Never mind the llamas

Mother sent word that I mustn’t talk to the Llamas. She says that they’d spit at you as soon as look at you. I have to agree. I was terrified when I first met them. My Two-legs couldn’t get me past those scary beasties for along time. The buckets of carrots where a great incentive to be brave, but really it was the knowledge that the llamas were behind a fence that kept me soldiering on. If they're behind the fence it's safe to walk on. I have tried explaining this to Chester Clydesdale, but he is having none of it. He’s a big boy, tho’ he claims he’s the smallest one he’s ever met!  He says that he and his Two-legs are never going past the llamas. Never. We’ll see. I know that the Two-legs has a plan. Mine told me that there is going to be a huge hack-out past them some time soon, to get him over his fear.   

What animal has more "hands" than feet?

"Don't Blame me for these!"

What animal has more "hands" than feet?                                          
Why, a horse, of course!    

What type of story is best for a horse?
A tale of WHOA!
                 

When do vampires like horse racing?                                                                                  
When it's neck and neck!

They're awful arn't they?                                 

Never look a gift horse in the mouth!

The next time someone offers you something, with the intention of that something doing you some good, keep your mouth firmly shut! Life’s experience has taught me this is a rule worth sticking to.

Two-legs came to collect me today, promising  me something tasty and she said that it would do me some good.  "Fair enough." says I to myself…"Lead the way McDuff!" (Actually she does descend from the Clan McDuff! Funny thing that).  Anyways, we got to my stable and in I goes for a bucket of my tasty delights only to find my bucket bare.  In the name of Pegasus! What confounded  sub-diffusion was this? No grub in my bucket, after all that slathering (slobbering) I was doing at the thought of it! Humph!

The next thing I know, before I could get over the sight of the empty bucket, was a mouthful of worming cream! That stuff is the foulest thing ever to go in an equine’s mouth, and all she could do was laugh at the effrontery of it all. How and ever she did indeed present me with my bucket of pony nuts, which prevented me from kicking her into next week.

Clouds and worming treatments do indeed have a silver lining x

Seasons

I know that it is still No Grass (Winter), but I swore that I seen some new shoots of grass this morning. There are two Seasons in an equine’s year. “Green Grass” and “No Grass”. The Americans call “No Grass”  “Hay Time”, but sure they would have to be different. I’m hoping the Two-legs don’t notice the new shoots for a while, for when Green Grass begins my Two-legs puts a muzzle on me “for my own good!” She says that I am too greedy and I will get laminitis. I’ve never had laminitis in my life! The cheek! I am not greedy. I am hungry… and I am hungry a lot!

Lost Stuff

Two-legs isn’t in the best of moods. She’s snorting on about her mobile ‘phone being lost. She asked me if I ate it! She says she wouldn’t put it past me, for I’d “eat the lamb of God”. Silly Mare. I’m a vegetarian! She’s putting me into a right strop. I wish she’d be quiet.

Two-legs thinks she’s awful clever, with her mobile ‘phone and her laptop and her Royal Mail. She assumes that we Equines, who have been on this planet longer than the Two-legs, have no Communications.  She may well have electronical devices and pens and paper, but we horses and ponies have crows. Does she think a mare forsakes her foal when he leaves for pastures new? Does she not think that if I didn’t get in touch with my mother, on a regular basis, that there wouldn’t be hell to pay? 

The crows are wonderful at carrying messages. They’re very nosey, so the only payment they need is knowledge about other creature’s business. You can hear them squawking everyone’s business most evenings. It’s particularly busy during Green Grass, what with all the news about newborns.  We’re kept up-to-date with all the “goings-on”.

The geese take charge of messages that travel over-seas. They gather up just before No Grass (Winter), asking us to gather our thoughts and put messages together for them to take to our loved ones, or at least so they can tell a crow in another country to pass on our salutations.  T’is a grand partnership that has taken millennia to forge and it is no trouble at all to communicate with our American cousins. Sure, didn’t we all know about America before you did?

I feel all the better for the rant! I think I’ll take M…Fancy for a drink this evening. The river’s a nice spot.

What a Wednesday!

I’ll tell you something that’ll spook you, for it nearly put me off my hay. Do you know that fine mare that I’ve been telling you about recently? Molly! Well she’s not Molly at all! No. She is quiet and  not much for conversation, but you’d think she’d have the decency to tell a man her name, if he’d got it wrong. But no. She's had the chance to put me wise all Green Grass (Summer) and she hasn't. Here’s me, finding myself admiring her and all the time the wrong name’s going around in my head! I don't think even a good hay-net could settle me! It’s Zabi I’m blaming. You see it was Zabi, who I’d quizzed when she came into the field last Green Grass. I asked him who the fine looking mare in the corner was and he replied, “Molly”. So there I’ve been; admiring the ears on the head of someone who’s not the someone who's ears  match the name.   In the name of Pegasus!  

