The Word

I sometimes wonder if Max gets any inkling of what a happy position he has in life, what a lucky turn of fate it was for him that I rocked up and fell in love with him.

But at the same time, I don't want him to feel lucky, because the life he has is just what it should be; it shouldn't be down to luck. And for those of us who care to acknowledge it, we get a heck of a lot more from the horses than they get from us.

Had a really good and encouraging day with Max yesterday. The Ent and I had planned to take him for a walk in hand for our Sunday afternoon bit of time together, but before Ent showed up on his bike, I went on ahead and took Max into the school for a lunge, but a good lunge because the jumps were all down so we had the whole school to work with.

He balked a bit, tried a few of his fancy moves, but I got round them pretty easily and was thinking that since we've started our "do nothing Fridays", things have really changed between Max and me, and we have taken another step forward in our journey together.

I barely have to hold the lunge line - it's firm enough in my hand for contact, but there's a slack I have to keep from dragging on the floor (think that would feel a bit tickly vibration in his mouth if I let it drag) and little finger tweaks are enough. I can see his ears registering change of pressure and I can get him to extend his trot by changing my body language.

I'm way better at positioning myself now, I think (still working on it) so it was a pretty fret free session, even with the whip in my hand. Have done a lot of work on re-introducing the whip as an aid that doesn't scare Max, but helps us with tempo and momentum.

After we'd done ten minutes of good trot work on each rein, I took everything off and started doing some free style. Historically we have been pretty useless at this - Max knows how to get away from me and put himself out of reach and out of touch.

Blow me down. We were actually doing it! Proper doing it! Not always correct - bad timing, maybe me not being in the right place at the right time, but I could send him off at the trot and then up to canter, then change direction, then he'd give it some wellie and a bit of free spirited bucking and wall of death, but all very under control, all still listening to me and waiting for the next ask.

I could see by his face that he was enjoying himself, so we kept going, then I called him down to walk and whoa, approached, pat and pony nut, then sent him off again: "And trot off, sir!"

In the middle of this, Ent pitched up and came into the school, set himself up on a chair to observe. Max looked, acknowledged, but didn't take his concentration off me and for the first time ever, Ent saw that Max can shift it!

Yet still Max listened to me, even with an audience. He changed direction, he came back down to trot when I asked, and then off he went again when I upped the energy, with eager eyes and eager feet.

It was just brilliant to watch! So uplifting!

I was so pleased, and I know we didn't get it totally right, and I know I need to get better at listening to him too, as well as him listening to me... but it just felt so wonderful and so right.

We were doing it, and the whole vibe was that we were just having fun together. No stress, no weirdness, Max wasn't running away from me, he was just expressing himself so splendidly because he knew it was OK and exactly what I wanted.

We can definitely build on this, I feel. It just felt so different from other times we've tried.

After he'd finished running about, he showed the Ent how he can do Spanish on both legs with me on his bare back ("Really? Where's your hat?"), and then I slipped off and we went for a long walk, blackberry picking, in just his headcollar.

I'd almost forgotten how much I just like to walk out with Max just in hand. He was so chilled though, yeah a little bit of grass grabbing, but no Arab Mist at all.

I think we're on to something, me and Max! I think we're beginning to communicate on a whole new level. Don't want to run before we're walking, but man, it's pretty damn fine. It makes me feel optimistic and also makes me so sure that Max and I are just meant to be. My worries of letting him down, or not being knowledgeable enough or whatever my insecurities are - it doesn't matter because Max and I get each other, and we're finding our way to something really cool in our communication.

Max is all about the fun of being us together, and he's patient and clear in what he says and thinks. As soon as I get in the moment with him, with honesty and my heart and soul there for him, he makes it so bloomin' easy!

Love my pony. He's the best teacher I've met in my life's journey, and a proper soul mate.

Max is "home". That is the closest word I can find to describe what it is that we have: home.

The gun

I am preparing myself tonight, because tomorrow morning, during my yard shift, we are going to lose another one of our lovelies.

Dear ol' retired mare, a proper party girl in her time, has been on retirement livery with us for a couple of years now. Tomorrow morning, between nine and half nine, the Hunt man will come for her.

