Look who I found this afternoon on my way out to Lyradale – it was such a sweet picture that I had to go back for my camera.

Little Newt was fast-a-bye-byes in a fish box of silage!

Dearest Delia keeping an eye on both the little boys and even pushed Newt’s head back up when he nearly nodded off his new favourite pillow (bless her wonderful cotton socks – she is such a perfect “grandmother”).

Delia was eating next to him.  I always leave a big pile of silage by their bed/shelter for snacking, because you just never know and it is so wet and miserable at the moment.  It is not cold, though.  Their rugs are off.

“Everyone should have a fishbox of silage for a pillow.”

And then Delia nodded off too, leaving Tor in charge.

Zzzzzzz……. A Sunday afternoon zizz.

We were doing ok this winter.  The fields were holding up well and remained fairly dry.

And then it rained – serious rain.  The wet, falling out of the sky in bucket loads sort of rain.

And now we have mud.

It is the kind of mud that you only walk in if you know a safe route through.  The kind that when you take a step you also take on the gamble of whether your wellington boot will follow too or you will be hopping about in soaking socks swearing.

It is all rather getting to us now, as you can see.

But we struggle on.

We tell ourselves that at some stage, there will be a good Shetland wind that will dry it all up and we will forget for a few slightly warmer months just how bad it was.

To be fair the fields are not all mud.

The horses can get out of it so it is their choice if they want to stand fetlock-deep getting even filthier.

The old ones are fine, really.  They don’t care.  They know how it works.  Lose your shoes in the mud and you can get out of work!

It is little Efstur I feel sorry for most.  He is hating it.

But love, hugs and carrots usually do the trick.

Yes, I told Haakon off for doing this – twanging the fence.

A heinous crime!

Spring is trying to make an appearance.  The oyster-catchers are back – always a good sign as they shout and laugh at each other.

Our garden is beginning to show some colour.

Seeing all this convinces me that the mud might dry up one day!  Spring is here!

Gypsy and Gina have now gone south.  I wish them the best of luck and may they find a wonderful forever home.  They deserve it.

They were never meant to be living with us at Thordale.  We were just respite care until they could go south.  Nothing more.

Meanwhile, at Lyradale, everyone is on top form.  They are checked and chatted to daily.

I spend many hours sitting on flat rocks (there seem to be many lying around) hugging anyone who wants to talk.

It can be anyone.

Though mostly, of course, it is Storm and his best friend, Tiddles.

Storm is on top form – bouncing around, running after me on dog walks, and generally nibbling and getting in the way.  He is good at that.

Storm has a huge sense of humour which, I mostly get.

Tiddles is much more serious since his awful episode.  His eyes have never recovered despite numerous treatments.  I will have another concerted attempt when he comes home in Spring.  They weep constantly.

Waffle – well, he is my Waffle.  Solid (17hh wide) and one of life’s good guys.

Fivla’s diet regimen is working, just very slowly.  Never rush perfection.

Lyra is looking stunning.  She has matured into such a nice mare.  We have been thinking about her future and no one can imagine her going anywhere else.  If she spends her life standing behind someone resting her nose on their head and having a chat, then that is as good as it gets.  Babies – maybe one day, maybe not.

It seems to me there are too many unloved Shetland ponies.

Her mother, Vitamin, is still Ruling The World.

Funny to think these two old Shetland ponies were once the most famous Shetland ponies in the world!

I have had a bad day.

A very bad day.

A morning spent trying to get my computer to work, whilst folk reneged on plans.  A day of utter claptrap (and that is putting it very mildly!)

To make myself feel better (after I had finally made my computer see sense), I went over to Lyradale to check on the little boys.

En route to the car (now kept outwith the boundary fence as the sheeps are determined to escape), I noticed Albie and Newt playing together.

So I took everyone’s rugs off.

Albie and Newt have only recently started to play together.  It was wonderful seeing Newt starting it and giving as good as he got!

Darling little Newt was bouncing around like a muddy little baked bean.

OMG!  He was delicious.

And so happy.

So very very happy.

Albie showed his “happiness” in his new way and Tor is less than impressed.  Note to self – phone the vet tomorrow to make a date for The Operation. Both boys, I think.

Little Newt is a funny little chap.

And not-so-little-anymore Albie was enjoying himself too.

I just stopped what I was doing and watched them both gallop and buck round the field.  Newt would be walking in one direction and then he would suddenly decide to jump around in circles – boing on the forehand (that’s a dressage term).

And suddenly my bad day got a whole lot better.  How could it not?

(I did eventually get to Lyradale)

So, while I was showing you our Norwegian holiday photos, you may have been wondering how everyone at Thordale is going along.

The SSPCA girls, Gypsy and Gina, are still with us.  They are trying to get south but, to date, no one is taking livestock until the sea or wind calms down.  Every day their travels south are postponed.

While we were away, we put them in Clothie (my 5 acre field across the hill) where they sulked and stopped eating the twice-daily delivered silage.  They did manage, however, to choke down their hard feed.  Now we are back, they are home around the house, and doing fine.

Delia and her crew are rattling along happily.

Albie is now all growed up and weaned – huzzah!

He would still like his milk and does ask but we need to get on with his weaning as next Tor, his “mother”, will leave.

Tor is doing well – perhaps a bit too well.  Now, we live in mud, probably forever.

Newt is buried 24/7 in any pile of silage he can find. Rugs are on because the weather, at present, alternates between vile and utterly revolting.

The big boys are all gorgeous.

Daily, I pop over to Lyradale.  The little ones have learned that if they roam their huge field, they will find food.

No one has lost weight in our absence.

Hetja is her usual sensible pregnant self.

Brá is bonkers mad.

Brá is feeling this pregnancy hugely and is not her happiest.  She would like to be feral too but I won’t indulge her.

Meanwhile, Daisy is back to working hard with her Icelandic horse, Kappi.

They are preparing for the British Championships.

BeAnne is not.  She is busy maintaining her professional you’ve-been-away sulk.

So, that is us!