The unpredictability of animals could almost be called predictable. The best laid schemes of mice and men... maybe I should have kept mice. Horses veer from masochism to sadism. They have an insatiable desire to torment their carers with unnecessary mishaps. They delight in thwarting any effort, and believe me it takes huge effort, to provide for their welfare. I think they carve notches of success in each other's legs, when having failed to die, they win sympathy from passers-by with their pathetic demeanour. We put two mares, Jigsaw and Nan with our stallion, Kestrel. They were due to foal last June and August respectively when the days were long and warm and the plentiful grass full of goodness. Throughout last summer I traipsed out to the far meadow beneath the Black Hill twice a day. They got fatter and fatter, and lazier and lazier. The weather was perfect and they looked very pregnant. But as the days shortened and autumn slipped into winter and there were still no foals I muttered about hormone imbalance, mineral deficiencies, low protein and/or vitamin content in our hay; hay that Martin had struggled to make and bring in. There was a chance that they could still foal up to May, but since it is very rare for native ponies to come into season let alone foal in the winter we did not move them from their field, which during the winter becomes a quagmire and since they were still very fat they got less rations than the rest. The ground froze, the snow fell and Martin was kept busy watering and feeding forty ponies and eight cows spread over many acres. Then on January 17th it thawed, the wind dropped, and the rain clouds vanished over the sea and lo and behold when Martin returned to do the evening rounds there was a sturdy two hour old foal. Jigsaw was delighted to have pulled a fast one over us! Her glee was undoubtedly increased because the forecast was for severe storms which meant they could not stay where they were. Maximum disturbance followed as we moved everyone around in order to accommodate the new family in the only field containing a shelter. Mike came to help since we were doubtful of the foal's ability to walk the distance from the Black Hill to the top field. Needless to say she skipped along happily with Mum. It would of course have been polite if Nan had foaled at the same time, but no, Nan is persisting in teasing us. That she will foal when we least expect it is the only predictable thing left. Meanwhile they are fed twice a day on a grain mixture which includes grated carrot, apples and bits of my fingers that the foal grinds into the mud, and copious piles of hay the foal rolls on and the wind carries across the hill to less deserving cases. I hope that by the time you read this there will be two foals grazing on spring shoots. But I suspect we will still be struggling through the mud trying to supplement the wind-torn dead grass with a further lorry load of hay. And two foals? Well that is in the lap of Pegasus and the other equine Gods S.M.