Not so hot to trot, actually...

Max is a slave to his belly, and these are trying times for a pony that wants to gorge himself on grass, but lives in a restricted grazing field for the good of his health.

I will not get on my soapbox here about horses grazing lush fields of rye grass... Oh it looks idyllic all right, horses out in the sun knee deep in brilliant green fields, but it's far from idyllic. Rye grass is perfect for fattening up cattle and sheep; it is not great for horses. So to keep Max from getting dangerously fat and risking laminitis, he's kept out in a field of limited grazing, and he has to work hard for what he gets.

That's the best management for his health and well being I can muster whilst not being directly in control of what he eats on my own land. It's better than having to wear a grazing muzzle, which rubs and frustrates.

The downside is at this time of year, when the grass is particularly succulent, Max is like a kid in a candy shop.

"Yes, I'll have some of those aniseed balls, and oh yes, some toffee, oooh, and chocolate! Lots of chocolate!"

We've learned to be pretty polite about all that when out hacking, longlining or in hand. I say "head down" and that means he's allowed to have a break for a graze, but "head up, sir!" means it's time to stop and move on. That works perfectly well from September to April, but the gloves are off otherwise.

Today, I thought I'd have a try at lungeing him in the outdoor paddock. We have an indoor school, but it is so hot and dusty this time of year, it's much more pleasant to be out in the sun. I hoped we could make it work.

He was good on the way to the paddock, he was good when we first got in, but once I stepped away and clucked him on around me, the "green mist" descended (a term coined by a friend of mine, and it is very apt). Max could see nothing, know nothing but the long grass around him.

"Must eat... too tempting...!"

I got him into a trot all right, but then that noble head was down, and Max was nothing more than a trotting lawn mower.

"Head up, sir!"

"Nom, nom, nom... sorry, what? Can't hear you..."

"Max!"

"Eh?"

"For heaven's sake, Max, head up!"

"No. Won't. Head down. Down! Down, I say!"

Gathered him up and gave up. It was worth a shot, but not really fair to ask him to concentrate when he was surrounded by a bountiful feast.

So into the school we went.

"Pah. Bare here. No eats. Grr."

"Trot on, please."

"Grr."

"Grr right back atcha, punk."

"Why I oughta..."

"Attention, please!"

We grumbled at each other for a fair bit of time, but in the end I managed to convince him to strut his stuff for me, and he preened a bit under my enthusiastic praise.

We left the school after 40 minutes of fairly good work, and then had a little bit of "head up/head down" practice with clicks and treats for good behaviour.

I know it's a losing battle for now, and am considering either grass reins for ridden work to save my shoulders being yanked out of their sockets at speed in Max's desperation to get a mouthful of the good stuff, or perhaps a whistle to get his attention (though not brilliant for hacks in company unless my intention is to create a riot).

He went out into his field today wearing his new fly mask with ear covers. The ear covers are to protect him from the midges, and the fly mask itself it to protect his eyes from irritating flies.

This fly mask has a hole between the ears that I can pull his forelock through to the outside, and I'm hoping that he won't trash it like the last two. I figured maybe he didn't like the other fly masks because his massive forelock was tucked inside of them and it must have been quite itchy and uncomfy. With any luck he'll keep this one on.

I'm not betting on it, and don't expect him to be wearing it tomorrow morning, but if I can at least find it intact to live another day, I'll be happy. I don't care if he wears it for his whole night out, but if it can stay on while the sun is out when the flies and midges are at their worst, I'll be satisfied.

He does look quite silly wearing it, but looking silly isn't something Max or I are concerned about. Part of the reason we're such a good match, I expect.

His field mate is also wearing a fly mask, and as they went out into the field you could just about imagine the conversation...

"Surrender, Jedi!"

"Never!"

"I am your father, Luke!"

"Who's Luke? I'm Max!"

"Sorry, wrong Jedi..."

Let's hope Max doesn't go over to the Darth side.