early, but it wasn't to be. The lovelies have their stuff and you can't rush them through any of it.

We have a new mare who is not settling, a clever, gentle ginger giant who releases himself under his own guidance for a yard wander, and lots of horses staying in for visits from their owners who needed skipping out and haying up to keep them occupied.

And Max. Well, as it happened, today both of Max's field mates were being held back, so I held Max back too because he's not been a horse happy to be in a field on his own in our time together.

We have history here. Before I bought him, he spent a time in a field (swamp) on his own with no Other Horses, and he just about coped but he was not happy. Then he came back to our village and lived in a field with his mum again for a spell.

That didn't work out so well, for lots of reasons, and I moved him to a yard that I thought would be just the ticket, but I'd been forewarned by his previous owners that "Max can never be in a stable! He climbs out of them. You must NEVER put him in a stable!"

Well, we got round that one without too much trouble. He lived out, but I would bring him into a spare box, put food down, stay with him while he ate it, and then take him out again.

Then, I would stand outside his door while he ate, then take him out again.

Then, I would wander away and give him a bit more time on his own, but be close by. He settled, and he was fine. We turned being into a stable into something that was a good thing, and Max loves his home comforts now, to the point that I think if God forbid, he ever needs box rest, we'll be able to cope just fine. He's Maxo Relaxo.

But things changed at that other yard, and not for the good. Had I only known then what I know now, but we can all say that about different phases of our lives.

I was working the yard to earn Max's keep, but while I was doing that, the Yard Manager filled up all the boxes with liveries, and there were no spares for Max to practice or have respite in.

So he was left out most of the time, but YM's horses were also out in the next field, so he was never totally alone, and when I was on the yard in the mornings, I'd bring him into a spare box once I'd mucked out and released the others into the field, and Max would stay happily in a spare box, watching my every move and nickering for a bit of attention.

Then things changed more. The fields got poached, liveries left and the YM's horses moved into the spare boxes and spent their nights, and Max was left as the only horse out at night. Lone horse in a field. Not the kind of life horses are wired for at all.

He had his mates brought out to him during the day, but they went back to their boxes at about 4.00 pm and Max was beside himself, calling for company. It broke my heart to leave him like that, desperate and alone.

Then in the morning I would pitch up at half seven to start work, and there Max would be, at the gate and calling as soon as he saw my car. I'd take him hay, but all he wanted was to come in from the field with me. I'd try to find a space for him as soon as I could, so I could bring him in to have dry him off and warm him up, and give him the comfort of a herd; me and the horses that were still in. Even if it just meant tying him on the yard I was working with a hay net, just so he wasn't on his own.

Happy as a clam he'd be then, munching and watching, but then the time would come to take him back to his lonely field and he would protest, then call after me as I left.

I hated those days with a hot hatred. That yard was in free fall going bad, and even when Max finally got his own box, I knew I had to get him out of there, he became so clingy and needy. Just not right at all.

So we moved to our present yard, where Max is happy has grown in confidence and is settled in his world. The routine is faultless and generally, Max was never left on his own in a field. On the rare occasions that it did happen, he would again stand by the gate and call after me as I walked away.

But time marches on, and Max and I have had many adventures.

Today, finally, at the end of all my chores, I had to face taking Max out to his field alone, because I couldn't stay any longer. I took a pear, and his mint lick to ease the pain and prepared myself to be heart sore.

As we trod that path, I met my YO just returning to the yard from her house and told her to expect some talking from Max. I even set my mobile phone up to record because I thought if Max gave a belting few neighs, I would use them as a ring tone.

So in we went, gate closed, pear. Max went off to his water trough and had a long drink.

He was alert, looking for his mates, but mates there were none, so he came back to me and had a go at his mint lick.

"Are you OK, Max? I'm going now, lots to do. Your friends will be here soon, I promise. You won't be alone for long."

Big blink.

"OK, I'm going, now. See you tomorrow, God bless."

Another big blink.

Closed the gate, put the chain on, walked away.

Not a sound. Switched phone off recording option. Turned back.

"Bye Max."

"See ya, lady!" head down, eating grass.

"I'm really going now, Max. No kidding."

Head up, big expressive eyes.

"I'm OK, mum, go do your stuff. Don't worry."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

Oh! My grown up boy!

Bittersweet. Glad he's not bovvered, slightly sad he didn't try to call me back, but also so happy that he didn't feel the need.

Back on the yard, saw YO in feed room and said, "My boy is all grown up! Not a word."

"He's a sensible pony now. Good on him."

Yes, he is. Mostly. Except for when he isn't. But for today, really glad that Max feels so self-contained. A bit of time on his own in a field is no longer something for him to worry about.

Aw... they grow up so fast.

Cheeky chops

Finding the right bit is a continuing challenge/nightmare.

In an effort to keep Max's cheeky chops untroubled, I decided to try him in his Tom Thumb Scrubs bit again. The "Tom Thumb" has a bit of a reputation as a harsh bit, but that's if you don't know there's an American version, and a UK version. The UK version, sweet iron, jointed with three copper rollers to play with at the joint, and copper inlays at the side to play against the sides of his tongue is a moderate bit. There are brakes, if necessary, but a sweet tasting bit with things to play with, which gets the mouth working and salivating softly. As always, a bit is as harsh as the hands that guide it and if I have nothing else, I have gentle hands - I'm far too aware of Max's delicate mouth to be too strong with him.

I have been using a bit loaned by my YO for ages now, and though Max has been OK in it (OK enough that I was considering buying my own). But for allthat, there has been something nagging me about it, something that just didn't feel right, so I thought we'd have a change, I'd give YO her bit back and see how we went. There was no more intent in this than I was cleaning my bridle and thought it a good opportunity to swap bits over.

