Well, we’ve made up and are friends again, so that’s good.  I hate being angry with BeAnne. I feel awful and so does she.

She has also been forgiven by all of us.

Meanwhile back in horse world, Floss and I set out with the horse-van, bowls and visible bribery – aka carrots, chopped.

We easily caught Lilja and Sóley and led them up to their bowls.  Lilja dived straight in.

Sóley of course thought it was all very suspicious.

But she soon realised that Lilja would snaffle her’s if she didn’t get on and eat it.

Note Lilja standing on the ramp unlike her suspicious-Aloysius sister.

And so we put them back into their lush field telling ourselves that we had achieved and ok, it was small steps but an achievement none the less.

Said goodbye and left to see the Minions.

Our day was not over. Sóley, for some reason best known to herself, jumped over into a neighbour’s field and we ended up putting these two back with the Minions.  Grrrrr….. and now I am all cross again.

Not feeling the love. Not feeling the anything this evening. This afternoon, after a perfectly good dog-walk, BeAnne a-buggered off after her bunny rabbitses and I realise is playing me a like a violin.

So here are some nice Icelandic horses who are lovely and well behaved.

Meanwhile, the riding is going well. Klængur goes like a dream and we have, after how ever many years, finally got ourselves together.

I have my riding mojo back. I do not have my dog mojo at all.

(Sorry this is short but you have not had the late afternoon I have had driving up and down, getting the whole family out to shout for her).

Meh! Please send chocolate and/or gin!

Over here, today, it has been a tad foggy.  A haar, as it is known locally, came in this morning and killed the “brilliant sunshine” (OH’s words, not mine) stone dead all day.

“In meteorology, haar or sea fret is a cold sea fog. It occurs most often on the east coast of England or Scotland between April and September, when warm air passes over the cold North Sea. The term is also known as har, hare, harl, harr and hoar.” – thank you, Wikipedia – you explain it so much better than me.

Still, it makes for atmospheric creepy photos and I like that.  It took a while to find the horses, though.

Taktur always looks magnficent in the fog. He is the right shape.

When we went to check and move some of the ponies in Sandness, it was of course “brilliant sunshine” over there.  Driving home again was like the return to Mordor!

So, I set up my iPhone to film the fog as I wanted to see how it moved and was creeped out even more!

Enjoy (the film is speeded up, so you know).  It reminds me of the ghost skeletons at the end of Raiders of the Lost Arc – the bit where they all rush at them when the Arc is opened – and now that’s the end of me!

Another sign – *** sigh *** because apparently horses and ponies standing by a fence or gate is actually an invitation for the public to go in!

Who knew?

So OH sweetly designed and constructed overnight Sign No 3 to add to the others, which is very depressing as I hate having to use them.  But needs must when the Devil vomits in your kettle. Albie is not helping my argument either.

I daubed on the suntan lotion, as required.

Kissed the noseys of those that asked.

Told Fivla to stop “inviting” folk in by looking quite so lovely.

And told them all to go and get a job looking for grass down the furthest end of their field, where there is loads – I sent them off with a collective flea in their ears.

So of course Team B were ready to take the scroungers baton.  I sent them off as well.

And then I spent the afternoon sat in my field with someone I could talk to.

She did her best to listen.

With her darling long lugs.

Gah.  Just gah!

I write this feeling very upset.

Yesterday, Floss and I discovered someone had thrown garden rubbish – grass mowings and old daffodils – over the gate into the Minions’ field.

Words fail.  This is potentially lethal and I worried all night about how much my horses and ponies had possibly eaten and whether they would colic and die.  Grass-cuttings are poison to horses – they ferment in their hind-gut leading to laminitis, colic or worst, death.  It happens.  A kind neighbour kept me informed and this morning, they were all still here.

And, as my lot are professional beggars claiming starvation and lack of feed, I can see why anyone would believe them.  Fat little liars.

So we rushed home and asked OH to create two signs to put on the gate as soon as possible.

And yes, everyone looked a tad defeated from their begging – think Oliver and the Artful Dodger.

But it is essential no one feeds them, let alone their garden waste.

The Minions (and others) are all cosummate scroungers, hanging around to blag anything they can off passing strangers.

And now I have been told folk are letting their children go into their field to play with the ponies.  Jeesus-Christ-on-a-bike.  Why would you? This is too much. Another sign is being created to go on the gate.  And Sóley was a pig to work with today so this is all affecting them.

Edited to add: Because they are rescue ponies, some who have stared starvation in the face and near-death early on in their lives, they will eat anything just in case there is nothing in the future.  Dammit.