Temporary accommodation

Max had to move house today. The feed room, which is right next to his lovely suntrap of a box, is having a new roof, which will involve dust, builders, scaffolding and hullabaloo, none of which will impress Mr Max.

So, whilst the renovations are being done, Max has been moved into a box in the barn. The box itself is probably about the same size, slightly wider, but not as deep. The fact that it's enclosed is great if the weather turns wet and unpleasant. His current box gets a huge puddle in the door if the wind is blowing in the right direction whilst it's raining. The overhang ensures that anyone standing at his door, whether it's Max hanging his head out, or me hanging my head in, gets a soaking.

The downside of the new box is that although Max has one neighbour, he looks out into the dark barn and really can't see the yard at all from his vantage point. There's also a workshop behind him, from which escape sudden bangs, flurries of hammering and unexpected crashes.

So with all that, I was a little worried about the move. Yes, it's only for a couple of weeks, but it's a change in routine, and more pertinent, once upon a time Max had a big problem with being enclosed. His previous owners told me that I would NEVER get him in a box. Ever. At all.

Simply not true. It took a little patience and understanding, but now Max is a pony who enjoys his home comforts. The only real problem I ever had with him was at a previous yard, when I tried to put him in a box that was enclosed, looked out on a wall and was quite dark inside.

His alarm was immediate and pronounced. I hadn't even taken his head collar off and he was trying to clamour over the door to escape. I managed to soothe him enough to get him sorted and lead him out. The look in his eyes had been pure panic. When asked to enter another box instead, one facing other horses with a view of the yard, he happily agreed and spent a couple of hours in there contentedly munching hay and watching me work.

That was nearly three years ago. I know he's matured since then, I know he's a steady soul with a brave heart and a laid back attitude, and what scared him at four years old does not at almost seven. Still I worried. What if this dark box with no view of the yard had him trying to climb out with wild eyed determination once more? What if he hurt himself?

I didn't want Max to get a whiff of my anxiety. Horses are extraordinarily good at sniffing out hidden emotion. You can put on a brave face all you want, but they sense the dishonesty and it unsettles them, probably more than just letting them deal with the truth in the first place. I opted to stay away for Max's move and let matter of fact YO deal with it in her matter of fact way.

He would have been taken to his new home from the field at about seven o'clock this morning. I went to see him at about quarter to nine with his cinnamon dusted apple bites. Poor pony was so stressed he was lying down having a snooze!

I got a lusty welcoming whuffle, but Max had not a worry in the world as he delicately picked bits of apple out of my hand, chewed, yawned, sighed and leaned his big head against my shoulder.