Thundering blundering hooves

Hacking out is a bit of a mixed bag at the moment. The sunshine and fine weather is a blessing, as is riding in short sleeves under a bright blue, cloudless sky. The views are spectacular, over the rolling fields that not long ago were stubble fields that we could canter through with abandon. Now they are filled with growing crops of wheat, and beautiful blue grey expanses of flax.

The downside is the bloomin' horseflies, that no amount of fly spray seems to deter for long. Horse and rider are there to be feasted upon, and they're fearsome little creatures with a nasty sting!

Off we went anyway, Max and his friend The Cob, me and my friend, The Gardener. She and I waving our sticks about trying to clear the air, whilst Max and The Cob stomped, kicked out with back legs and shook their heads in frustration. Lots of points to stop and consider, shall we go back, or will we go forward seeking shade, breeze and less flies?

We were taking a route which we hoped would evade a nearby battle re-enactment put on for local school children every year, which involves cannon fire, gunshots and lots of charging, yelling and general rambunctious behaviour of the kind not appreciated by our equine friends.

We found some shade, decided to go along the gallops for a bit of a slow canter, as the ground is still very hard, and let our boys blow off some steam. Max was in the lead at first, and went into a perfectly comfy and acceptable canter. Then The Cob took the lead and Max put his racing hat on. He launched from his hinds with a tremendous surge of power, and he was off like greased lightning!

This should be exhilarating, but as he leapt forward with intent, he also veered over to the side, to the edge of the field, the rabbit holes, the uneven ground, the low hanging tree branches.

"Max! No! Not safe! Not safe!"

I'm like that annoying robot from long ago, flailing arms and repeating with alarm "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!"

Yes, I heard my father's advice in my ear: "Maybe you should just let him go. He wants to take you for a proper ride and show you what he's made of! 'Look what I can do!'"

Tempting as that is, I cannot let him go off like a rocket when I know the ground is unsafe, and I'm the only one really looking out for pitfalls.

Luckily, Max is easily contained, and even when he really wants to GO, GO, GO! if I ask him not to, he obliges and comes back to me. He's a sensible boy, he's well behaved, and he defers to my judgment when asked.

His lurch forward lurched my back though, and I nursed it as we contained ourselves to a boisterous, snorting walk, and found our way to the little path next to the galloping field.

Up to the end we went, then turned back along the edge of a field and crossed back onto the path running next to The Gallops, but heading for home this time.

This is where The Cob had a difference of opinion with The Gardener. Max and I strode forward, Cob said "No!" and decided he'd quite like to go in the opposite direction to the woods, thanks very much.

The woods led to the battle ground so not a good idea, and The Gardener tried to make him see sense with firm but gentle guidance.

Max and I stood and waited for the outcome, not wanting to interfere.

"Why are we waiting? Hey! Come on, this way. What you doing?"

Max was watching, slightly perplexed and then Cobby had a fit of pique and surged off, out of view.

"What the... Where he go? FEAR FIRE FOE!" and my Catherine Wheel pony launched himself again, running full pelt to find his friend.

"Not good, not good! Max!" muffled from me as I ducked under whipping branches and desperately looked for dips and rabbit holes.

"Oh, there he is!" Max slowed when he got his friend back in sight, and we came to a stop a little way off.

"All right?" I asked The Gardener.

"Yep, you?"

"Aye. How can we help?"

She managed to turn The Cob to face us, and said, "Just walk on away from us so we can follow."

"Okey doke!" and off we went, with The Cob finally getting the idea and trotting up behind to give Max a nudge up the bum.

That would have been the end of it. Should have been the end of it really, and we headed for home exalting about the view and talking about ducks, flax, phlox and lavender along the ridge and then turned right to go downhill to the lane, Max in the lead.

I saw Max's ears prick suddenly and felt him tense up. I saw nothing ahead of us, but knew something was there. I had time to spy, as my world span round and I felt Max launch from his hinds again, a cyclist racing up the path towards us, quick and silent. The Gardener saw nothing at all but Max and I lurching towards them at speed, and then The Cob turned on his heels and joined us!

We gathered, we contained, and the very polite cyclist got off his bike, put it to one side, and called out to us, "Are you all right?"

I apologised for turning the air blue with my language, The Gardener explained that our steeds were a couple of great girls' blouses, and we thanked him for standing aside and letting us pass.

Max eyed up the abandoned cycle like it was a great timorous beastie, but got past it, and The Cob followed.

So who needs an army charge for rambunctious behaviour? We provided our own. An adventure with thrills and spills on a sunny June afternoon.

"Same time next week?" asked The Gardener, as we dismounted back at the yard.

"You bet!"

Bring it on, I say. We're up for it!