I see a little silhouette of a...

Little Green Man!

Unbelievably, so early in September, I've just taken Max out into his field in his bright green Rambo lightweight rug. This rug generally doesn't come out until November, and it sees Max through the entire winter, bar a couple of weeks when he moves up a grade to his medium weight with hood to fend off proper cold and icy temperatures.

He's a robust native-type, and the whole rug question has been playing on my mind, because he shouldn't need it. I argued with myself about his tough native background, Norwegian even, built to withstand cold weather, and wonder if my anxiety is more about me needing to think he is feeling comfy and warm rather than Max actually needing a rug.

I have held out while those about me have fallen and rugged up. I can understand those with warmbloods, finer thoroughbred types, but once I saw the ponies and cobs wearing their lightweights, I went into pack mentality mode.

Even that didn't sway me too much initially and I let Max tough it out for days because he is a tough nut, RAR! and I am a worry wort.

But the weather here is so dismal; driving rain, high wind and although somewhat mild during the day (mild when you read the temperature - it doesn't actually feel mild by any stretch of the imagination) once the sun goes down, I reckon it gets a bit chillsome out in the field at night.

If it was just temperature, if Max was out during the day and in at night, I wouldn't be rugging. But with all the wet and wind, I've finally given in. Max was the last rugless pony standing, the last bastion of true grit, shaking his hoof at the elements... But not tonight.

The final tipping point for me was this morning when I arrived for yard work at 7.00 and gave my nekkid boy a check over. He was soaked through, so much so that I had to use his scraper to drain the excess water off him. I felt the tips of his ears, and they were cold. Then I ran my hands along his back, particularly where his kidneys live, and that was cold too. So after drying him off as best I could, I put his fleece on to take away the chill and soak up the remainder of the wet while he was in his box for the morning.

Sod's law, when I went to him this afternoon with final decision to rug up for the field firmly in mind, the sun peeped out, the rain stopped and it felt a little bit warm.

Hmm... do I? Don't I?

I looked at the black clouds speeding towards us on the wind and thought "Yes, I absolutely do."

I did take consultation first with the two yard birds doing the afternoon shift. As we talked, gathered around the door to Max's box, he went through his series of tricks to try and get my attention.

"Excuse me? Me time now! Hello? Your Max would like a word, please. Aren't you supposed to be adoring me?"

He got cursory strokes on the nose while I chatted, but I was not focused on him; none of us were, and boy, did he know it! So he picked up the sleeve of my jacket in his teeth and gave my arm a shake.

"For Heaven's sake, Max! How rude!"

"Polite wasn't working for me. Some attention, please. Haven't seen you for HOURS! Got stuff to say."

"Fair enough. Speak."

"I was wondering... I think I smell a pear in your pocket?"

"I do have a pear in my pocket, yes."

"So, I'm assuming that's for me, right?"

"I had intended to give it to you, yes, but I'm having second thoughts now with all the rowdy..."

"Pah. Hand it over. We could go through the whole 'will she/won't she thing' if you like, but you know you're going to give it to me, so let's just cut to the chase, eh?"

I did not capitulate immediately, but Max did get his pear in the end, after hooves cleaned out, general check and some faffing about to teach him patience (he tried to hypnotise me with his powerful gaze, but I've got wise to that one).

So he's in his field now, rugged up. The sun has danced away, fickle thing that she is, to look for drier land. I will sleep better tonight knowing Max has a little protection from the elements (and the teeth of his playful fieldmates) which won't overheat him.

The final decision was down to Max though. As we were gathered in front of his box anyway, I asked him the question: "Max, would you like your green rug on for tonight?"

Emphatic head nod.

"Are you sure?"

Another big nod.

Thus spake Max, and thus did I.