Stone Walled

"What are you doing down there, again" are never words one want to hear whilst out hunting. That such words should spring forth out of the mouths of innocents - nine year olds mounted on little grey ponies that wouldn't look out of place in a Thelwell cartoon - is even more humiliating. Yet such the latter half of the season has progressed.

After a crashing fall through a stone wall at the weekend - which we are both fortunately escaped from with nothing more than bruising (me) and slight grazing (her) I think that we have reached our limits. During a week of heavy going she consistently stopped at everything first time, needing much encouragement to get on.

With no hunting to be had at the weekends since Xmas, and then little jumping when we were out I was particularly nervous that our first real foray of the year was to be in HEDGE COUNTRY. I needn't have worried. With firmer ground underfoot, and more experienced horses to follow MONSTER had a crack at everything, pulling like the proverbial steam engine as we went for every fence. She's a tidy little jumper, properly snapping her front legs up so much that she would need a stud guard if we wore them. Even so she just clipped two of the more imposing obstacles. You can see the capstones flying from the drystone wall below.




Then, just before second horses it all went A over T. I had already had a closer look at the turf when she clipped the top rail of a fence from a difficult approach when we returned to the above wall. Perfect striding wasn't enough to get us over a second time and in a shower of stones we went through rather than over. Foot followers, at least one of whom would love to get their hands on MONSTER, rushed to the scene to make sure that horse and rider were alright, and to repair the wall.

Still, it's nice to know that her jumping limits match my bravery limits. I may jest about getting a more capable schoolmaster as a second string, but MONSTER and I (grammer) have learned this lark together and I know in my heart of hearts that nothing could replace my affection for the big coloured goon, never mind replace her in the field.