Nothing at all to do with Flint

These are the new pups: Mabel (top dog) and her sister, Jessie

The Beginning of No-Grass (ie: Winter)

      I'm a pie-bald pony

I'm sure you'll not forget

that I can write short stories 

and use the internet!

Happy Halloween!

I'm not altogether sure where I should put myself:  My head's down and eyes apologetic.  I've broken through that darned fence again and I'm in the most awful trouble.  Two-legs has threatened to bring me inside if I cannot keep myself from getting into mischief.  I don't want to be brought in yet.

My stable is a fine place during no-grass, but at this time of year I'd be missing out on the last of the grass.  Frost covered grass is so sweet on Autumn mornings.  The hay-ring is there, but I'm not alone in thinking that the grass is nicer and I like to indulge.

These cold frosty mornings and bright sun-shinny days are the last celebratory feasts before the onset of the *no-grass famine. Don't get me wrong.  Hayledge and the such keep me content enough (especially with the odd carrot or apple thrown in) but grass is my fodder of choice and my feasting is not yet over.  Better keep myself out of mischief then!

You have your no-grass celebrations too....Halloween!  Starting where all the best parties are to be found (in Ireland!) some 2,000 years a go with  the Celts; the 31st of October was considered the end of the year.  With the on-set of winter and fear of starvation the Celts believed that in order to better their chances of survival a celebration would ward off death.  A feast would be held to honour both their god and their dead. Samhain was the god of the dead and the darkness and to keep his favour a large celebration would be held once the autumn harvest was collected.  During this time the Celts also believed that the dead would wander the land taking unsuspecting souls to Samhain's realm, so to keep them at bay scary "heads" usually made of turnips would stand guard to keep the household safe.


* No-grass is the Flints name for Winter.

Aisling Valentine's Getting Married

Benny, Aisling and me

I'm a pie-bald pony, which means I'm black and white.
I'm the only pony who can read and write.
Here's a photo of my friend Aisling
who's named after a saint
Valintine is her surname
and she loves me without constraint.

Aisling's ridden me quite often
without much success
I give her a fools' pardon
as she falls off me with some finesse!

I'm being a little bit cheeky
and I must apologise.
It's in my nature to be a bit naughty
and overly dramatise!

I know Aisling and her daughter, but not that poor Ian bloke.

He better like spending money and get used to being broke.
They are two special ladies who I rather like,
although Aisling's not much of a rider
and better on a bike!

Aisling

I'm a pie-bald pony and I have news for you.
Aisling's getting married and Ian's to say, "I do".
The crowd will be cheering when the deed is done;
and they will be off to have a life that's lovey
and maybe make another one!

Brave Dartmoor Mare

I felt that you should see this,
though there'll be a tear in your eye.
This is about a brave Dartmoor pony

Vets confirmed that she would have been aware of her failing health

who saved her foal before she died.

I wonder what she taught her before she had to leave;
which plants were good to eat, and which ones to avoid?

Having led her to the owner did she whisper in her ear
"My child this is a place of safety and you have nothing to fear."  


This mare led her newborn foal across Dartmoor to her owners' farm. Vets believe that she was aware of her failing health and fought illness and exhaustion to lead her foal to the care of  Lorraine Chambers.  Now the orphaned foal is being hand-reared by neighbour Charlotte Faulkner of the Dartmoor Hill Pony Association, who said yesterday that it was a remarkable story and the foal is alive today because of the instincts of her mother.

“Both mare and foal would have been out there on the moor for the whole summer and would have been brought off the moor in the annual round-up in October,” she said. “She must have known what would have happened to her foal if she had died so she brought her in.”

Oh dear; I've done it again!

Oh dear, I was eating.
Now I'm getting told off.
Two-legs is puffing; so obviously cross.
I've broke through the fence, which was keeping me safe
away from deep water; a dangerous place.

Called back to the gate, with my hunger suppressed
I reluctantly obeyed, noticing Two-legs was "dressed".
Dressed not for riding, nor dressed to muck-out
Two-legs was dressed in high heels

Dressed to "go out"!

I'm now locked in my stable
where I will come to no harm.
Two-legs is out to a party
and I'm her 5 o'clock alarm!

Happy Hoof and Auntie Elsie

Love x

Imagine being called away from your mid-day snack with nothing but a lead rope to bring you up the hill.  It can prove quite tiring picking your way through the buttercups, searching for the freshest grass shoots!

When this bucket is empty I've got plans for that rose bush!

