Ear today, something else tomorrow...

The tiny little rub behind Max's ear has, today, turned into a big sore looking thing.

I'm now sure it's not a rub. I think it's possibly an insect bite in an inconvenient place that's gone a bit angry. I gave it a clean and gooped it up with some antibacterial cream, then did a little french plait of his mane to keep it out of the way and give the sore a chance to dry out.

My plans to take him for a walk in hand dissolved as now his bridle would definitely interfere with the sore, and I didn't want to aggravate it.

So after tutting over it and offering him a "What are you like, eh?" I took him into the school for what turned out to be a very worthy little session.

We started off, in his soft head collar, just working on transitions, walk to trot to walk to stand.

Trotting in hand has come on gangbusters after a little tip from my YO the other day. The simplest thing possible, but I had just never heard it before.

It came about because she wanted to look at her horse for lameness, and asked me to walk him away and then trot him towards her. Well, horse did not co-operate, and I was, of course, embarrassed because I trot horses along every day, but this horse wasn't having it.

"Don't look at him when you ask," YO advised. "My father used to say 'Why would the horse want to look at your ugly mug?' Just look straight ahead, start to run, and the horse will follow."

Worked a charm with hers, and today, also worked a charm with Max.

Makes sense, really. Eye contact is challenging and could even be interpreted (by the horse) as aggressive, but looking ahead and changing pace just encourages following the "lead mare" as they would in a natural herd. Lead mare leads (duh) and stallion drives on from behind.

So simple! Why had I never heard it before? Why had I not thought of it myself?

Max and I also spent some very useful time at the mounting block, learning to stand. Just recently Max has started to move forward as I mount up, and that's really not a good thing.

So I positioned him, asked him to stand, walked away from him, walked around him, continuing to give the stand command and "clicking", then treating. Final move was to get up on the block, put my leg over his back, remove, put back (like the hokey cokey, "in, out, shake it all about") while asking him to remain standing. I did sit on his back as well, but as he was in head collar, and I was without hard hat, we didn't move off from there, I just dismounted and mounted again, and again.

We did this in both directions, so I could try mounting from the left and right. We took time out for me to get a bucket and remove the droppings of another horse who had come in to the school while we were doing this. Max remained focused on me, his instruction and his click/treat.

Clever boy. Was really pleased with him and told him so! Not much in the fitness stakes, but very good in the safe and well behaved horse stakes. He really seemed to catch on, so we will continue to build on this exercise.

Afterwards I took him back to his box in preparation for my afternoon of yardwork, and his release to the field. Before he could go, though, I wanted to fly spray him, and the spray is something he does not enjoy. I don't know if it's the noise or the motion of it, but he runs around his box like a mad thing. I used to spray on a brush and then brush him with fly spray, but it seemed a good opportunity to teach him that the spray is not something to be afraid of.

So I click/treated him through that, too, and will keep doing it to build up desensitisation. Am thinking I might just fill a spray bottle with water so we can keep practicing until he understands that the noise of the spray doesn't hurt him.

He did give it a good go today (he likes his treats!), but he had the big worried eyes, and at one point backed up to the corner of his box and had an "I'm scared" poop.

"Oh, Max!" I soothed. "Is it so scary you have to lighten your load?"

Bless him, he turned his big "cat from Shrek" watery eyes at me and gave me a little head nod.

Love my pony. Just love him. He is always honest, and he always tries.

Bad back history, sore mouth mystery

Poor ol' Max is suffering from my bad back. I have learned to live with a degree of discomfort and stiffness in my lower back over the years - it's an ever present "background noise" and can usually be ignored. Yes, stretches and yoga help, so do osteopaths, chiropractors and regular massage. The best thing is movement, I find, and the worst thing is office work. Yard work helps a great deal, as does riding, just keeping the area mobile and supple; sitting at my desk at work afterwards brings on the dull ache and occasionally a more painful twinge.

I can live with it unless something goes wrong, and something has. I don't know how I've wrenched my back and right hip, but I have. Getting through yard work yesterday was more than a chore, and although I had the afternoon off and freedom to spend some time with Max, I couldn't contemplate it with the pain; I just wanted to get home and lie down.

