Lovely Moss somehow figured out he was going to be sold, so he decided to turn up lame. Perfect for a Machiavellian creature who likes his owner and his life and isn't too fond of change, in case it doesn't involve quite as many carrots. Being lame, he's only been allowed out for walks. And I've greatly enjoyed the ones we've had. We've gone out in dappled sunshine and soft rain, and I can reach up and grab sloes and blackberries as we go by. He and I are both somewhat lazy by nature, so despite an abstract desire to be back cantering up the hill and jumping fences, it's been kind of nice just to walk.

Only lately, he's gone all 'woo-woo-ohmigod-is-that-a-panther-in-the-bushes? Better gallop away at the speed of light just in case!!'  And despite the fact that I tell him he's a twit, that panthers are not indigenous to the British Isles and it's more likely to be a squirrel or even more likely, NOTHING AT ALL, he spins and snorts and ends up back at the yard all in a lather, despite the fact that we've done nothing...but...walk.

Well, gentle readers, as you might have guessed, there's a little moral to be gleaned from this here horsey tale.  And that is, that yer mammals what does not accomplish very much at all, despite pretending to be renewing said mammal's batteries, gets all antsy and jumpsy and definitely positively ought to be getting on with the business of writing.