Orange Horse
I’m extremely relieved . . . I mean I’m really sorry to report that this morning went smoothly. There’s hardly even a story in it. It was an absolutely gorgeous morning* which provides that extra little frisson of something-or-other when you may be about to die any moment, specifically when that pheasant/rabbit/deer explodes out of the shruuuuuuuuuuaaaarrrrghhhh—–
But you kind of had to be there to enjoy that aspect.
I got up terrifyingly early** to give hellhounds a brief hurtle before I went*** off to frolic with hellcolts and nightmares, and arrived in such good time I had to bring Connie in myself. You realise just how large Jenny’s fields are when the horse you want is standing at the far end of one. Connie turned around when she heard the gate† and then turned back again. No help there. I toiled up the hill toward her and after she’d enjoyed her joke she did turn again and walk to me with her ears up and a faint whinny, although that may be because I had a bucket with a handful of horse nuts†† in it.
I said gaily to Jenny that Connie would probably behave worse than Roland and she said grimly, she’d better not, that’s exactly the sort of thing that would set him off. Whereupon I instantly changed horses midstream and said that Connie would probably go all nursemaidy, as she’d done when Miles rode her a few weeks ago. Mmmmm, said Jenny.
At least they didn’t insist on billing and cooing, although they’d discussed world politics at length while we tacked up. Jenny had told me to keep our distance, as Roland’s legs all grow to twice their length when he cavorts, not to mention being young enough still that he loses track of one or another of them occasionally†††, and we wanted as many of us to come home again undamaged and in one piece as possible.
Most of the local countryside is stubble fields at the moment–muddy stubble field–so we were spoilt for choice about where we could go. And there were a few pheasants–and a few deer–and a few madly waving fronds and heavy low rustlings which were obviously alligators, and Connie did take mild exception to these on one occasion. And Roland couldn’t bear all that lovely open space once or twice–Connie meanwhile was expressing deep displeasure at this nonsense of staying trotting‡–but us humourless humans prevailed. And indeed the ground is so deep and soggy that a long uphill slope at the trot is quite enough, and poor Roland had his tongue hanging down to his knees, and Connie’s blood vessels were all standing out like a racehorse’s which I always thinks looks so cool.‡‡
But the point is we all came home in the same state of cohesion as we’d left. This is good. We might even do it again some time I suppose.
Now, these photos fail miserably to do our orange horse justice. I told you at the time that he had no clue about standing up for the camera and wasn’t interested, and he had also just been worked‡‡‡ and that was before he had any stamina whatsoever and he was tired. He’s put on weight and muscle in the last few weeks and has begun to look like a genuine horse rather than a gawky baby. But these are the photos I’ve got, and it would be a pity to waste them, you can at least admire his colour.§
* * *
* Therefore, because I’m like this, I felt guilty about not being out there with hellhounds. But by heroic self 
discipline I got them out before dark for their afternoon walk.
** Before 8 am is sufficiently terrifying to anyone who seems to have become incapable of turning her light out before 2:30
*** cruelly
† The now-famous Giraffe Gate after Roland jumped it in its pre-giraffe condition a fortnight or so ago. Jenny shot awake to the pitter-patter of little feet on the lane outside her bedroom window.
†† Thirty years ago in America I would’ve called these ‘pellets’. I am not up on modern lingo.
††† And a loose unsupervised almost-four-year-old colt leg can get into all kinds of mischief.
‡ And. I. Was. Riding. Her. In. The. Milder. Bit. She. Likes. Never occurred to me not to. Well, as I’m fond of saying, nobody died.
‡‡ So were mine. It doesn’t look nearly so cool on me.
‡‡‡ Note saddlemark
§ Ewwwwwww. 
( . . . Pardon me, but don’t tell me this insert-multiple-photos-into-your-entry thing worked. Yeep. I’m almost afraid to hit the ‘publish’ button . . . )
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