Today, we did try a bit of riding. Nothing ambitious, more for Max's benefit than mine. We tried the outdoor paddock first. I'd been to a birthday party last night and declined a go on the Dodgem cars because I was afraid I'd wrench myself. Well, Max was one big fairground ride in the paddock, and I had no ability to absorb his movements or help him.

We jarred along for a bit, and then I decided to take him for a walk up the lane to ease things out, see if I could get my lower body working, and get him away from the temptation of grazing (he is still grumpy about his diet).

That was a little better, so we finished off in a resting field to see if I could coax a little more effort out of him for the sake of his fitness. This halted abruptly when Max, footloose and fancy free, attempted a joyous little canter and was promptly stopped short as I slammed into his back like a dead weight, unable to move with him in any way. My right hip went into what felt like a spasm, and as soon as I sorted that, I slid off and loosened his girth.

Riding is out of the question for a little while. I can live with Max being cheeky and wayward when ridden, but I will not accept being the cause of pain or strain for him.

I am also a little concerned about what appears to be a rash of dry sores on his mouth, on the corners of his lips on each side. Doesn't seem to be troubling him and the bit doesn't interfere. I applied some aloe and will keep an eye on it. I suspect he is reacting to a plant he's eaten, judging by the position - something that was hanging out either side of his mouth.

He has a rub behind his ear too, and I have no idea what has caused it. He's not wearing his fly mask, his bridle doesn't sit where the rub is, his head collar is soft, and he's been wearing it for two years with no trouble.

It's a puzzler, but the least of our worries at the moment.

Guns a-blazin'

All the lovelies were wound up when I arrived back at the yard this afternoon. There had been shooting going on around them for most of the morning, and they'd had just about enough!

There are meant to be two yard birds working the afternoon shift, but one hadn't turned up yet, so I helped get a few of the horses out to their fields, so they could feel less confined with commotion going on around them. They soon settled once they were out in the great outdoors with grass to munch.

This left me wondering what to do with Max. He was keen to get out too, but I haven't done anything meaningful with him all week. I am suffering from kitten exhaustion. Two new kitties in residence, eight weeks old tomorrow, and there have been some big adjustments to be made. They're settling in fine, but are very active and a quiet night's sleep is a thing of the past.

I had hoped to hack Max out today, but with the gun fire it seemed a poor idea. Long-lining crossed my mind as well, but again, judging by his state of high alert, I knew he'd be disinclined to pay much attention.

In the end, I decided to take him in the school, observe, and decide where to go from there. Even if it meant half an hour or so of just hanging out together, I was up for it. I enjoy just being with him, too.

As it turned out, it was a bit of a spook busting session. There were birds flapping about in the rafters, guns going off all around us, and Max kept taking himself off for trots, then high tailing it back to me.

I wandered away from him, acting unconcerned by the commotion, whistling, singing, and when another loud report from a gun was heard, I'd click Max for standing still, wander over to him with a pony nut, and then leave him to it again.

He started to move around me, head down, mouthing and chewing, and if anything particularly frightening happened, he'd trot to where I was, head held high, and then wrap himself around me, body behind me, neck wrapped round in front.

It would be lovely to think he was protecting me, wouldn't it? I think the truth is that he was offering me up as a sacrifice though. Best position to nudge me forward and say, "Take her! She's the one you want! Tell them, lady! Offer yourself to them!"

Stealth pony

Max has revealed the purpose of his untying of knots. He has lulled the yard workers into a false sense of security thinking that he is only going for the hay. He is already ahead of them because, being shoeless, it's often not obvious when he's on the move. While others horses clip clop, Max tends to pad.

Once spotted padding, he is invariably heading for the central hay stash, where he can easily be caught, returned to his station, tied up and there he'll stay for, oooh, minutes.

The truth is, he was just doing a recce. He is too big to get into the feed room itself, which is right outside his stable door, but being a clever pony, he has worked it out! How many days has he watched the red 4X4 come up into the yard, park in front of his box, and unload its bounty of pony nuts and chaff into the feed room bins and then... then were do those other bags go?

Well, as Max discovered with his highly developed sense of sneakiness, they go in the hay barn, stacked on shelves out of the way.

