That's not a bolt, it's just bogging off!

... sniffed my YO.

Sure as hell felt like a bolt to me!

We were along a high ridge overlooking the downs. Deep drop down to one side, bush and barbed wire to the other, and ahead, WAY ahead, three choices: a steep hill down to the left, a stile and barbed wire fence to a field straight ahead, and an even steeper hill that we have trouble negotiating when we're sedate to the right. All tracks rutted by tractors with rabbit holes either side. The track on the right was the way home.

Don't know what set Max off. He was being tormented by flies, properly going mental with them and we were brisk trotting to get away from them, then a sudden noise from the bushes behind us, a brief pause where everything hung still for just a moment while Max collected himself and I had time to wonder what next, then KERBLOOEY! Like a racer responding to the starter’s gun, Max exploded forth!

Max was flat out and not listening. Yeah, he spooks, he scoots forward a couple of steps at speed, and then he listens and stops. Not this time, not scooting, not listening; he felt completely different and not connected to me at all. Blind panic.

It felt like it was happening forever. I guess it was actually maybe 20 to 30 seconds. Maybe less than that. Probably less than that, to be honest, but we were shifting it some, going so fast while time stood still in my head.

All I can remember thinking is “FFS don't fall off because you'll break!”

Looking back now, I'm pretty chuffed that despite little voice in my head saying "ohmygodohmygodohmygod", big voice in my head stayed calm, looking at the path ahead, calculating risk, thinking my way out of it.

Once I realised I wasn't going to fall unless something really untoward happened (like that's not a possibility chimed in alarmed little voice) it was just a matter of getting Max back to me before he had a chance to make the three way choice, which frankly, left to him, was going to be a bad decision for us no matter which way he chose.

I ended up stretched along the length of his neck, my mouth next to his ear, my hands grasping the reins right by the rings of his bit.

"No, Max! Whoa!" (thank God for clicker training "whoa" in ground and ridden work) and big squeeze on the reins, lifting the pressure up.

OK, that was crap. Not elegant, no finesse, but it did the trick. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Max came to a quivering halt just as we reached the cross roads of the three choices, but he was alight, crackling and pinging, like an explosion ready to happen.

Took me about a nano second to decide that we didn't now want to negotiate the steep hill home with me in saddle, so dismounted and that sent him into loopy again, just the shift of weight. I told him to get hold of himself very firmly, and we walked down the hill - pranced sideways down the hill with rolling eyes and red, blowing, flared nostrils and straining to burst away.

Then I got back up and rode him home.

But that's not a bolt, it's just bogging off. Whatever, I can still feel everything jangling under my skin.

Tomorrow morning, weather permitting, I'll take a break from the yard before the flies get bad, and we'll re-trace our route to prove to both of us we can.

The good things about Mr Max's wild ride? It's happened now, and we did OK. I stayed calm, and Max came back to me, even in proper, full on Arab mist, even in hand down that stupid hill, while I watched his worried eyes and strong neck bunching up against my hand, a firm "No, you will not lose your shit, you will listen to me now because I WILL get us home safe, sir" worked.

It worked because of all the silly, needless ground work we've put in over the past few months. I'm convinced of that.

Bloody hell, what a ride! And what a good Max, even if he is a nut job sometimes.