Horses lend us the wings we lack – Pam Brown 1928 (I can’t find anything about her, who she is, nothing, but I know she said it because t’net says so.)

Jo came round yesterday with one of the last of the bales.  We are onto last year’s batch now.  Even though they are not perfect some bits are useable.  The curate’s egg of a silage bale.

We, ok, Jo, went through it with a pitchfork and got rid of the fusty bits and dumped them onto the compost.  The inside is perfectly fine.  Fust is dangerous

Everyone was let into the school.  Some dallied.

There is always a hopeful tail-end Charlie or Taktur, as he is known to his friends.  He was loitering about because he wanted his speshul working stallion grub.

I explained to him that I couldn’t feed him while everyone was around as there would be a huge fight.  This, he understood so he went and stood tidily by his tied-up friends (Klængur, Iacs and Haakon) because that is the type of perfect boy he is.  He understands everything.

Jo and Fiona did some brushing, tacking up and generally getting the three boys ready to ride with the help and assistance of everyone else.

Birds of a feather, and all that…. so many “strawberry blondes”  *** cough, ginger, cough ***  in one room.

An Eviction Notice was served on the fat, the small and the useless and they pootled off back to their field.

There was a small diversion en route.  Father and son of single mind and thought.  Ahem!

Taktur had his grub while we went out for a ride and now I am finally getting to the whole point of this blog.

Horses lend me the wings I lack.

I can ride for a brief 60 minutes without hurting.  Why can no one understand?  We walked, we tölted, we cantered, we laughed and we chatted.  That one hour’s pleasure made up for the grot I have all day every day.

An L4 prolapse is called The King of Pain and OMFG, that is so true.  But when I ride, I have wings albeit briefly, and I completely forget all about my pain and the restrictions that go with it. Everything miraculously disappears and I am allowed out of my cage.   Once I dismount, and am back on my feet, the pain-bomb starts ticking again – my feet become numb and “fizzy” and then the agony begins to creep up my legs like poison.

Anywho, we had a great ride.  We gave the horses a token gesture feed to say thank you and threw them out into their field.

Iacs got only water because we hate him most and Daisy was not around to feed him his extra special hand-peeled grapes (that might not be true, btw).

The post arrived.  I am on the list for an L4/L5 microdiscectomy. 8 weeks of waiting now.

The Egg Shop has been resurrected.  From the road, it looks like this….

In the box, you will see this set up.  Please don’t worry about not having the right money as there is a change tin.  

The view from the road going toward Walls is like this.  Ample parking provided just beside the cattle grid by the gate so no need to worry about having your car smashed into while you are buying eggs.

And if you look, ladies and gentlemen, to your east-south-east (I think), you will see Foula. Pretty, innit? Out of interest, do you have view like that from your egg shop? Just askin’ [insert smug grin].

Anywho, the eggs are a variety from the mish-mash of hens that make up the Thordale flock.

I can guarantee they taste delicious and we try to put a blue one in each half dozen.

I recommend serving your egg in a Dalek with a horn spoon.  I was told, at an early age that a horn spoon was the only way to eat a boiled egg.

The girls are fed on mixed grains and Taktur’s horsefeed, when they can steal it (that war is so ain’t over).

Only the best for les girls now as they have work to do.  Here are a few family photos so you know where your eggs are coming from.  All free range and they can go for miles (and do).  I sometimes see them in the scattald – Shetland open hill.  I wonder what the Hill Committee’s policy is on chickens in the hill?

Anyway, is it just me or does anyone think some chickens look like school teachers, we have known?

And one of the boy – because he does make a huge effort. He loves his ladies and he loathes BeAnne and that is another war that ain’t over too.

I took out my Darth Vader of a camera (Canon EOS-1D Mark IV) on my walk today with a lens I rarely use (Canon EF 180mm F3.5L Macro USM).

A friend told me to stop bending down so much to take my photos on walks so I thought this new arrangement might help me to achieve this.  It didn’t but I did try.  I saw my usual walk through a different lens really.