YO turned up while I was doing the swap, and I told her the bit was fine, but I'd had it long enough and I'd get my own so she could have it back. This was really just a polite explanation; I was grateful for the loan and wanted to say something pleasant about it as I handed it back. It was kind, after all, for her to let me have it for so long.

It has been a long time, but I've not been using the borrowed bit consistently, swapping Max around with bitless and his Pee Wee as well. Thank God for that, in retrospect.

I had thought the borrowed bit was a bog standard "French link" with the typical lozenge in the middle. To my horror, in response to my "I'll buy my own" was advice that the particular bit we were using is very good for getting horses "lighter" and, "Oh, it's not a French lozenge, by the way. I know it looks like one. But if you're looking to buy your own, it's called a Dr Bristol."

I wonder if the horror registered on my my face when YO said those words. I don't think it did.

Good Lord! I had no idea! Dr Bristol bits have a reputation as one of the strongest (harshest) bits around. I hadn't noticed that the lozenge was angled, and I know there's an argument that it's better to put pressure on the horse's tongue rather than the bars, but God's truth, I would never knowingly have stuck a Dr Bristol in Max's gob and I'm thinking back now on corrective pressure I used when he was evading that I never would have used if I'd known what I was dealing with!

Thank goodness I always strive to be light with my hands, and I just use pressure by squeezing with my fingers (like squeezing water from a sponge) then release, as opposed to putting my forearms, biceps and even back into it. But even so! My poor Max and his delicate mouth! What an assault on that tender tissue.

No, I certainly won't be getting one of those to replace the one I've handed back! I feel now like I've been careless for not noticing, and for not paying attention earlier to my misgivings about that bit, even though I couldn't put my finger on why I was having those misgivings. Max never objected strenuously, but there was something about it that just didn't feel right to me. Now I know, and I am aghast that I unwittingly put such a harsh thing in his poor mouth.

But now we are back in the Tom Thumb, and Max is happy and going well. He's so responsive (he always is when we do an initial change of bit) and had a pleasingly relaxed look in his eye.

He is still not adverse to playing his old evasion tricks but I'm getting much better at reading his body language and knowing how to deal with his mischief.

It's a bit tricky working out pressure and release with my hands with Max, because he's such a cheeky monkey! I can usually see when he's about to evade my direction. Max is no good at disguising his intentions, he'll go along perfectly nicely, but when he gets to that turn (usually on the left rein), his ear cocks towards where he's thinking of going instead, and I can see an unmistakable glint in his eye that forewarns me.

So if I'm quick off the mark, I can check his next move by applying slightly more pressure to the inside rein and positioning myself to get him round the turn without deaking out on me.

I can either counteract it completely with encouraging praise, or if not quite quick enough, I can bring him to a halt and ask for him to back up a couple of steps, then silently put him back in position, or sometimes if all is lost and going a bit wayward, I can ask him do something completely different for a while and then get him back in position to where we were and ask again.

But the tricky bit: If I succeed on my check and get him round the turn (with praise) then that would be the ideal time to release the pressure from my hand as a reward. Thing is, if I do release then, the little monkey will take the release and bloomin' well turn and go through with his evasion! He's not so green as cabbage looking, my Max.

He doesn't do that every time, but often enough that it's making it really tricky for me to know whether to release pressure or not. If I do, he might fake me out, but if I don't, then I'm just applying pressure with no release and Max isn't learning that if he yields, things gets instantly easier (reward).

Why the evasion? No real reason other than Max being Max. He'd rather play than work, and he does it because he can.

Today, though, his auntie H gave me some brilliant advice: "Why not try reverse psychology?" If Max wants to evade, or looks like he's planning to evade then make it my decision to go in the direction of his planned evasion before he has a chance to do it himself!

Brilliant! So simple and so stunningly brilliant! Make me wonder why I didn't think of it myself. D'oh!

So, just keep Max so busy with changes of direction that he won't know which way he's about to go, so he can't plan the evasion and instead, he'll just have to switch his focus to me being busy with him.

Might take a while to work it out, I'm not expecting it to be easy, but it will keep us both on our toes, and is an easy, non-confrontational way to work out the problem without getting into a battle of wills about it.

Auntie H is a genius! Max won't think so, but as much as it will draw a line under his games, it's a very kind way for us to go forward, playing, not fighting. As it should be.

Auntie H is Max's good friend, and in his heart, he knows it. As do I, that's why she gives such good advice - she loves Max, and takes his snorts of protest with good humour (and she's always good for a herby treat, so Max will always forgive her).

A trick of the light?

Something strange happened today with Max and me.

We were longlining in the indoor school for the first time in ages. Max was trying his Tom Thumb Scrubs bit again, which he hasn't had in for about a year. It has copper inlays to press against the side of his tongue, and three little copper rings to play with in the middle. I don't think the bit was responsible for what followed though, I think it was just Max and me.

I strayed from his side to behind, still directing with my hands and voice, and Max continued forward with confidence. We changed direction with ease, no faffing or having to go the long way round, just a slight change of pressure with my hands, a slight change of body position, and Max didn't miss a beat, but put himself exactly where I was asking him to go.

So we upped the tempo to trot and carried on, on big circles, on small circles, changing direction, changing pace and then, well then I said "Canter" and Max cantered, not a few steps, but until I said "And.... trot... Max, walk..." and then he did his transitions down to stand when asked.

Granted, I didn't have him cantering for ages, just a few circuits around on each lead so who knows what would have happened if I'd tried to keep him going longer? We can attempt that another day. For now, it's still win/win and quit while we're ahead.

But if you'd happened to walk into the school today and observed us in session, you would be forgiven for thinking that it looked like we knew what we were doing!