Last night, our trainer Bjørn told us that Christina Lund had sailed all the way from Norway to Shetland to surprise him. This is the same Christina Lund who won a silver medal at the World Championships in the four-gait class on her stallion Lukku-Blesi frá Selfossi. An incredible achievement.

Today, she asked if she could visit Thordale to take a look at Efstur since she previously owned his mother (Brá) and owns his father, Alfur frá Selfossi.

We caught Efstur and asked Bjørn to free lunge him round the school so we could see his movements.

Efstur is three years old and is currently going through his awkward stages in conformation but it is interesting to see how his gaits are developing.

He showed a very nice trot and there is no doubt that tölt is there.

Christina said he is most definitely five-gaited. His canter was pacey but it was hard for him to find his balance in the school. He even threw in a couple of bunny hops which were very funny.

So all is good.

Another Thordale youngster doing well.

And then we put Efstur back into his field to join his friends who watched on in disbelief that anyone thought he might be remotely interesting!

So ya boo sucks to you guys.  Efstur is five-gaited.  Tis official.  So there!

I hate ragwort and, if I can, I try to delegate the chore of removing it from the fields to anyone who offers.

Today I joined Daisy and did as much as my back would let me, which was two bin-bags’ worth.

Ragwort (Senecio jacobaea), for those that have not come across this vile (though pretty) plant, grows in our fields.  It tastes bitter to horses while it is growing but is more palatable when it has died back and that is where the problems start.  The toxic effect from eating it builds up over time, causing irreparable damage to the liver of livestock – horses, cows, sheep, even chickens.

I know ragwort pretty and I know bees love the flowers but they will just have to love all the others that grow in the field instead because our ragwort must be pulled up, bagged and then burnt.

After my two bags’ worth, I gave up, grabbed my camera and took some photos instead.

I always love dear Vitamin’s triangular shape.  She is an old lady, after all, who has had quite a few foals.

Newt was trying to take a chunk out of Tiddles.  He was in one of those moods.

Fivla found a special pile of grass which she just had to have.

Is this the monster from the deep or Waffle?

Storm is still not talking to me.

The Reformed Newt again. He is beginning to grow his winter yak fur.

Meanwhile, Daisy was still doing sterling work and yes, she did fall in the stream.  I asked her if she had, she said no, and then fell in!  Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it.  She was jinxed.

No one laughed – well, not much!

This afternoon was perfect for going over to the Minions’ field to rasp the last of the feet.

I started with Albie who was a very good boy.

He stayed tied up, not bothering to mention that everyone else had galloped off.  I brushed his mane and tail and rasped all four hooves.  Afterwards we walked down to the next field to find his friends.

Now in the next field, I swiftly caught Silver who not helpful.

Some days are better than others with Silver.  He is an enigmatic chap and sadly we did have a discussion about picking up back hooves nicely.  I made my point – he didn’t put up too much of a fight and behaved.

Third on my list was Newt. He hates having his hooves trimmed.  It is usually a four-man-rugby-tackle-jobby.  Today, however, I had The Reformed Newt (possibly now the name of a gastro-pub somewhere in East Anglia).

He was a delight, picking up his little hoofs one at a time for me to trim without argument, biting or kicking out.  There was a nose-kissey for every hoof rasped and a big hug at the end.

And lastly, Storm.

It did not go well but I did win.  Four hooves are now rasped to my satisfaction and his mane and tail brushed.  Someone was shouted at for refushing to keep their hooves on the stand and then wearing the stand.  He knows better and I was cross.

Anyway, we made our peace and I left him scrushling through the equipment, picking it up and putting it down, muttering to himself.

Daisy had finished picking ragwort from the next field so we opened the gate and shouted for everyone to come through.

We left them eating themselves to a standstill.  My back hurts but my Painpod is working overtime now doing much good.

What is the plural for doofus?

Doofusses, doofi, doofæ, dooferi, dooferetti?

I need to know because here are two of this breed.

Today Dreki and Efstur were wicked and I am cross with them.  As you can see, on the right BeAnne has appeared in their field.  She follows me everywhere and I stupidly didn’t think when I went into the field that she would appear.  She usually knows here own limitations and is very aware of her safety.

But today she came too so I shouted “go home” and of course she didn’t quickly enough, obedience not being her strength.

So then I prayed to all the Gods that the Doofi would not notice BeAnne in their field, my heart sinking knowing full well what could happen.

The boys, realising something was going on which they could possibly make worse, followed my gaze to see BeAnne sitting near them.

At this stage I was worried but luckily Daisy,hearing me shout BeAnne’s name in a rather panicky cross way, came running out of the school, grabbed my disobedient terrier out of the field and saved the day.  To be fair on BeAnne, she had started to go home just very slowly and sulkily not realising she was in danger of being chased.

A big phew!  Next time I will make sure BeAnne can’t follow me.  Dreki and Efstur would’ve been less than helpful.

I have been meaning to address this point for a while now. It is something that really irks me and when I come across it, especially on Facebook (grrr) and Twitter (double grrr), I have to correct the author.

There is no such place as “the Shetlands”.  No one should ever use the words “the Shetlands”.  I live in Shetland.  No “the” ever.

Yes, there are “the Shetland Islands” but this phrase is predominantly used by our Council (and Wikipedia), ie they are the Shetland Islands Council.  Some use the term “the Shetland Isles”. I don’t.  I am not a fan of the word “isles” to be honest.  It is a bit airy-fairy but hey-ho, that’s just me.

So I need to tell you that there is nowhere on this earth called “the Shetlands”.  Don’t ever use it when you talk about Shetland because, to us who live here, it is wrong and actually, well to be frank, ignorant.  (I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings – I just need to get it out there before I burst).

If you do use the words “the Shetlands”, it would be to describe a group of Shetland ponies or maybe even Shetland sheep, geese, hens, cows, ducks if you were comparing them with another breed.

I can’t speak for other archipelago but I do know you would no more say “the Orkneys” either.

Also, these are “Shelties” or, to use the correct breed name Shetland Sheepdogs.

And now you know and you can impress your friends and relations by your use of the correct terminology for this beautiful and special place where I am lucky enough to live.  No more “the Shetlands”, please.

So, there, I’ve said it.  I probably shouldn’t but I have.