My Molly is now Fancy.  Indeed, Fancy by name and fancy by nature. Beautiful ears. And at least we know something that is true. Zabi has a soft spot for Molly.

Me and Fancy and Molly

To Chew, or not to Chew on Tuesday

Tuesday

There was no sign of Two-legs at all today. She’d took herself off somewhere in that vehicle of hers. The blue one. I would have starved to half the size of a something small if it wasn’t for those Two-legs who bring the haylage every day. They’re very good, those folk. They bring us all the haylage we can eat and then they leave us alone to enjoy it; without all those "humany" cuddles and pats and the such. When there’s food to be ate don’t faff CHEW!

That male Two-legs, on the Quad thing, is a marvel with the gate.  He’s awfully good with it. I watch him and I watch him, to see how he does it. Opening and closing it and the gate never swings out of control, or rushes at him in any way.  We horses have all gathered around this gate from time to time and thought of ways to push past it. There’s often been great discussion on how best to get through.  Young Ali G G thought that if we all leaned into the gate it would back down and let us past, but to no avail. After much thought and many attempts I decided that it was best for the gate to stay standing, keeping us in…and more importantly, keeping things out! It is a fine border check-point. No-one enters our place by any other means. It’s the point where we see all who approach. We can stand guard over it at dawn and dusk, and when all is safe and the afternoon sun is high in the sky we can leave it and graze in the knowledge that no wolf, tiger or bear can enter. It’s best to give the herd a "Bogie-man" to think about in order to keep them safe.  It's not good to go through the gate without a Two-legs to tell you when it’s safe to do so.

There’s no need to go anywhere anyhow. Sure isn’t this a grand place we’re in? Fresh running water, fine grass and when there’s no grass worth talking about don’t the Two–legs bring us fine haylage?

I could open that gate if I truly put my mind to it. I am sure of it.  I am quite good at opening the odd stable door and electric fences are a cinch, but that gate is best left alone.  Saying that, that Trinity one managed her gate just before Christmas last year. She had my Two-legs racing up the road with MY bucket of eatables and a lead-rope to coax her back in. I think it’s the rope around the gate that's keeping us in. Not the gate itself.

Monday's Meal for Two

Monday

Molly asked if she could share my haylage with me this morning. Naturally, considering her condition, I obliged. Well, what else was a fellow to say? I have everyone’s’ best interest at heart you know. Now, there wasn’t any chat out of her. Not at all. Not like that Audrey one, who never lets her tongue settle in her mouth for long. No, Molly went about the business of chewing quietly. She has beautiful ears, young Molly, and a fine muzzle. The jaw line protrudes a bit, but on the whole she possesses a pleasing face. She caught me watching her a few times and still said nothing. Beautiful ears. Quite delicate. Very quiet.

Just a quick PS! Two-legs wants me to pass on her "Thanks" for all the feed back and to tell you to ignore the "Follow" button for now. She's not got to grips with it yet!  One of you lot should tell her, if you know.  This one's not as technical-minded as she thinks!

Sundays Nudity! Western Style

Sunday

We went off for a short hack this morning. Well, I say this morning. It was more like the middle of the day. Not that a poor pony, with no watch, would know if it was the afternoon because Two-legs collected me from the field in her pajamas. I didn’t know where to put myself in front of the herd. AND she calls me a disgrace! Sure she hadn’t even the decency to comb that short mane of hers. Audrey sniggered at the sight of her and Zabie (my true friend) felt for me.  Not content with disgracing me in front of the herd, Two-legs offered Zabie one of my grapes and the blighter took it and then, realizing his error stopped chewing, glanced at my wicked face and promptly spat it out. He said it felt funny in his mouth. Hmph!

I very nearly didn’t take the grape she offered me!

I was glad that I chose not to huff. Two-legs took me into the stable and gave me a bit of a brushing. Obviously there was a bucket to empty, so I stood quite still and concentrated on diminishing its contents while she brushed the dirt out of my winter coat. She takes great delight brushing me and in admiring my feathers.

Taffy (and Jill) joined us for the hack, but poor Taffy came in the nude. No saddle! It was something to do with the saddle being too heavy for his Two-legs.  I wonder does she think she has to put it on herself. Surely not!  If Taffy would just stop pretending to be a Cow horse, with that Western Saddle, there would be no trouble with his Tack and who should wear it. He didn’t care that he was out with no saddle. He said it felt nice a free and nothing pinched. He told me that he was playing with the idea of throwing his Two-legs onto the ground. Played with it. Didn’t do it.  He’s fond of his Two-legs. I’ve played with the idea myself a few times. Only if someone I’m not used to gets on my back and thinks that they can make an old Cob move a bit quicker.  I’d never really try to put a Two-legs off. Just a quick buck or two to remind them to have manners with the Bit. I certainly would never do it to a Whaa. I live by The Code. They are only wee and they need looking after, those Whaas.

