The pony, the plant, the pheasant...

... and the chainsaw wielding maniac.

Hazardous hacking for Max and I after a nice warm up in the school. He was producing such a lifted trot and going so well, I thought a nice jaunt out in the pleasant afternoon sun would be the perfect way to finish off a good session.

Max was happy enough to oblige until we turned down the bridleway only to meet a veritable ambush of VERY BIG leaves. Attached to plants, they were, not tall, just sort of fetlock height, but quite prolific and obviously sinister.

"Back! We must go back! Retreat!" my brave pony cried.

"Don't be silly Max. Walk on."

And he did.

To give Max some credit, he is not alone in his grave mistrust of this particular foe. Most of the horses on our yard react exactly the same way but I don't know why. The height, the shape, the fluttering in the breeze? Maybe the smell?

We got past them and continued on our way, only to meet a yard mate heading for home. Max thought that was a capital idea and opted to follow, even though it meant going past the foul foliage again. We disagreed, I won, and we carried on our way with Max letting out first a neigh of protest (or perhaps warning to his friend), and then a squeal of desperation that was so high pitched he kind of lost it at the end and it turned into a bit of a dramatic gasp.

"Honestly! Don't be such a big girl!"

"Help! Help! Fear! Fire! Foe!"

"Walk on, sir, if you please."

And on we went, in high dudgeon.

Then, a sudden flurry! Noise! Motion! A leap and then a scurry!

When truly startled, Max first jumps, then goes all low to the ground and scampers with great speed for a few steps, then stops and gets Very Tall.

"Alarum! Alarum! We are besieged by winged demons of fearsome menace!"

"Pheasant," I corrected.

"Monstrous ghouls with fangs and... pheasant?"

"Yup."

"Sure?"

"Uh huh. Walk on sir."

Reluctantly we set off again, but it was one close call too many and I could feel Max had gone past all reasoning on his spookometer; he was on his tip toes and ready to take fright. Er, flight.

We turned onto the lane towards home and this is when I saw the farmer on the other side of the hedge, ahead of us in the distance. He appeared to be foostering with something and I weighed up the likelihood that whatever was being foostered with would be one fooster too far for Max to bear.

We got a little closer and Max, sensing danger, first stood still and bristled, then quickly spun and walked briskly in the direction from whence we'd come.

"Halt!"

"Nope, nope, nope. Ghosts!"

"But home is the other way, Max."

"Time for a new home, eh?"

We turned, we walked forward again, and as we got closer to the farmer, I asked Max to stop and I dismounted. Why make an issue of it, especially when I could feel that he was genuinely insecure about what was ahead.

"Happy?" I asked.

"Happier if you stood between me and monsters."

I obliged and we walked on once more, Max still alert but more relaxed, when it happened: A chainsaw suddenly burst into life on the other side of the hedge!

"We're doomed!" Max squealed as he leapt then landed soundly on my foot then twisted slightly in his haste to get the heck away from the impending massacre.

"Max you oaf! Get off!" I nudged and pulled my foot free.

"You're wounded? Ah, good! They always go for the weak first. Release me! I'll send help!"

It took some doing, but we managed to get past the ravenous chainsaw (and completely unaware farmer) with Max dancing sideways and me limping beside him, until a convenient bank and a bit of distance meant I could clamour back on board for the rest of the journey home; mighty steed and weary wounded.