Back on track?

Max and I have had a couple of good outings over the past couple of days. It makes a nice change from the boring ol' school and boring ol' schooling.

On Sunday, the Gardener was taking her two children out for a ride on Smokey, Max's old field mate. It was to be a sedate wander around the fields, and the Gardener generously suggested that Max and I might want to venture out with them. My plan had been to work him in the jumping paddock a bit and then go for a little roam around the tracks (if I could get him up the lane), but the idea of a change of pace and good company for both of us made a welcome new plan.

We had to change our own plans as we met some men on bikes pegging out markers on trees for a bike orienteering race in the area which we knew nothing about. Cyclists with flapping maps on their handlebars bombing along the bridleways did not bode well, so after a chat with the organisers, we took ourselves off to the fields and out of the way.

Max and Smokey, with the Gardener's son on board, did persuade us that a nice trot up a hill along the edge of one of the fields was a brilliant idea, so we agreed and let them go, leaving the two walkers behind. I kept Max behind Smokey to encourage him to maintain a sedate pace to save my back, but Max had other ideas. He huffed like a steam train, "Canter, canter, canter!" with each forceful exhalation/snort.

Son of Gardener was cool with that, so I eased up on Max and he shot forward into canter, powering up the hill behind Smokey.

I thought about trying to contain him as I felt my back jolt, and then instead, took advice from two sources; one friend, and one father. Friend had suggested I lift myself a little out of the saddle and find my balance there. Father suggested that Max's eagerness to burst free might be his ardent desire to take me for a real ride: "Let's go, mum!"

"Do you trust him?" asked my father. Of course I do. "Then let him give you the ride he wants to."

If Max was a human child, I'd be an over-protective mum. I try to hold him back so I can check the way ahead and be prepared to guide him carefully over any thing that might trip him up or hurt him. I'm also mindful of what a spook at speed could do to my fragile back. On the other hand...

I eased myself up out of the saddle, I gave Max the reins and whispered "Go on, then, young sir!"

"Hurrah!"

A powerful, exhilarating surge of muscle and speed followed. A gleeful Max handily nipped around Smokey's ample bottom and surged past him, mane flying. We took the lead for a few steps and I concentrated on staying relaxed through my legs and arms, I pushed thoughts of spooking and rabbit holes out of my head and I let Max go.

Damp squib moment, really. As soon as Max got the lead, he slowed into a controlled canter, and as we hit the steepest bit of hill, he brought himself down to a trot, then walk, then lots of head nodding and snorting, prancing prettily, like an Arab stallion that had just won the race.

Then we had a spook. Big pigeon it was. The kind of pigeon that, if minded, could lift a pony clean off his hooves and carry him away into the sky. That, finally, tweaked my back, but we carried on. A second spook about five minutes later, and I decided to get off and walk for a bit. We carried on thus, I eventually mounted up again for the final leg home, and arrived back at the yard pretty pleased with Max's behaviour and my own.

Today we went out in proper summer weather. Hot sunshine has been absent in this neck of the woods for a good few weeks, but it came on with a vengeance today.

We rode out with the retired Hunter, and his rider, my friend, the Baker. A sedate, shade seeking hack was what we were after, but again, Max had other ideas. We had some great trotting, a few good canters, again with me lifted out of the saddle to spare my spine, and again, a bit of an argument over easing up and just letting Max worry about the path ahead. As soon as I let him him have his head, he got himself in the lead, gave a satisfied snort, then back to a smooth trot.

There is no doubt in my mind that Max enjoys a hack out. You can see it all over his face, and I can feel it in him, too. Today was exceptional, one of the days where he feels completely relaxed and at ease. I think this is partly because the Hunter is such a steady old hand. Max respects his authoritative presence and feels safe in it; safe to cower behind him when it's a bit scary, and safe to be brave and lead when he knows Hunter is bringing up the rear.

This is mirrored by my own ease chatting away to the Baker, and trusting her as a steady hacking partner (in much the same way Max feels at ease with the Hunter). My comfortable way channels through to Max, so it conjures an easy vibe around us to hack through.

No bad behaviour to speak of, except Max's determination to snatch at the "fat hen" plants that are lining the bridleways at the moment. No, I don't know why they're called "fat hen" but the Baker assures me that is what they are called. They're everywhere at the moment, and Max can't get enough! His grass reins keep him from getting his head down, but nothing can stop him from these shoulder high delicacies that are easily snatched.

He is so determined about them, taking me off into the hedges, much to my annoyance.

"Max, that's enough now! Walk on sir, and look sharp! We're working!"

"Phtt!" Max got his head down as far as he could and went into a stiff legged trot.

This is a classic "eating evasion" with Max. He learned it in hand with The Ent, and once he figured out it was an effective tactic to get round the Ent, he plays it at every opportunity, with me as well, in hand, and under saddle.

Very hard to be cross with Max when I'm laughing.

"You cheeky monkey!" I admonished, looking down at Max with a gob full of fat hen.

"He wants what he wants," I explained to the Baker, "and he will have it. He's never mean or spiteful, but bags of sheer determination!"

"You're a good match then," said the Baker with a smirk. "Where do you think he gets it from?"

Post script: Just looked up "fat hen". It is from the spinach and beet family. The name, as I suspected, comes from its perceived value as a feed for poultry. Latin name: Chenopodium album (google was my friend) (I hope).