Getting the wind up

I ride Harry out on the most blustery day of the year. The wind is roaring like a jet plane, but he holds it together for a while, until we approach a salt box on the side of the road that he’s always suspicious of. I encourage him to walk close by, and just as we pass, a plastic bag flies up behind it. EEEK! Harry startles violently, then minces on, eyes on stalks.

We reach his friend Red’s yard and Harry breathes an audible sigh of relief. We proceed on our hack, trying to keep to sheltered areas, but both boys are bothered in their particular horsey way. Red, mostly Thoroughbred, tends to spook and swerve; Harry, the cob, tends to stop and stare, and then let Red take the lead. So we make our jerky, nervy way around the common, and breath a sigh of relief when we’re home.

I lead Harry out to his field, and he spots another plastic bag in the fence line. Gradually I coax him to approach. Snorting like a stallion, he gives it one evil eye, then the other. He finally touches it, and YIKES, a massive gust blows it into the air – it’s happened again! He scoots a few yards away, then looks at me aggrievedly: “How could you?”

An extra strong mint once we’re back in the field means we’re friends again, but we agree we don’t like wind…not any kind!