I have just been watching, while waiting for my coffee to percolate, a most unnerving scene in the field below my garden. A young girl (well, in fact, she is about 35, the daughter of one of the owners of the stable, but she is tiny) was struggling with a horse that was lying on its side, apparently too comfortable to get up. The contrast between her tininess and the horse's hugeness (I think it's a percheron or a Suffolk punch, a big bogger anyway) was even starker when she got it up on its feet: the top of her head didn't even come up to its shoulder. And I could see nothing to suggest that the mighty struggle she had had with the beast had in the least affected her.
Now, I am as intolerant as the next scrote at the sight of a vigorous youngster succeeding in some major physical effort, when I can hardly find the strength and coordination to get up out of a chair (Why do we oldies always GRUNT when we get up?), but in the case of this lass, I was filled with admiration at her persistence.
I'd love to know, though, what the horse thought about it all.
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