It was a nice, if wobbly, walk.  My balance is going now so I doddered along having lost the art of walking in a straight line concentrating on the upright position.  I came across the most beautiful plant in the world. I have no idea what it was or will be but it was magical, none the less.

There is some Shetland saying about when the oil is rising in the soil, then you can cut your peats in the hill (I could’ve made this up btw).  This is definitely oil from the soil and not from any pollution..

I met some sheep, I saw some wool.  I wandered on down the road trying to concentrate on the walking bit rather than being distracted and taking photographs.

I failed on that front.  The world around me was far more beautiful.

So, I wobbled home to my boys.  This lens only makes Hammy look amazing.

  

Everyone else comes out rather average imho when I know how beautiful they are in real life.

It is a Macro lens so it is close-ups or nothing (the statutory fuzzy bottooooom)

I do like this lens. I always forget I have it but I might drag it out again if only to take photos of that amazing plant which I have no idea what it is.  I think those are about to be flying seeds though. Are they fistles?  Haakon would be very happy if they are fistles.

My tussocks, I forgot my tussocks!

I

 

 

Most odd.  I wrote this on my Facebook page this morning.

A few hours later, I went and tacked up my old horse, Haakon.

I’ve had him since he was 3 years old (19 now).  He failed his vetting all those years back, as he refused to stand on more than two legs and the vet couldn’t get near him, despite many attempts.  A little voice inside told me to keep him so I did.

I’ve just bought a new-to-him Black Country Frelsi saddle which fits him beautifully.  I am very pleased with it.  Of good quality and it is very comfortable.

I finally remembered to attach my Point Two air vest saddle attachment thingy.  I have been using the fall-down D ring which was not ideal but would’ve worked in an emergency.

These are the two main reasons why I love Haakon – his black tipped ears…

and his two-tone mane (the envy of any committed chav).

Haakon has always been an aloof kinda guy.  He doesn’t like fuss and hugs.  Never has, but every so often, he shuts his eyes and has a little snooze in my arms.  Then he suddenly stops, looks round and hopes no one has seen this.  (This is his snooze face – his head is very heavy in my arm while the other one is trying to take the pic!)

The minute he is tacked up, Haakon always wanders off to stand in the middle of the school.

He never rolls – he wouldn’t dream of it and I trust him not to – he doesn’t do anything. He just wants to go and stand over there.  He has done this all his life (15 years ridden).  Most odd.  At this stage, I can go off to the loo, get my hat, put on exploding safety gilet, hi-viz coat and change my boots.

BeAnne has her “BeAnne-kini” put on.  She sulks a bit but then remembers it is the only way she is going to come out with us.  No hi-viz, no walk. Thems are the rules.

So, now I am ready. And off we go to my “mounting block”.

Well, I say mounting block, what I actually mean is I ask Haakon to stand in an old tractor rut in the hill that, over the years, has become a stream. We have had no rain for many weeks so everything has dried up.  Haakon always knows he has to stand there.  Those few extra inches for me make it much easier to mount.  He is a good boy. He never walks off mid-mount.  He would get a bollocking for that.  “Stand and I mean it” means just that.

So I clamber elegantly on, don’t bother with the reins and spend the next few minutes trying to clip myself onto the saddle while Haakon negotiates the hill.

BeAnne is waiting for us to join her and Haakon can work out where to safely put his feet while I sort myself out.

And off we go.  The hill sheep on the left will run away because they are all mad but Haakon and BeAnne take absolutely no notice of them.  Irritating woolly maggots really that are only nice with mint sauce, redcurrant jelly and roast tatties imho.

BeAnne walks beside us on the road.  It is a single track road and she knows the drill.

If a car is approaching, we will occupy our space on the road until we get to a passing place or flat ground.  Too many drivers around here don’t think horses should be allowed on the road.  Then BeAnne will sit beside Haakon and we wait until the car passes.  She is a good girl.

And so we pottered.

On buckle end.

I said “can we stop for a photograph, please?” so Haakon did.  No reins, no aids, just stopped.

I wonder how he knows? Did he read my Facebook status? Does he read my mind?