Which is where he was found yesterday afternoon after making his quiet escape. Past the central hay stash, past the feed room, into the hay barn, turn right, over to the shelves, bit a hole in the bag of pony nuts and JACKPOT!

He was caught before he'd eaten much, had really only just managed to get the bag open before he was thwarted.

This setback will only make him more determined, I fear, and much more sly.

I'm so hungry I could eat a human!

Max is grumpy. He tells me that he just isn't getting enough to eat and it's causing a Big Bad Mood.

Saying that, he's definitely looking trimmer, we all think so. Fat pads have pretty much disappeared, and though his neck still has a few ridges in the crest, it's feeling much softer which is all good stuff. So in the pony paddock he stays for the foreseeable future. He's happy with his two pony mates, and they're all certainly thriving.

We tried a bit of long lining and free style today in the indoor school. Max was yawning for England as we went round, and I had to chivvy him along with lots of energy, stomping, and chasing, but he did some good work. By the end, he was a little warm, and I was dripping. Ah well, a bit of exercise doesn't hurt me, either.

I've had a query about "willy watch" from a curious and concerned friend. I haven't mentioned it because there isn't much to mention. We could still be dealing with a bit of internal scar tissue, but basically he still no droppy, whether I looky or not.

But now, "no droppy" is a much better state of affairs than it was. He does drop, just enough to make things a whole lot better, and the important thing is that he no longer has that ledge inside to cause problems with pooling, so we have to see his op as a success, even if he never goes any further than he can go now.

The cleaning issue isn't a chore for either of us as it once was. I can go days without attending to it, and when I do, it's really short work and Max hardly has time to get riled about it.

The alarming thing for Max is the amount of interest that is generated when he has a wee, and not just by me. Was talking to a friend on the yard yesterday who admitted that she'd been there the day before and heard Max having a wee, and she rushed over to his box to have a look.

"Please! Give a boy some privacy!"

She was caught by the YO, who said "You're a bit sad, aren't you?" (then admitted that she does the same). Poor Max. Always an audience for his private business.

His latest trick is untying himself when he's tied up outside. I was confronted about this today and had to swear that I hadn't taught him. He just gets fidgety if tied up too long with no attention, covertly plays with his rope (pretends he's not doing it if I'm there to query him), and eventually sets himself free.

The barn roof was being painted yesterday, and as it was right over Max's stable, with ladder in front of his box, so I moved him to a safer spot, along with a few other neds who were affected. They were all pretty well behaved considering the noise, the spray, the smell and the strangers clamouring up ladders.

It wasn't finished by the time I left, and I heard that once I'd cleared off, Max managed to untie himself twice and take himself off for a wander about the yard. He doesn't cause trouble, he just ambles around, talking to other horses before settling by the hay and having a nosh.

Truth is, if I had my own place, I'd just let him do that anyway. A open door barn he could choose to use if he wanted, and freedom of the yard. Course, he'd need like minded companions to keep him company. I'm sure I could find some volunteers!

Maybe one day...

I would prefer not to

It was bath day for Max today and he was not impressed. He tucked in his bum in like a dog when cold water touched his grubby tail, he scampered and danced around the hose like it was a wild, spitting snake, despite the fact that the pressure was gentle, I was moving very slowly, and he was getting click treated the whole way through.

We stopped for a few breaks to let him drink from the hose (he does enjoy that bit) and I let him grab it away from me once and give me a spray back just for the sake of fairness.

I explained that he was dusty and grubby, and if we removed some of the grease (from his fly spray) and dirt, he might be a little less attractive to the biting insects, but none of this moved Max.

"I don't like it, I don't need it, I don't want it. Cease and desist!"

I hope we managed to rinse all the suds off, but with was like trying to rinse quick silver as he kept skipping away from me, and I really didn't want him to get any more wound up than he already was.

"Call the authorities! I'm being oppressed!"

Eventually I squeegeed him dry, rubbed him down, and then took him to his field, fresh as a daisy.

We wandered around together a bit, and then Max stopped at a patch of dirt, looking thoughtful.

"Go find the grass, Max" I advised.

"Hmm... but this looks...interesting." He pawed at it and kicked up a cloud of dust.

"Max, don't."

"It sure looks... Inviting! Wouldn't you say?"

"Max, really, don't."

