Horses

Shavings cost much more than straw Pompa but they are easier to muck out and if your horse is a greedy buggar like mine they don't eat them.
My horse costs £50 a week on D.I.Y. and it's worth it. Nothing can compare to the pleasure of owning such magnificent animals and it's hard to feel down when around them .The mixed ages at the stables lets me forget how old I am and cantering across the moors we are all just happy riders!I learn a lot from the younger ones and it's good to be in a position where age does not matter.

I feel like that about my bike.

Thistle doo, we live in an area where we see nothing but horses. We are surrounded by farms and stables and looking out of my window at the moment, every other field has horses in it. This year there seem to be far more than any year since we moved here. Are more people keeping them? I presume that many of them will be out to livery. I like horses, especially good breeds, except when they are trying to eat me!

Jenn, I always assumed that wood shavings were cheap, I throw loads away from my woodturning.

I would use it as mulch, pompa. Then it will gradually rot down over the year and the worms will take it down - where it can release any nitrogen it has managed to suck up! It makes excellent mulch.

I'm feeling so nostalgic now. jings you asked about sheep. I used to keep a few sheep in with my ponies from time to time, they are fine, but the males once they are no longer lambs can be belligerent. I was butted and chased by a 'pet sheep' that a misguided friend had had de-horned. The problem being that it wasn't obvious that he was really a ram, so nowhere near as friendly as people expected him to be. He thought he was protecting his flock. In the end they had to get rid of him, there were too many complaints on the public footpath through their land. Most ewes will move off if you enter their fields, rather than come towards you, unless they know you have come to feed them in which case you had better be quick with that bucket.

I really miss heading straight for the horsey stands at the county shows. All sorts of things for sale that I couldn't really afford, but knew I wouldn't see them in the local riding shop. Or in Scats.

I add it to my compost heaps and compost it for a year.

Our old muck heap is the most wonderful compost.I'm not the only one who comes home with bucketfuls in the boot......my life is all about muck!!!

For a moment I thought you'd said 'bucketfuls in my boots', I well remember trying to remember to empty my wellies anywhere other than just inside the back door!

That horrible feeling when your sock comes off too and you are left bare-footed with nowhere clean to put your foot!

Always leaving the hoof pick somewhere invisible.

The smell of hot mash early in the morning.

Hoping you wouldn't meet manic little boys with bicycle bells in the lane.

Mucking out on a freezing cold day, but it's warm in the stable and you can see the drizzle over the top of the stable door, and it's beautiful.

The sweet smell of the breath.

The pleased little whinny when they hear your voice.

It's not much different from having a very large dog, really. Just not as smelly. He was very good with the dogs and cats.

Oh memories janer!

Washing jeans and then finding pony nuts in the pockets
Cleaning well washed straw out of the washing machine filter
Soaking sugar beet
Having a 'me day' doing anything horse orientated
Marty kicking the stable door if I wasn't being quick enough with his feed
Burying my nose in his neck, that wonderful aroma of horse
The way he went 'all peculiar ' if you scratched a certain area of his withers
Unlike a dog he was always pleased to see you
Going out to the stables in the dark to hear contented munching sounds.

Memories..........

janerowena, fabulous list that brought back such happy memories.
I have a large dog, my sister says I share my house with a small pony. She does her very best to be smelly, rolls in fox pooh at any opportunity. She is a large, shaggy and very kind labradoodle, otherwise known as a labradonkey…..

What is it about dogs and fox poo?
Getting rid of the smell is nigh on impossible

Iam64, you don't happen to live in Whitby do you ?

Our favorite B&B has a Labradonkey called Denziel

Plaiting a mane on a freezing cold morning.
Plaiting a tail, standing back and realizing you've done a good job.
Hoof oil
The satisfying clump, clump, clump of hooves on a ramp when they load first time.
Linking hands with DH and using all our strength to encourage shove them up the ramp if they didn't.
Filling the haynet for the journey.
The lingering smell of bacon in the kitchen when you have a last minute check indoors to make sure you haven't left the schedule on the kitchen table.

I loved all the preparation for shows.

I was told that their mums teach them to fart in our faces when we do tail paliting [in fact anything that involves being round their rear end]. I've never had any reason to disbelieve that.

Oh the joy of this thread, it's bringing back such happy memories and those smells…
No pompa, I don't live in Whitby but I love visiting that part of the world. We walk our doodles on the beaches and often meet other doodle dogs who share the joy our doodles have of racing in and out of the waves, especially if their is a ball to retrieve.
Denziel doodle may just be a well known labradonkey who appears on one of the many doodle forums.

Giving him a shampoo on a hot sunny day, he loved it and would stand there as good as gold, then I would hose him down to rinse him off and it would take forever to get all the soap out. Then once he had been dried off a bit and brushed, he would be so pleased with himself. Exactly as if he had been to the hairdresser and knew he looked gorgeous. Lots of high-stepping and head-tossing!

Going out to lean on the paddock fence in the evening, he would trot over a rest his head on my shoulder. we would stand there for ages, I would think, aahhh, he loves me... go to pull away and find he had been sucking my hair. Which would be covered in green slime.

Deciding one day to take my sunbed into his paddock, as he got the last of the evening sun. He completely ignored, but inched closer and closer - then tried to join me on the sunbed and tipped me onto him and catapulted the bed into the air. I swear that pony laughed.

I'm in danger of saying 'those were the days...' The fact is, he was hard work! And very time-consuming. But just right at that time.

Mine was a mad, scatty, chestnut Arab mare - everything you're told to avoid, and we loved each other!
Infuriating and scatty she also had a great sense of self-preservation and her antics made me laugh -and several others when we first attempted dressage
Her forte was long-distance trials. We completed the Golden Horseshoe and several long distance trails like the Ridgeway.

I bet she was beautiful, though. The last one I was loaned was an Arab, they are so pretty.

Once stayed in a lovely Devon family hotel where the way to and from the beach was through a field of cattle including a bull. There were no problems as far as I know but I don't think I was the only person to be a little apprehensive.
When I was younger and speedier I was walking through a field in North Wales with a companion who had worked with a variety of animals. Neither of us had taken any notice of some quietly grazing cattle until he suddenly hissed 'Run!' So we did, to the gate. He said they were young Welsh Black bullocks.
A neighbour bred Falabellas and had a field, rented from us, full of mares, foals and the stallion. We went in the field quite often and the worst that ever happened was the stallion pushing his greedy nose into our haul while we were picking blackberries.

When we were young and newly married, we didn't have much money so trips in good weather were driving somewhere, a walk and a picnic in a field.Always chose an empty field of course. one very hot Sunday, we had our picnic, a spot of dalliance, and went to sleep.One of those lovely hot, still, days. woke up an hour or so later to find a ring of interested faces hemming us in!We were possibly the most novel thing ever to appear in their field.Horses, about six of them. the field stretched up and to one side, and there must have been a gate up there, through which they had arrived.They were as amazed as we were when we sat up suddenly, maybe they thought we were dead.All the picnic leftovers had vanished.They galloped off as tall DH stood up, and we had a laugh.

You were lucky they didn't lie down with you and roll over!

When I was 11, we had a family camping holiday in the Highlands. We settled at an idyllic spot at Gruinard Bay, lovely white beach, water from a burn and any amount of space for three girls and a bouncy boxer. One day, towards evening, there was a pounding of hooves and a group of riderless horses came charging down the hill at high speed. We grabbed the dog and scattered, well out of the way. After they'd had a drink in the burn, they turned round and went back up the hill. We never knew where they came from or where they went to. All I know is that it wasn't a dream or if it was, five people had the same one!