Walk past any large livestock animal in the summertime, and the next thing you know, you have swarms of little black buzzing things zooming around your head and bombarding your face. They get in your eyes, ears, nose, and throat. And the only way to get rid of them is to run away screaming faster […]
Now, I always – ALWAYS – tell people to close the doors, due to marauding chickens and a bottomless pit of a barn cat looking for a place to invade.
There is a controversy bigger than Bitted v Bitless. Bigger than Shod v Barefoot. Bigger than Natural Horsemanship v Traditional Training. What is it? Tongue Clicking!
You can be as delicate as an archeologist at a dig, but guaranteed, the one time you use a bit more oomph, you will throw the hidden spoor all over the place.
I am a 5’2″ small adult. Teeny Tiny. My Belgian Warmblood horse is 17 hands high. Or to non-horsey people, 172.72cms. Enormous. Ladders are my friend.
Up until now, I have been passively observing this sloth-speed courtship with much curiosity and a little amusement – almost a social experiment, if you will.