"Oh, yes! I think I will!" and down he went for a roll, covering himself in dust and grime, which clung to his still damp body like mud.

Heaved himself up, gave a mighty shake, and then wandered away from me with a snort. Always gets the last word, that horse.

The secret of subtlety

Today, Max was my wise teacher.

I met him at the yard and he gave me one of those "Mum! Thank goodness you're here!" whuffles.

Poor boy was in a state. He was eating his bed. There was hay down for him, but it was a bit manky and he wasn't tempted. His box was a mess, and he had obviously been lying in droppings, face covered, forelock and mane.

I got down to business. Cleared the old hay, gave him a handful of fresh stuff which he set upon with glee, and then sorted out his box and his mucky self. Checked him over, all was fine. The little sore on his girth had dried up of its own accord, so I decided we'd try a bit of longlining, and then a little ridden work after I'd checked to make sure the sore hadn't rubbed itself into an angry spot again.

When I got to the indoor school, it was occupied by a woman giving her daughter a mini-lesson on our old Exmoor pony. Hmmm... not the best way to be getting on, Max is easily distracted, but plunged in and gave it a go.

Max was not having it. Wouldn't listen, wouldn't pay attention, couldn't focus. I gathered him up a few times and tried to set him right in hand, but it was just no good. I felt frustration rising, so just stopped. No point in trying to work him if I'm feeling frustrated. I sometimes feel like I'm copping out when I don't press on, but I also think there are times when I'm "just don't wanna" too, so why should Max be any different? Instead of grimly continuing with something that isn't working, I try something different with him.

The pony left the school, Max and I had one more go at longlining, still no good, so I took the lines off, checked his girth sore, and decided to try a little ridden instead.

This initially produced little success. As I tried to keep us in the track, Max strained against me, trying to turn in to the centre. He did this on both reins, and I began to feel a bit helpless. When he pulls against my hands, what am I to do? I don't want to hurt his mouth my applying pressure back, I don't want to let him go completely and just do what he wants; I do want to understand why he's doing it though, because I can only think he's reacting to something that I'm doing.

So today, I directed him into the middle of the school to stand, then adjusted myself and my thinking.

"Right, sir," I said. "Here's the deal. I'll do speed, you do direction."

I slipped the reins and held them up at waist level, to encourage his head up, I clucked him on, and waited to see where he'd go. We moved into a trot, and when he slowed, I clucked him on again, maintaining the trot, but completely letting Max decide where we went.

What we ended up doing was figures of eight in the middle of the school, no faltering, beautiful trot, easy bends, consistent pace, but totally avoiding the track.

Hmm, thought I. Why is he doing figure of eight all by himself? Does he like it?

So I concentrated, and I began to realise that it seemed he was moving where I was looking. Chicken or egg? Was I looking and he was following, or was he leading while I looked where he went?

Experiment time. Keeping my legs away from his sides and my contact light, I looked to my right. Max turned right.

Fluke?

I looked to my left, and Max turned left.

I've heard and read other riders say, "It's like I just 'think' about the next transition, and as I think it, my horse does it!"

Always thought that sounded lovely, but it never seemed to work for us.

Apparently it does work, though. It would seem that if I leave off all the other guff, lay off with my hands and feet, concentrate on lifting and carrying my own body, and trying to follow Max's movements, then all it takes is a glance to change direction.

I'm sure with the glance, there are other, subtle movements in my posture, my weight distribution, which are enough to indicate to Max where we should go. I'm sure by leaving him alone, it gets rid of the "white noise" of my hands and feet, and lets him hear my whispered request.

We carried on for a little while, and I was awed by my clever, sensitive, willing boy.

Dismounted, loosened his girth and gave him a fuss.

"Thank you for showing me that, Max. You really are brilliant."

"Easy when you know how, mum."

This, of course, does not tell me why Max fights to turn in to the centre when we're on the track, but that's for me to work out.

Now we are six, and Max has become wise and mature, right? No, not so much.

Led him back to the yard, cleaned him up, did his carrot stretches (with only half a carrot - he's on a diet, after all) and then offered to get the day horse out of the pony paddock so Max and his mates could go out.