Anyway, our Two-legs did the usual thing and talked a lot and forgot that they were riding.  I hoped my Two-legs wouldn’t notice when I turned around and headed for home. She did, so I didn’t. I was made to walk on.  Sally, the old collie, followed us. She’s getting on a bit, but she kept up with our pace and trotted along behind us. She even made those awful black sheep stay away from Taffy and me. I don’t mind the white sheep. It’s the black ones you have to watch. Apparently every family has one and they’re bad news. There’s a tip for you. Keep an eye out for Black sheep.

Flint's Views from his Field

Monday

Hello and are you well?  I do hope so.  My name's Flint. Fourteen two and in fine fettle.  I’m a pie-bald Irish Cob, or Gypsy Cob if you’d prefer. The lineage is doubtful, but the pedigree's there in my colours and my character.  Me and my "Two-legs" have a great friendship, she can read my every thought and mood and with the powers of telepathy you can do so too.  She says I’m too fat, but she'd do well to look in the mirror herself, as she's no twig herself. She's more of a Yule Log with good burning in it. Anyway, she's here with her camera and sketch book again looking at me like she's undecided. I don’t know if she’s going to cuddle me or kiss me.  I'm not really up for either of these human forms of greeting, but there's always an apple, or a carrot, in it for me if I nuzzle.

Two-legs tells me that if I had a human voice I'd sound like Terry Wogan. I am not so sure. I do know that he is Irish, but that mane of his looks worrying. It looks like it's a good place for some sweet-itch to start. 

T’is cold weather we're having! I often hear you Two-legs say that to each other. It seems to be the precursor for real conversation. Not that this is what you'd call a conversation. It's telepathy between a Cob and a Two-leg.  I'm going to get it over with so I can get back to tucking into my hayledge.  Now it's no secret that I am the boss around here. Those young Geldings, Ali G and Fawlty, are taller (17 2) and very fast on their hoofs, but they knows it's me who gets first Tuck. If they had the courage to stand their ground we'd see the back of each others hooves and then there'd be a row, so it's best they heed my ears and make way.

The grass, they say is greener on the other side of the fence. It isn't; and when it is, my Two-legs sticks a muzzle on my affronted face! It's due to that weight issue again. Look! I'm never going to be a svelte Thoroughbred. I am built for comfort and this here celtic climate. There's no need to waste haylege money on fancy turnouts and warm stables on me. Tho' there is a warm stable here, which I never get to see the inside of. Not cold enough yet! How cold does it have to get? It was  -26 and I was stuck out here counting the stars and watching the grass freeze under my hooves. It's wet and windy weather she's waiting for, before I get a bucket of oats and chaff and a soft bed for the night.

I’m away now, for I’m putting myself in a temper and that Zabi (Arab Gelding) is inching towards my hayledge, thinking that I don't have eyes on the side of my face!!

Tuesday
My Two-legs has brought me grapes. Now, I am partial to a grape or two. The black boy in the next paddock isn't so keen. His name's Zebedee and the clue to his nature is in his name. He's a gentle chap. I’m quite fond of him you know, but it's hard to keep up with his long legs on a hack, and the journey home…. I'd sooner go home on my own. He's out in front doing the prancing crab thing. It would look well in a dressage school, but not on The Spittal. That's the name of the road that leads home. Funny name. I wonder where it comes from. Anyways, the Two-legs is here and she’s brought a head collar along with those grapes. Head down. She's shorter than me so the head has to come down to let her buckle it on. I wonder where we're going. A hack perhaps? A bucket of eatables and a brushing maybe?

It's a bucket!

Apparently I'm a disgrace! Sure look at her and that stupid hat! It is neither on her or warming her, but at least there's this bucket to console me. Don't pull at my mane and don't get that comb stuck! A disgrace am I? CHEEK! I was a disgrace last spring. I'd been ignored for so long that every bramble in the field was residing in my mane. Then the comb got stuck and the orange kitchen scissors came out of the box and nearly sent me on a canter down the road. They were so orange! It took a good full year to look like myself again. And I'm still not right!

Wednesday

Audrey's left me. She's over there chewing with young Fawlty. She's bored with me she says. I'm old and slow and no fun. She thinks Fawlty’s the bees’ knees and full of the joys of life. Fawlty’s all chuffed with himself because of it. Ears pert. Head up, looking important and not quite sure what to do with it all. She'll be back!

