Monsoon Season

Monsoon season has commenced in Worcestershire. I swear its true. My main track is already like a quagmire and my horses are behaving like toddlers who are chuffed to bits that their human has bought them a new paddling pool.

Anyone who has met me on my travels will appreciate that I have put aside copious amounts of time and investment into the testing of various hoofboots. Believe me, hoof boot testing is a long, hard slog whereupon I am forced to ride for miles in arduous conditions. Easycare has not been my favourite manufacturer, but following rave reviews of the Gloves I decided that they needed to be put through their paces because 'if they are good enough for my clients they are good enough for me'....well, you get the picture. I could have chosen a horse that was easy to fit with Easycare - I have one of those too. He's a good guy, but that would have been too easy, and it might just have meant that I would be testing out my new automatic inflatable back protector. As I do not yet have an inflatable back protector I decided to give him a miss (he has a pathological fear of tractors and feed buckets but that's a long story). No, I'll take the grey mare.

Lovely. Wish she was. Grey I mean. Half an hour of scraping mud off really didn't make much difference so I tacked her up anyway and hoped noone would see me.

At this point the sky was an ominous shade of grey. I suspected that it might rain and so grabbed my long riding mac. I feel like the Lone Ranger in my rain mac and my horse is Tonto. Tonto looks at me sympathetically as rain drops commence to fall. I lead Tonto through the gate and lightening hits. Both of us wait for the thunder. OMG its lound. I wonder if Tonto will clear off into the distance and the Lone Ranger will be running behind, mac flapping. The rain is suddenly like a monsoon and I can hardly see because my eyes are full of rain. Tonto is behaving more stoically than a stoical being. A kind of horsey Zen. I wonder whether she is really the Dalai Llama rather than Tonto.

Anyhow, I get on to avoid my suede saddle becoming sodden. Foolish really when neither the bridle or the girth are fastened. Well, the bridle is completely unbuckled whilst the girth is so loose that I can't actually tighten the girth without falling off. So I decide to ride for the road gate and dismount with more spring than oh, I don't know, more spring than a spring onion. Grey mare heads stoically for gate ignoring stong gales and a deluge that was so heavy that it felt like water was being poured down my boots. Oh, because water was pouring down my boots and down my neck. I dismounted at the road gate and proceeded to attend to girth and bridle and wonder whether I really did want to sit on sodden suede.

I did. Wet through to my pants I was. I had just got used to this feeling when stoical horse stopped dead, viewing a fallen tree with suspicion. "Its not a monster, you fool!" I said aloud. "No", she said, "I'm looking at the monster BEHIND the fallen tree, its just well hidden.....LET'S GO!!"
At this point my phone rang. Road is like a river, horse is levitating and my darn phone is playing the most annoying tune. Horse is continuing to levitate and complain about monsters but I cannot shut my phone up because touch screen phones do not work in the rain. Great, my emergency phone. Next time (if there is a next time) I shall place phone in fully waterproof / soundproof container. Luckily horse levitated past tree and we were on our way, enjoying splashing through the rivers that had, until extremely recently, been roads.

We headed for the deep slushy mud of the Worcestershire bridleways. I did seek to see if the boots were still in place and they were.

And all was good. We had a blast. The boots did not twist and stayed on at all paces. I may be a convert, maybe. The clouds parted and the sun came out as I untacked.

Woman and beast

I wasn't looking forward to my first appointment of the day. Not, I would stress, because of the owner, who is a lovely lady and always a pleasure to visit, but because of the beast.

The beast in question is a half tonne, rather spoilt, cob-like creature who looks like a scaled up version of a fells pony. He's not. HE is the product of - well, something's liaison with a warm-blood....apparently. In my imagination he has all the qualities of the Horse of the Apocolypse but bigger. The real beast is actually only 15.1 hand high but he has the presence of something more like 17hh.

So....hooves.....He has them.....fine, big, boulder-crushing hooves. Unfortunately today they are also 'Hoof Trimmer Crushing' hooves.

The trim is rather overdue....one of those things that I've been putting off due (in part) to other work coming in, the fact that the horse has always been awesomely sound and also due to my fear of the beast.

"Where would you like him?" she says with beast on a (not insubstantial) rope.
"Whereever," I say, "preferably away from any solid objects that he might crush me against."
"Rightio!" She says cheerfully.
Suddenly the wind picks up and blows a large quantity of oak leaves around the yard. Just my luck. Beast is now going to fake 'spooky' behaviour. I am going to be crushed to death, my bones snapping like twigs, left a pile of fabric and bones amongst a pile of hoof nippers, rasp and hoof stand. Contrary to popular opinion I do not wish to be buried in my trimming apron but rather in my scuber diving kit along with gas cylinders. Cremated preferably. I will go out with a 'bang'.....The newspaper will say, "Hoof Trimmer, tragically crushed to death......mourners comment, "who will trim Billy/Flash/Binky (delete as applicable) now?"

Anyroad, back to the present. Here I am with a beast of a horse. Horse views me disdainfully, but hay net with great interest. He takes some large mouthfuls and commences movement in a large arc. I move. Back the other way. I move again. It takes a little bit of time, but after a while it dawns on me that I will not be able to trim that front hoof without risking life and limb. I am decided. I do not want to die today.
"Can I get you to hold him for me please?" I ask. She cheerfully obliges.
 "I'm doing Pirelli with him now!" she smiles, "he's ever so good!"
"Will it make him stand still?" I ask hopefully.
"Errrrr....." She says. I'm not convinced. I nip three hooves and then commence rasping. I dodge moving hooves, repeatedly. The owner, ever cheerful, is also getting ever more frustrated. So am I.
"This horse needs training", I say. Owner bites her lip and looks at me shyly. "I will get my clicker. You get some treats and click and treat exactly when I say. The owner hurries away and returns with large chunks of carrot. I look disdainfully at the large chunks and say, "you got lots?" She did.

It took me very little time to complete my trim of the beast, transforming his overgrown dirty hooves into perfectly manicured boulder-crushers.
"Its a miracle!!" the owner exclaimed.
"Where is that coffee?" I said.