Went to collect our little hackney star, who came flying to the gate at me, in great excitement, calling and nuzzling like he hadn't seen me for years. Led him back to the yard and called out "Look Max, I'm cheating on you with another pony!"

He was not happy. Glared at from inside his head collar, enough of a death ray to make another owner chuckle.

I settled hackney into his box, gave him scratches in all his best spots, and then went back to collect Max, to find he had gathered a crowd of onlookers.

There he was, tied up outside his box, having picked up his bridle from where I'd hung it. Reins were over his head, cheek strap was in his mouth.

"You want to go for another ride, Max?" I asked.

Big ol' head shake "No!" which made everyone laugh.

Like me, Max is getting older, but maturity only rises to the surface when required.

Now we are six!

Max is the birthday boy! Hard to believe he's six, or that I've had him for two years, but both of these things are true.

Did we do anything special for his birthday? Not really. Can't shower him with treats because he's watching his figure (although he did have marmite and appreciated it).

I started his day by singing him the Happy Birthday song, traditional and The Beatles, he got scratches in all his favourite spots, a lot of affection from me and visitors who wanted to wish him well, and I also told him about the kittens the Ent and I have selected that will be joining our family in a week or so.

And he has the day off, which is always nice for him. Nobody shaking bottles of rocks at him, or putting their hands on their hips and pursing their lips while saying, "Oh Max!" with exasperation (although he does quite enjoy that, and I think would miss it if it never happened again).

Nothing else to say, really, except "Happy Birthday, my brilliant boy! My world is a better place with you in it."

Shake, rattle, don't bite!

My newest trick to combat Max and his wandering gnashers is a plastic bottle with a few stones in it. When he makes his move, I rattle the bottle and the noise stops him in his tracks.

It was pretty effective today. We went out for a short walk (was very hot) and I had my hands full with the schooling whip (for the flies) the reins and the bottle, but we managed OK.

The only downside was when we got back to the yard, and I put the bottle down to change Max from his bridle to head collar to take him to his field. I bent down, and the moment I was disarmed, the monkey nipped me on the bum! No teeth, just letting me know he could.

The Great Escape?

Something got Max's back up in the night. He was still jittery when I arrived at the yard, and his box looked like some whirling dervishes had been doing their whirling practice in there.

I was then told that all three ponies in the paddock were so intrigued by some creature of the night (maybe foxes doing the crazy mating call?) that they practically had to be dragged in from where they were lined up together at the far fence, gazing intently at the woods.

Max was taken to his box, settled down to his breakfast pony nuts, and the next time YO walked past, she saw Max, front feet OVER his box door, clamouring to get out.

"Get down sir!" she cried. "That's not how we do things here!"

He did get back down, luckily.

Checking him over, he had a few small grazes on his front legs, which I cleaned up. No swelling or lameness though. We also think he's lost a teensy bit of weight, which is a good sign. He's still a bit cresty, but it's not as rigid as it was.

He had a very long walk in hand today and I stupidly wore shorts, so am now covered in nettle stings. I would have liked to have ridden him today with the Ent leading on foot, but Max has a small sore right on his girth line, and the girth rubbing it on Friday, before I'd noticed it, made it quite sore and angry. I'm going to let it heal before I attempt to put his saddle or roller on him.

The timing isn't great, since we're trying to get the weight off. Although long walks are good, and we both enjoy them, not being able to ride or long-line isn't ideal.

Ponies Against Firearms

Max is taking a stand against guns, can he hear an "Amen", brothers and sisters?

Today we are blessed with a beautiful Spring day and Max and I went for a hack. The plan was to walk up the lane and then I'd mount up and off we'd go. I don't like to mount from the ground; it's hard on Max's back, and it's not great for his saddle either, so I select some higher ground that I can use as a natural mounting block.

Incidentally, why is it "his" saddle and not mine? Maybe it should be "ours".

Plan didn't quite work out though. At our first convenient mounting up place, we were confounded by traffic, so we kept walking on to the next one.

At the next one, we were ambushed by cavorting Labradors. Oh well, walk on to the next one.

No good. As we walked along, shots rang out and Max's head shot up as he went all a-quiver.