Here comes my Two-legs. She's got the head collar and lead rope with her.   I am not moving unless there's a morsel of something tasty in her pocket. "Flinty!  Come here pork-pie". she's shouting.  Pork pie!?! Is she off her legs? Pork pie! Me? I'm the shape God, and his grass, made me. Fine Fellow, that's what I am. A pork pie will not traipse along then old roads with no shoes on.  (Where is that farrier?) OHH LOOK! There's her hand going into her pocket. GRAPES! Oh here, I canny hold me self back form the thought of a grape.  Coming!
 

Thursday
Ah it was a grand day yesterday. Two legs is not a bad soul. I got to the stable and she’d a bucket of the finest pony nuts I've tasted in a long time. It had been a long time, but no matter. I got my grub and a good brushing. She tells me that I always look a disgrace.  I'm only a "disgrace" 'cause she has me that way. If she spent less time with her paints and her young Whaa she'd have me looking lovely.  The young Whaa wasn't there yesterday. It was just me, Two-legs and the dogs. Dogs are funny aren’t they? Four legs, mostly.  A tail to be proud of, but they have far far too much energy to stay healthy for long.   You never see a 30 year old dog now, do you?

The farrier came today. Nice chap. Full of confidence and soft natured. I feel comfortable with him. I do what I'm told and he leaves my hooves looking marvelous. I always feel better when my hooves are done. Two-legs called it my New Shoes Day. It makes her strangely too happy. I think it's something she feels she's sharing with me. "Look flint. NEW Shoes!" she says to me cuddling my neck. “New shoes aren’t they lovely?”  They're not new. There the ones he took off me in December.  He's just put them back on because they're not worn out. Hardly cause for such jubilation.

I'm not sure were to put myself when the dogs start chewing on my clippings. It's disconcerting for a fellow when they’re trimming your hooves and throwing the off-cuts to the dogs, who are delighted with the taste. I hope it doesn't give them ideas about chewing on the rest of me! I don’t think that they would...chew. Best not to ponder.

Friday
Two-legs call us The Happy Hackers. Sounds nice enough. You’d never think that it would be grounds for a row. Taffy got his tummy in a knot over me pass-remarking this to him yesterday. Taffy said it was his Two-legs who thought the name up. Was he calling me a liar? I was only filling in the time with a chat, while our Two-legs pockeld (messed) about with their hats. He got into a right strop about it. He even stopped chewing on his hay-net to pin his ears back at me.  Grumpy old man!  The mood fell from there.

My Two-legs and his like to chat. They often seem to forget they're supposed to be telling us where to go. Isn't that why they've reins in their hands?! Just as well we horses know the roads so well. 

The Happy Hack was in silence. Taffy wouldn't talk to me. He spent the whole hack bumping into me (accidently on purpose) and looking everywhere except where he was going. He stumbled more than once! I didn't like to mention it to him, incase he made a go for my neck. Grumpy Fart Bum!

I’ve got a rug on me today. Two-legs says there’s bad weather coming so it will stay on me for a while.

Audrey's back. Nothing like an old fiddle to play a fine tune

Saturday

Well, there she is, standing feet apart bracing herself against a Scottish breeze amoshing me to stand still. She should try standing still, freezing her tail off. If she had a tail she would not be asking me to pose in front of that confabulation she has in her hands. It's for a painting she tells me. Indeed and some painting that'll be with the wind and the rain. Ears back, I fixed her my steeliest glare and she laughed out aloud. That spooked me, I can tell you. She canny take a hint this Two-legs of mine. Laughing at the meanest face in Lanarkshire.  Fool's pardon!

She’s put her hand in her pocket. EARS UP! Interested! What treasures are about to be bestowed on me? A green grape? An orange carrot? ... A white what?!  She's going to eat it herself the MARE! What is she doing? Blowing her nose, she tells me. Sensing my disappointment, the other pocket is dipped into and out comes a polo mint! How splendid! The day's a good one when there's polo in your mouth. Makes one's lip curl in pleasure with the smell and it querley (greatly) clears the sinus. Not having the benefit of a hanky to hoof.  She's going to paint me and put me on display somewhere in London soon. At least that is what she hopes. I'm hoping there's another polo in that pocket of hers!


There's talk of a foal or two in the spring. Captain America covered that new Quarter horse, Molly. She doesn't talk much. Zabi says she's moody.  Zabi would be right. A fine fellow is our Zabi. None too pretty, but decent enough.  He doesn't get out much. I could be doing with getting out a bit more often.  My Two-legs is a “fair weather rider”!

Sure won’t these foals be the cause of some excitement when they come. All the Two-legs will be running about in a sweat with their confabulations. Do you know, if they hadn't have doctored me there'd be manys a fine foal with my smile on his face around here. Indeed, I am very popular with the ladies. That Thoroughbred, Audrey, won't let me be. She'd be mine for the taking if only I had the notion to take. The spirit is there. Even in the absence of my vitals!