Well I wasn't at all impressed, but the day got better.  Instead of being stabled for 20 minutes I got brought to the front door of the house.  I thought that I was actually going to be brought in for tea.  The fleeting memory of emptying the fruit bowl on the kitchen table (last year) made my mouth water.  Up the three steps I went and stopped.  Spooking me ever so slightly, a lady stood in my path. She presented me with a delightful thing; possibly the best thing  a pony could ever see.  A bucket!  My pink bucket filled to the top with Happy Hoof, chopped carrots, apple and grapes.  I think I love this lady xxx

PS
I got told-off for pruning the roses.

a cat

Being a cat is a marvelous thing
and my years as a kitten... worth remembering
 I would pounce from the sofa to a more comfortable chair
and be praised for being marvelous
and I would purr, purr, purr.

I'm a pony
: not a puss, but I heard it from a friend x

Stable With a View

"What is she doing to that poor hedge?!"

Neighbourly cow

Nosey cow

                I was watching Twolegs cut holes into the hedge at the front of my stable this morning. She said that she was cutting windows into the hedge so that I could see the world beyond; that I should have a room (stable) with a view! 

Some view! Suppose it lets in a bit more light

I expressed the desire to return to my field, from which the view is 360 and there is the additional bonus of grass aplenty for a poor soul like me to munch on. Indeed the view there is far superior than the one she was attempting to create. She has probably killed the poor unsuspecting hedge with her “butchery”.

Snap-shots of my day

Making kind eyes to the thing I love the most...

"The key to a truely splendid day is to begin with a lovely breakfast.  There's not much that can go wrong in a day if you have a full tummy and sunshine."  ...Flint

...Grapes!

Exhausting work... need a nibble to keep me going!

 "The key to staying on splendid form is to stop for lunch.  Take your time. Don't rush. There's always going to be someone around doing the rushing for you."...Flint

That's no way to ride!

I spy more nibbles!

                                                                                                                                                                 "The key to a splendid evening is spending it  with good company; possibly at the local watering-hole."...Flint

Nearly home.

Dodger the lost foal at Redwings

Dodger the lost foal was found byPolice Horse, 14 year old Jeeves.  Jeeves alerted rescuers to the tiny foal who  had been abandoned (or lost) in a field close his own paddock on Sunday in South  Norfolk.



Redwings are now caring for Dodger and the charity said the foal, estimated to have been less than 48 hours old, was close to death.  Redwings Horse Sanctuary is appealing for the foal's owners to come forward and are concerned for the mare's welfare.

I'm a Pie-bald Pony

Quiet road, but ears at the ready!

I'm a pie-bald pony
I'm short, fat and round
but I possess about me four legs
that reach the ground.
They're not at all uneven
and take me to and fro.
Wherever you will lead me I will always go.



I''m a pie-bald pony
and my character's quite strong.
I'll go where you take me
through fields or traffic throng.
There's not a pony like me

who can read and write.
I'm a pie-bald pony,
which means I'm Black and white.

The first Maytree/Hawthorn buds are out!

The Eight Stages of Horse Riding ... and when to stop!

Flint and his merry mares

Flint

Stage I: Fall off pony. Bounce. Laugh. Climb back on. Continue your ride.

 Stage 2: Fall off horse. Run after your horse. Climb back on. Ride until sunset.

Stage 3: Fall off your horse. Use the sleeve of your shirt to mop up your blood. Apologise to your horse. Mount your sympathetic ride and go home. Take two pain-killers and go riding the next day.


State 4: Fall off your horse. Refuse advice to call ambulance; drive self to A&E. Entertain nursing staff with tales of previous dare-devil stunts on horseback. Back to riding before cast comes off.

Stage 5: Fall off yourhorse. Temporarily forget name of your horse and the name of your husband/wife. Flirt shamelessly with paramedics when they arrive. Spend a week in hospital while the titanium pins are screwed in place. Start riding again before the doctor gives the official "Okay".

Stage 6: Fall off your horse. Fail to see any humor when hunky paramedic says, “You again?” Gain firsthand knowledge of advances in medical technology thanks to stint in ICU. Convince self that permanent limp isn’t that noticeable. Promise husband you’ll give up riding. One week later purchase older, slower, shorter horse.

Stage 7: Fall off your horse. Feel relieved when the artificial joints and implanted medical devices seem unaffected. Tell your other half that the scrapes and bruises are due to a gardening accident. Pretend you don’t see them  roll their eyes and mutter as they walk away. Give the horse an apple.

Stage 8: Go see your horse and momentarily consider riding, but suddenly remember that your arthritis won't let you lift your leg high enough to reach the stirrup; even with the aid of a mounting block! Share a beer with your grateful horse & recall the "good old days".