He didn't used to be bothered by gunfire. Growing up in the field where he did, he was often witness to pheasant shoots and became unconcerned by the noise and commotion of them. But there was that day last fall when we stumbled across clay pigeon shooting just yards away from us, and that has changed Max's view of sudden loud noises.

He was quite easily calmed. We stood still and I talked to him, scanning the area for the source of the gunfire. It soon became apparent, as several bunnies scampered across the path ahead, that it must be wabbit season. It was like a scene from "Watership Down", rabbits running for shelter.

Max was not scared of the rabbits, but their flight unsettled him, and I paused to consider whether it was the gunfire, the rapid rabbits, or even a sense of their fear that was affecting him. All three, I expect. Surely he may have sensed the terror in the air?

I had just been telling Max that we were about to reach a choice of paths ahead, left or right. Both led home, I explained, and I'd let him decide which way we'd go.

As we spied the hunters, and continued to hear the shots to our left, I commented to Max "Turning right, ahead, I think."

"Turning back, you mean," Max replied with force.

"No, ahead and right. You're safe."

"Safer if we go back, mum. I'm only thinking of you."

"Don't be silly. Ahead. Come on," I coaxed.

And ahead we went, but no point in mounting a jittery Max just yet. So we walked on, turned right, and fell into a very pretty walk/trot down the hill, turned again, and finally found a place for me to hop aboard.

Max was lively, but well behaved, and we had a pleasant, peaceful time together until almost home when the shots rang out again, and some border collies in the field to the right of us set about rounding up some chickens. They were lovely to watch, all slinky and quick, and very responsive to the clicks and whistles of the woman supervising them.

I remained placid, so Max did, too, as I scratched his withers. We stood and watched them for quite some time, Max's intelligent eyes following each move eagerly, and occasionally turning to bump the toe of my boot with his nose.

"Look at them! Do you see? How extraordinary!"

"You could do that, Max. You've got the moves."

"Course I can, but chickens? Please!"

We got back to the yard at a trot, stopping briefly to talk to our friend, K, riding her bicycle back from her gardening job with her rescued duckling in her bike basket. Max loves K, but wasn't quite so sure about the duckling so I had to make excuses as he trotted on past.

Got him sorted and released him to his paddock. The other two ponies were already there, but up around a corner, unseen. Max had a drink and got his head down, and I left him to it. From the yard, I heard a nicker, and turned to see Max, head over the gate.

"Where you going, mum? I'm on my own now. Come and hang out with me!"

As I watched, I saw that his call to me had alerted the other two ponies, and they sauntered over to join him.

"Behind you, Max. Your friends are coming."

He turned and looked over his shoulder. The other two walked up either side and dropped their heads to graze next to him.

"All right, sweetpea?" I called.

"Shoo! You're embarrassing me in front of my mates!"

No answer for that but a smile for three contented ponies enjoying their place in the world.

Rain, I don't mind...

Had that going through my head today as Max and I walked together through the drizzle. It's one of my favourite Beatles songs ("Rain").

It's been raining all day today, with varying intensity, and I was hopeful that the reports that fine, dry weather would win the day by this afternoon were true.

They weren't.

So what to do with Max? Didn't want the school again because it's a bit too samey and way too dusty. Didn't want to hack because I really don't like getting my saddle wet. Opted for a walk in hand in the end, a bit of hill work, a bit of just getting soaked together. It wasn't raining that hard anyway, just endless drizzle.

I had plans for quite a long walk, but the longer we were out, the more persistent the rain became, trying to drive us back to the yard. It was still pleasant enough though, me and my boy, splashing through puddles and singing our songs.

We got to a crossroads and stopped. "What you think Max? Ahead or home?"

He really seemed to stop and consider - looked all ways around him weighing up, then sighed.

"Home, I think."

"Agree."

Didn't tell him that the path he chose was going to take us past some new piglets that had been added to the pig pen near the road. Max was unprepared, as the piglets swarmed towards him, like one many footed, multi-snouted creature.

"Good Lord! What manner of demon is this?" he asked, head held high.

He held his ground, but couldn't keep his feet still and finally I suggested we trot past them, which we did beautifully, Max's bare feet slapping through the puddles like flippers.

We continued trotting down the road together, and then rather than taking him back to the yard, he went straight to the pony paddock, and I hung out with him there for a little while, just exploring and having a sniff. We didn't need sunshine for that.

