Seeing a big pile of horse pooh doesn't normally make me happy, our horses produce a vast quantity every day. Apollo, pictured above saying hello to a mutant two headed horse, hadn't produced his usual wheelbarrow load.
He was happy enough, eating, doing a passable impression of Monty Pythons Mr Creosote, eating and eating and by the looks of his stomach he was about to explode. Suspecting colic I walked him up and down the lane, then tried to get him to run in an effort to shift the obvious blockage. Nothing happened. He was wormed, we were sure he hadn't eaten anything he shouldn't have, just that he had eaten a lot and had trapped wind. No need for a vet, what this horse needed, my beautiful wife informed me, was a good fart.
We shut him up for the night and walked back to the cottage.
A sound like a jet engine warming up emanated from the stable, Apollos blockage had undoubtedly cleared.
I think its a sign of the high esteem Tracey holds me in when as the rumbling sound died away she turned to me and asked "Was that you?"
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