Slimmer ponies, cooler weather

Although Jack and Frankie are far from slim overall, they have dropped some early summer blubber and Jack in particular looks fantastic; shiny, sleek and bright eyed. Frankie has rubbed his mane - a change from his usual tail rubbing of the summer. His hair is so thick that rubbing tea tree or medicated lotion morning and night doesn't provide enough relief for his beastly mane. He's happy, nevertheless and whickers at us as we cross the completely-run-dry stream to see him. I don't like to give in to his arrogance, so I don't go up to him straightaway. Mum walks past him and he noses out at her in case of treats, but there are none. I adopt my usual pose: a crouch a few metres away from him. This usually gets his interest, but not this time. Fine. I walk past, just inches from him, so he can't nose at me, although he half tries. Finally he gives in and curls round to follow me as I walk past him. I win. I give him a face rub under his huge forelock, check his ears for horrible flies and run my hand down his neck, over his back and quarters. All Frankie wants to do is mouth my hands, groom on my shoulder, burgle my pockets. For about 20 seconds anyway. Mum has walked up the hill to open the gate to the top paddock, and Luke and Jack in the other field have started to head over the dry stream bed for the promise of grass! and more grass! in the new section. Frankie loses interest in me and heads over. They all walk up to the steep bank and then effortlessly propel into canter for 3 or 4 leaps until they are at the top, and then brake back down to walk and graze mode once through the gate.

We spend the early afternoon, Mum and I, picking ragwort and other blown debris from the road - I hate litterbugs - off of the field as the boys graze around us.

After lunch, we try our new western saddle on Frankie with the bosal, but the seat is rather small - I think it may be a kids or breaking saddle? - for my seat, so I swap to my eventing saddle and a bridle with a bit - nathe dutch gag on middle ring - as I decide to head out for an explore. In my mind, I've had an idea that if the fields up by the village are still stubbled, we might go for a canter...I don't tell Mum this, but I say we're going up to see the cows/sheep etc. She tells me to watch out for the geese. Wise advice, as a flock take off out of the field next to the road and Frankie stops still, quivering, to watch these odd flying things appear from nowhere. He whinnies loud and high pitched as we head down the road, and he wants to turn back, yet he is fascinated by just about everything. As we get to the junction to head off to the field, a large tractor is rumbling towards us. I trust Frankie, but he's up on his toes anyway, so we turn around and go sit on the verge on the other side of the road until the tractor passes. The driver says thanks and we head on. In a couple of strides, he notices the green plastic-wrapped silage in a field. This elicits another fit of snorting and dancing. I pretty much talk nonstop to him, so i talk him through this and we finally get past, without me ending up in a ditch. result. We head past some cows and more geese and I can see the stubble field round the corner.

Being sensible, we walk in to scope out the ground and associated beasties. We startle three pheasants and two hares and spot no rabbit holes, which is GOOD. When we reach the top of the tractor track, I nudge him into a trot and we loop some circles on each rein, then we do the same in canter. He's pretty tense, but I want him a little warmed-up. I bring him back to walk, head to the start of the track and tell him: go on then! he needs no further encouragement so I crouch low over his neck, listening to the hoofbeats and trying to use his flying half-mane as a windbreak, which is buffeting my face hard. We pull up gently, and walk back to do it all again. There's a golden tinge to the sky and a light rain, despite the sun, which has brewed a large rainbow to the east. The cattle are rucking to be fed in the field next door as we bounce down the track and once we've gone far enough, I let Frankie turn and run hard for home again. I can see his white feet kicking up dirt with each stride and I can feel him stretching to go as fast as he can for me, and for his own enjoyment. It's over all too soon, but i'm not going to push it. We brake gradually and wobble to a jog. Frankie is mouthing the bit, striding out, going up into his bridle and right up on his toes. We show-walk most of the way back to the main road, not even noticing the scary horse-eating silage bales and I admire our shadow as we head back, remembering when we did this for show. It takes most of the way back for him to chill out and accept the loose rein. I love this horse. Adore him. He just wants his rain sheet on, his night time hay and to relax with his buddies. I can't stop smiling, even when Mum asks mock sternly where we've been.