"...when it rains or shines, it's just a state of mind..."

Why is everybody chasing me?

Max has had a work out and a half today!

I had a good look at him this afternoon and decided he needs Weight Watchers. I've been vigilant over his weight these past few weeks, with the threat of laminitis in mind. His feet still seem fine, no sign of being "footy", no heat, no digital pulses, and even last week we were remarking that although he's gained a little weight, it hasn't been an alarming amount.

What caught my eye this afternoon was that he seems to be getting a little "cresty". That's an early warning signal. The ridge at the very top of his neck has become hard and a little bumpy, indicating fat stores. It has come on very quickly and I remarked on it to my YO.

She agreed, and said if I was concerned, we could move him to "the pony paddock". It's not a starvation paddock, but it's very well grazed and the grass that is left is quite scrubby, not as rich and sugar loaded.

I took him to the school while I thought about it. My brilliant plan today was to long line him with his saddle on for 20 minutes, really working on a good walk and getting him turning and listening to me, and then once worked in, remove the lines, put on his reins and get down to business with some trot work.

Very brilliant plan, if I do say so myself. The long lining went better than it has in ages, while we just concentrated on the very basics and towards the end, he was doing serpentines and changing direction on cue like a pro. Doing it slowly and calmly, not trying anything fancy, really gave me a chance to concentrate on my position and what I was doing with my hands, and Max responded really well to that.

After he'd been worked in and praised enthusiastically, the ridden work went really well. We did about 40 minutes of rising and sitting trot, just round on each rein at first, and then working in bends and figures of eight. He still tries to deak out on the corners on the right rein, but we worked on that and it was coming along very nicely by the end of the session.

We did a final little bit on reining back, which was only just successful, but since we haven't done that much with me in the saddle, it was good enough to give him a pony nut and dismount. I took off all his gear and let him have a roll.

Took him back for a sponge bath because he'd worked up a sweat, then told YO that yes, I was concerned enough to want him in the pony paddock. Could tell she thought it was a wise choice and said it may only need to be for a few days, but really best to err on the side of caution.

The other two ponies were already out, so it was for me to introduce Max and then stay and watch for any signs of trouble. He was out with the same two ponies for a spell last summer, none of them are kickers, so we didn't expect any real trouble.

Max worked his way in slowly, and it took a while for the other two to spot him. But when they did... what a show!

I watched for about five or ten minutes as they thundered about the field, sussing each other out. Of course I was anxious that nobody got hurt, but it was also thrilling to watch them all, unfettered by riders, just galloping in unison around the field. Especially Max, with his tail held high and his elegant paces.

I laughed as I watched because Max figured out quickly how to lose them when they were chasing. He'd stop and turn suddenly, like a proper cow pony, and the other two would keep shooting off ahead before they realised they'd lost him.

"Doh! Where'd the wee blighter go? Huh? He was just here a minute ago... Oh! There he is!" and they'd chase after him again. Max would run, and then nimbly duck away again and leave the other two dumbfounded and floundering.

I had stayed well back to protect my safety, but Max spotted me and came trotting towards me, head held high, with a look of "Home safe!" in his eye.

He scuttled behind me and parked his head over my shoulder, puffing loudly, while the other two bore down on us.

"Uh oh..." says I to myself.

I stayed outwardly calm, stepped forward with arms raised and waved them away. With every move I made to counter them, Max moved behind me, keeping me in front as his protection barrier.

"Nyah, nyah! I've told my mum!"

"Cool it, you two!" I barked and we stood in a face off.

Max put his head down and started grazing. The other two followed his lead, and I edged away, still watching, but giving off, I hoped, an unconcerned vibe.

I stayed at the gate and watched for a bit, and they were all peacefully standing in a group, heads down, and all friendly like.

YO will check them again when she goes home, and happily, her kitchen looks out on the pony paddock, so she will be on the scene if there are any renewed hostilities. There won't be though, they just needed to sort out the pecking order, and for now, Max is obliging by being low man on the totem pole. He won't stay that way, of course. He'll gradually assert himself, he's the biggest and the fastest of the three, but the important thing is he's in a safe paddock for his weight, and today, at least, he's had a proper work-out.