She'll be brought in from her field first to the barn for a bit of hay. That's going to be hard enough. Then she will be led off to the back of the school for the deed to be done.

It is time, I don't doubt that for a second. I was up at her field this afternoon feeding her polos while she chattered away to me, all eager, sunken eyes and shaky legs.

She didn't used to hang out by the gate - she was bloomin' hard to catch! -and she's been losing weight, despite the fresh sprouts of grass in her field from the rain. She also just seems a bit depressed, tired, done. Her owner noticed it when she was over two weeks ago for the vet check "She's just not right" she said sadly. Her owner is very attentive and visits regularly.

It's time. She's in her 30s now, and has had a good life blessed with caring humans. Best not to dither and let her linger on in hope that she might hang on a bit longer. Why make her arthritic joints suffer through the turn in the weather that is upon us now?

But it's the gun that I can't abide, nor what follows.

I understand the gun. There are so many horsewomen that I respect that think the gun is the best way, not just based on economy (though that is a factor for some), but on the basis that it's so quick and the horse knows nothing about it. They aren't afraid of guns, as we are, and a good huntsman, gentle and relaxed with them in their last moments, is much better than the injection. That is argument. Plus it's all so quick, job done, body taken away, no hanging around waiting for arrangements to be made, no emotional trauma for those on the yard working round an outline in a field, or a cold body in a box.

Yeah, I hear that, I understand it, but I could never... It just seems such a violent end for a gentle creature. I do not for a second condemn those who choose that route, but I have a hard time with it myself.

Tomorrow morning, my hope is that I can spend a bit of time with the dear old mare while she enjoys her hay, and I will slip her a piece of liquorice because she loves it so. I will muck out a couple of boxes, and then, if all goes well, I will rouse Max from his sleepy time, saddle up and get the hell off the yard, because even though she will be taken out of sight, if I'm on the yard, I will hear it.

But we have the vet tomorrow for flu jabs, and we have the farrier for feets, and chances are I won't be able to slip away because I'll have to direct traffic and hold horses and listen to that shot.

But before that, there will be liquorice and a cuddle, and then a lovely old coloured mare will leave this world and will be missed by those of us who knew her; me in her retirement years, and her heartbroken owners who also remember her glory days.

She is good horse. I am sad for her passing, but smile in celebration of her life.

And I will sing a lullabye...

I love Saturday mornings, around 9.00 when all the out at night horses are in and settled, have eaten their breakfasts, and most are curled up like pussy cats in their deep straw beds, having a snooze.

This is when I creep in on Max and have a sit down with him.

Today I found him lying down, but head up, awake and somewhat alert, but definitely set for a trip to the land of nod.

So I sat down in the straw next to and him he nudged me for treats.

After a half piece of liquorice, delicately received, I started to sing his lullaby, which is "Kookaburra".

I'd only got to the second line, and he dropped his nose onto my knee, that lovely soft weight!, and his head began to nod, those eyelids drooping.

So I sang on, and gradually, oh so slowly, he stretched completely onto his side, his head in the straw seeking a comfy pillow, inching back, little by little, until he was flat out.

Then snoring with eyes closed.

I sang on, just whispering the words while his ears twitched, and then when he was spark out, slowly, carefully, I started to get up to get on with more mucking out.

He opened one eye as I rose, let out an almighty contented sigh, and slept on, peaceful and safe, just how I like him.

Happy Whuffle to me

It was fortunate that my birthday this year fell on a Friday, which is the day that Max and I have scheduled to do nothing.

It's a productive nothing. We go into the school, Max is at liberty, no headcollar, no saddle, no nothing. He is set free to do what he likes, and I have no intention other than watching him, with nobody around to ask questions or wonder what we're up to or why I'm not riding.

We've had our do nothing Fridays for about a month now, and Max has a good understanding of it. He used to stand expectantly (after his roll) waiting for me to ask something of him. Now he knows I won't, so he has a wander about, sniffing and looking, but always wanders back to where I am.

If he indicates that he would like to try some stuff out, then we do that until something else catches his attention and off he goes again. We spend about an hour just hanging out together quietly like this, and the time just flies by. There is nothing boring to me, about watching Max be a horse.

The brilliant thing about our do nothing Fridays, is that it has the potential for Max magic.