Ne'er cast a clout till May be out!

Where is the May flower?  It's late!

While I was standing tolerating the traditional Bank Holiday downpour the other day it occurred to me that the seasons seem to have lost their rhythm. There is a distinct lack of good grass growing and there is an abundance of cold wind and rain.

The seasons are simple in the equines world. There is no-grass (autumn and winter) and green-grass (spring and summer) and green-grass is late! Surely the Hawthorn blooms should be filling the air with their scent by now and the grass should be growing so fast that if I failed to eat it on time it would poke me on the nose!

A few weeks ago the sun was shining and the young fillies here were getting over excited . Merrylegs said she couldn't wait for the fresh (spring) grass to grow and to roll about in her dust bath every evening. I told her to hang tail as it would be a mud bath she'd be getting for the Hawthorn bush hadn't bloomed yet. We Gypsy Cobs know the Hawthorn Bush by another name. It's called the May Tree and the flowers themselves are the May. I should know, because I was born in May and I also know you can't expect good grass and good weather 'til the May is out.

You Twolegs think that this old saying is related to the month of May, but that is utter nonsense. You listen to an old Cob. .....“Ne'er cast a clout till May be out!”

T'is an English proverb. And if you're faintly doubting the word of this worldly wise old Cob then you'll find that the earliest citation can be found in a rhyme from a twolegs called Dr. Thomas Fuller, Gnomologia, 1732, although it existed by “word-of-mouth” well before that: i.e. - "Leave not off a Clout Till May be out!” So now you know and I think that the lateness of this flower is a matter of some concern and you should be paying attention to the rhythm of the seasons and the seasons are “out of kilter”.

*NB: We shouldn't be able to miss the the Hawthorn in at this time of year as it is an extremely common tree; especially in hedges. Hawthorns are virtually synonymous with hedges. As many as 200,000 miles of hawthorn hedge were planted in the Parliamentary Enclosure period, between 1750 and 1850. The name “Haw” derives from “hage”; the Old Tongue for “hedge” and it should be displaying it's beautiful flowers by now (in late April/early May). Using that allusion, 'till May is out' could mean, 'until the hawthorn is out [in bloom]'.

Famous Quotes

Flint and his bucket

"There is something aout the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man." - Churchill

"There is something about the sight of a bucket that is good for the inside of a pony." - Flint 

Flint found raspberries one day

It takes all sorts of things to nourish one's soul.  Buckets are my balm.   Buckets and pockets!  Such delightful things come from these wonderous places.  Yes indeedy, this pony knows there's much fodder to be sniffed out and rummaged for on the inside of a bucket or pocket.

    

He knows when you're happy
He knows when you're comfortable
He knows when you're confident
And he always knows when you have carrots!

A twolegs chore is this ponys pleasure

Flint doing a spot of gardening

Stinky Ben thought he might help too

                                                                   With the hour moving forward and the sun shining I thought that I should make an early start this morning and help Twolegs trim the lawn. It's been looking a bit long and ragged and I thought that it would benefit from a trim; gratis from me. Well, one must earn ones' keep!

I have only recently learnt how to unlock the stable door and all who know me know I can open the gate with ease, so out I trot with an eager work ethic to began my gardening duties. Stinky Ben and Sally were delighted to be let out of the yard and headed straight to the latrine area of the lawn.

And so our morning continued uninterrupted until that sneak, Ginger George, woke-up Twolegs. He had crawled through an open window and was swiftly ejected. (Twolegs doesn't let Ginger in any more: not since he gifted a not quite dead mouse to her last week). The gig was up! My gardening duties suspended and a renewed hay net for breakfast. Not bad payment for a mornings work!

The unemployed equine

http://www.crosskennanlane.org.uk/Make-a-Donation.aspx

The Unemployed Equine

You fed us, we listened.

We obeyed your command.

You put us in harness,

and we changed the land.

We helped you grow food and build shelter for all.

You owed us your progress,

thus the Workhorse stood tall.

Much admired by so many our blood-lines bred pure.

We prevailed in your battles

and hardship endured.

We fought close together

and were brave and stood true

We had honour and faith.

The Warhorse held trust in you.

We owed you our progress, our blood-lines and feed.

You bred us to run faster,

thus increasing our speed.

You refined our genetics and crafted our look.

When the Thoroughbred galloped the earth pounded and it shook.

Throughout history we made ourselves useful,

to repay our debt,

but we stopped being useful when in (silently) your technology crept.

Work for a horse is now so scarce and thin on the ground.

We rely on you more,

not the other way round;

so the next time you see a horse in distress,

stop and do something.

Help him out of the mess!”