Today was a momentous day.  A day to remember.

I have been mulling this over for a while now.

Whether to put shoes back on Haakon and try riding him again.

He hasn’t been ridden since the beginning of March 2019 – 16 lonely months – when he was lame and all those horrible hoof abscesses appeared.  I have missed riding my boy more than I can say and had decided to retire him as his body appeared to be giving up.  He is 26 years old.

Yes, I have Klængur to ride and that is lovely but…..

And Iacs has always been on offer from Daisy, but…..

I keep having this little niggling wonder whether if we put shoes on Haakon, would he want to be ridden.  So today, I put on his saddle and bridle, got on and we went out, accompanying Efstur. Haakon loved it.  Everything was completely normal and he was so very, very happy.  He did all his usual things – not stand still ever, not wait nicely for Efstur, he snatched the reins out of my hands, piggy-paced everywhere and I forgave him them all.  He was my Haakon again.  If we only have this summer and he is happy and healthy about being ridden, then we will gently get him back into shape and have some fun.  I was also happily surprised when we got home at just how fit Haakon was. No puffing with my fat arse on his back.  He had a spring in his step and his old familiar glint in his eye.

I have of course have a very cheesey grin now!

Some days we just go over to the Minion field, take the Icelandic girls out and train them by themselves.  They can see each other but they have to work and learn basic skills like leading nicely.

One each.  Daisy and Lilja.

Flossie and Sóley.

Meanwhile, I take photos of the flowers in the field.

And everyone else watches.  The metaphorical curtains twitch!

Daisy and Floss make good trainers – each understanding their horse very well.  I can definitely see a difference afterwards and am very grateful they are happy to do this.

For a non-rider, Flossie has a lovely relationship with Sóley. They trust each other.

So that’s what we do some days because foundation training matters. It really matters.

Welcome to my field.  My name is Waffle and I am your nominated Best Friend.

And excuse me, please forgive me for asking Madame or Miss, but would you happen to have a carrot about your person (asking for a friend)?

Perhaps Madame or Miss you could look in your pockets a bit faster.  I apologise but my friend is hungry!

Oh, you do!  Thank you so much Madame or Miss. Please place said carrot piece in my mouth and I will pass it on to my friend….. possibly later.

(gulps quickly)

As your nominated Best Friend, I must now ask you to sit down (feel free to place your feet in the ditch) and I will carry out my Best Friend duties.

Ah yes, Madame or Miss, I have suddenly had a carroty whiff from your pocketses and have remembered that you may have more.  Please hand them over.  For my friend, obviously.

Well, how could anyone resist?

The best kind of hugging or mugging. It depends on your perspective.

Everyone is always a bit weird after shearing and this year was no exception.

Although the bickering had stopped and Little Missy had found her mother again and had shut up, they were all fairly unsettled. I could see that.

So I spent the afternoon in the Boyzen and Girlzen’s field scratching, hugging and telling everyone they were still beautiful.

This is the only day in the whole year that Lambie is affectionate and loves his Muzzah.  I spent a good hour telling him what a handsome prince he was. He has some major self-esteem issues (pink under the wool)  and worries that he is ugly and everyone will point and laugh.  Absolutely not!

‘Bert sidled up and was very sweet, which was adoreable.  He has really suffered with his fleece this early Summer and is now feeling a whole lot better.

‘Ster and I had words – mostly about barging past everyone and being rude.  He sulked and stayed away

Missy was her usual silly self.  She nibbled everything she could (me, my Painpod wire, me, my coat, me, my camera, me) and then sat down.  She is mahoosive now.  Not a little lamb, now a sheeplet.

Edna sat close by enjoying a moment to herself to chew her cud.  She looked very content while I was nibbled by her daughter.

Madge was also nearby and looking very good. I am so proud of how those two have bounced back into health.  It was touch and go to start with and I worried.

Anyway, I made the most of Lambie’s Nice Day because it is as rare as hen’s teeth and he was back to being my little Lamb again. Awwwww….. ❤️❤️❤️ (I have very low standards and maybe desperate).

It’s that time of year – shearing.

I brought the sheep all inside this morning for their breakfast and shut the door!  They knew something was up.

First up was ‘Ster, who behaved, I am ashamed to say, abominably.  Unhelpful wriggling every minute.  Terrible.

Next up was ‘Bert who was better. I trimmed his errant horn and there was blood.

Then it was Lambie who had his “carpet quality” fleece expertly sheared off.

Lambie’s theory was to smile in a winning fashion in the hope it would all be over quickly. Rather like the dentist.

After that, Edna was sheared and she was such a good girl. What a lady.  An example to us all.

And last up was Madge, who wasn’t sheared but was roo’ed instead – just the last bit around her neck.

Everyone was drenched and had their teeth and feet looked at too.  Is it me, or has Lambie got more spots this year?

Finished, they all went outside and the Boyzens had their usual post-shearing arguments. This year it was Lambie being a prat to ‘Bert.

They all look *** cough *** very well *** cough *** (fat, some might say!)

Anyway, I’m glad it’s been done.  Not sure what I shall do with their fleeces. If anyone is interested, please get in touch.  All pure Shetland – moorit, katmoget, flekkit and white.

They seem much happier and cooller too.  Little Missy ran around for a short time shouting for her mother, Edna, who was standing next to her.  She has shut-up now and I saw her having her milk so she’s obviously got the plot again.

So that’s that for another year – the blood is from ‘Bert’s trimmed horn.

Now who’s going to mention the diet to Lambie?  I don’t dare.