So it was, on my birthday, that Max's gift to me, was magic.

There was laughter, of course, and there was peace. Much time spent standing together nuzzling and lots of attention paid to Max's best itchy spots. He even allowed me to crawl right under him for a proper belly scratch.

After a time, I set myself up on the bench to just sit and watch, and Max wandered over and planted himself, again, in the perfect position for me to mount up, so I did.

Again, he took me to the centre of the school, and then stood, ears slightly back, waiting.

So, like the first time, I nudged his left elbow with my boot and whispered "Spanish". Up came his left leg, hovering and then down. So I nudged his right elbow, and up came his right leg, hovering, and then down.

"Max, you are brilliant!"

That is when I heard, and felt, a deep, rumbling whuffle from my boy. It was gentle and musical, quiet and wonderful.

I slid off his back and he turned his head to face me with soft, unblinking eyes.

"Are you wishing me a happy birthday, my Max?"

Head nod reply.

I don't have to tell you who got all the pony nuts.

Max Schoolhouse Rocks!

Remember Schoolhouse Rock? Anyone? No? Just me then.

I do remember, and today, Max was introduced to "Number 8".

It all happened because the Grammar Rock song about "Interjections" (which I still know off by heart) was going through my head, so I went and looked them up on YouTube, and they're all there. "Lolly, Lolly, Lolly get your adverbs here" and "I'm just a bill, yes, I'm only a bill and I'm sitting here on Capitol Hill" and oh my goodness, "Figure 8"! How could I have forgotten about that one? I loved it, the gentle, slightly dreamy song with the equally dreamy and funny cartoon.

"Think of eight, as two times four, think of four, as half of eight... If you skate, it would be great, if you could make a figure eight; that's a circle that turns round upon itself..."

So I was singing that to Max today, as we did figure eights in the paddock. The slow cadence of the song helped us keep our rhythm and I sometimes stopped singing and just whistled the tune, while Max's ears worked overtime, pricking ahead to look where he was going, and flicking back to listen to me.

It took my mind off my troubles and put me in the moment with my Max, and he responded beautifully, dancing slowly to the song, and bending elegantly around the curves. Well it felt elegant to me - I'm sure it wasn't that elegant to watch!

The whistling is interesting. I grew up with a daddy who was always whistling tunes, and when he was home I could tell where he was from the sound of whistling. It wasn't a habit I expected to pick up, and I'm nowhere near as good as my dad, but I know now that I whistle too, as does my brother, as does my sister.

Interesting at the yard though, because the neds have become accustomed to my whistling as I go about my duties, and I see them come forward in their boxes with pricked ears as I whistle past them - well, rarely past them, I always have time to stop and offer a wither scratch and a kiss on the neck - and breathe deep while I'm at it - horses smell so wonderful!

Now I want to talk about the sweet chestnut mare who slipped away from my care and protection today. I hope if enough people spare a thought for her, she might end up in safe hands.

There are so many horses we want to save, and we can't save them all. But this girl, I just loved her. She had a bad start, that was obvious, and had learned to be mistrustful of the humans. But she so wanted to trust. Even when she was unsure, scared and acting out, her big, mobile ears were pricked forward, looking for understanding and telling the world she wasn't bad.

She went back to the dealer today. She had been bought to be brought on, "produced" and sold on at a profit, but she proved to be tricky and more of a "project horse" who needs a lot of time, patience and understanding.

I could not bear let her go this morning. We had a long chat, a carrot and some liquorice and a big cuddle. If there is anything witchy in me at all, if there is any justice in the universe, then this little mare is wrapped up warm in protection and love, and she will find a happy home with somebody who is happy to take on a long term project.

But when the time came for her to leave, I got on Max and got off the yard. My last look back over my shoulder showed me her looking back at me with her big donkey ears pricked as she called to me.

I am truly gutted and can only hope she finds a safe road. Dear little thing. She deserves a safe road. They all do. I hope she'll find her way to a loyal heart, gentle voice and soft hand.

Sometimes, I wish I had never looked.

Today, I sang "Figure 8", and Max was elegant through his bends, and a beautiful chestnut mare with big fuzzy ears and a kind eye slipped through my fingers into the unknown, and she took a little piece of my heart with her.