I noticed a gap in the fence of the Minions’ field which two small ponies have been using to nip into the next field (luckily mine) to graze.  I saw them do it and thought to myself I must bring some wood, nails and a hammer.

So I asked my OH instead!

We walked down to the spot that needed fixing whereupon we had to be duly investigated (that would be Perpetrator No 1 at the front).

OH was brilliant and got well in there.

He has had much practiced at this.

I stayed on the other side offering words of encouragement and nails.

We were watched.

The first two on the left (Waffle and Storm) are The Ones who were doing the nipping.  They know I know.

Because I told them I know.

And they didn’t care.

Making the most OH, his tools and his skills, I noticed there was another small line of fencing to reinforce.

I did laugh when I saw the Minions.  This is so typical of Shetland ponies.  Nothing is safe.

I had to fight the plank off Waffle who was like a dog with it.

So with fence bodged and hopefully fully functional, I went and picked ragwort stupidly leaving my coat to be danced upon.

It was trampled, totally trampled.  Obviously I then upturned it, sat down and had a lovely chat/hug with the Minions. Silly not to really.  They were in a very silly-billy mood.

Every morning we go armed with the muzzle into the  field to be greeted by my Prime Suspect, aka Lilja.

Lilja:  Hello, have you come to see me?
Hoomans:  No.

Lilja:  Yes you have. You know you have. I know you’ve brought me carrots and why are you carrying that funny thing?

Hetja:  Over to you Brá
Brá:  Oh no, not again.  Why are they so persistent?

Brá: Oh, fer cryin’ out loud.  They’ve added more bits.

Brá: Who are you calling fat? I don’t need this.
Hooman: Yes, you do.  Get used to it.

Lilja:  Don’t worry, Brá, I will help you take it off the minute the hoomans have gone.
Brá:  Thank goodness.
Hoomans (aka Me now hopping and down, apoplectic with fury):  Don’t you bloody dare!

Over in the corner, Hetja is playing safe by sensibly not getting involved.

Sóley the Foalie has got up from her little sleep.

She is recharged and ready for her day which is mostly spent far away with her mother, following devotedly Lilja everywhere.

She is a very inquisitive little person with more curiousity than fear.

Everyone is her friend, because everyone is Lilja’s friend.

I think Lilja is (mostly) an excellent role model.

Anyway, the muzzle should be off and back home by 22:00 when Flossie kindly does the last check before bed.  It has become our routine……. *** sigh ***.

I am running around like a blue-arsed fly today.  The morning was spent waiting to meet potential Minion visitors and the afternoon preparing a meal for some friends who are coming for supper.

It was lovely to see the Minions and to introduce them to new fans.  They all behaved impeccably – both visitors and Minions

Silver was very keen to meet and greet.  He put on his best Winning Smile and made new friends.

At the end of the visit, I usually ask “if you could, which Minion would you take home with you in your suitcase?”

Many choose Newt though Silver and Albie were definitely considered today. You never can tell.

It is a different pony each time who wants to chat.

Meanwhile, chez nous, ‘Bert is still very upset about his horn situation. If he would come nearer, I could grab it but he will have none of it.  He knows this and I know it too.

Lambie has finally got over himself which is lucky because I am fed up of talking him down.  Some might say indulging.  Anyway, I have had enough and was quite business like about telling him to stay in his field like a “normal sheep”.  He has no idea what that is.

So, that’s me.  Vaguely cleaning, preparing, cooking and getting ready.  The kitchen is too hot, everything is now ready an hour early and drying up nicely to probably be inedible!  Ho hum. I bought some nice wine and as the checkout lady in Tesco said “it will cover up the food if it is revolting!”

It is becoming a regular occurrence now.  Every morning we are greeted by Brá not wearing her grazing muzzle.  Frustrated much.

To give her credit, though, she is much better about having it put on.  Probably because it is a daily, no my bad, a twice daily occupation.  I am beginning to think there is a second person involved in this.  The muzzle lies nearby neatly done up, with nothing out of place and Lilja is funnily enough always around. I am not pointing the hoof, but I have my suspicions.  That’s all I am saying.

The wretched muzzle, for all its going on and coming off, is making a difference and so we need to persevere. I explain it to Brá each time I put it on.  I tell her that this is the answer. I don’t think she believes me somehow.

I would be interested to know what folk do to their horses to keep the grazing muzzle on.  I wondered about plaiting the mane over the top to keep it in place over Brá’s ears.  I think that is how she gets it off.  Rubs it off over the top of her ears.  Bad girl.

We have removed all the random fence posts in the field. I am sure they helped with the removal.

I thought about constructing a small paddock in the field with electric fencing but I could not sleep at night knowing we had a foal near electric fencing.  I would worry and Moonpie loves getting into trouble.  She is a foal of very little brain.

Ho hum. I have ordered a comfort grazing version of the muzzle that is softer with a faux sheepskin nose lining, in the hope that will be more comfortable to Brá and she will learn to live with it.  I will win……. somehow.

Today Lambie is modelling this fashion.

Last night we had a bit of a fracas.

I found ‘Bert one morning with blood dripping down his head and his right horn at a very odd angle.  He was agitated but not letting me near him so I left out some TurmerAid. It took the edge of his misery.

I was hoping the horn would drop off by itself but, after a few days, ‘Bert suddenly became even more miserable – running around with his head on the ground.  I wondered if it was causing him pain by growing into his head.  So I asked our shearer to pop by on his way home.  The sheep were in a small paddock and I thought easy to catch (ha-bloody-ha!)

Once we had failed at catching ‘Bert, I suggested maybe we would have more success with my shearer’s experienced and well-trained sheepdog in the paddock with us to herd the boys into a corner where we could then catch ‘Bert and sort out his horn.

And with that Lambie went mad doing the Wall of Death (and we weren’t even after him), hurling himself at wire fences, getting stuck and in the kind of panic I have never seen.  We just stood there and watched him.  The dog sat on the ground doing nothing, absolutely nothing.  On the upside (only one), we could see ‘Bert’s horn was flapping about so we know it is not causing pain and will fall off soon.

So we decided to leave well alone.

My shearer and his dog quickly left and I tried to talk to the now-hysterical Lambie or at least get near him to spray his self-inficted wounds with antibiotic spray. I lured him into my shed and got him.  It had to be done.

Today Lambie is calmer and I reminded everyone that they had been brought up with dogs and no one had been chasing, just herding.  There is a huge difference.

I have to wonder what went through Lambie’s pea-like brain.