Got to the farm yesterday morning and found the boy comfortably adapted to his summertime routine of spending more time in the field; taking the quiet morning hours for a proper sleep at the bottom of the field – in the shade of the cottages and looking completely peaceful.
In winter, I so rarely get to see him lying down. He tends to do all his flat out sleeping in the stable overnight and is always up and ears forward by 7am when he knows to expect me to arrive and fill his feed bucket with breakfast – only the tell-tale straw hanging from his tail and winter fluffy fur to give away how relaxed he was a couple of hours ago.
I always love to spend a bit of time out in the field with him, feeling like it gives me a better insight into life through his eyes: standing under his favourite tree of a late summer night or becoming at one with the morning routine of drink from the water trough, roll half way down the field and amble to the bottom right to begin foraging for good grass of a wrapped-up winter morning. But these first days of summer are some of my favourite times to spend in his little world with him: when he is enjoying the change in the weather and the warmth in the air and is contentedly letting his routines slide and lying back in the sun whenever it suits him.
I settled down beside him and he barely moved, just a sleepy hello and on with dozing.
Eventually, he was all slept out and back on his feet, our usual companionable wander into the stable block and all the usual excitement over the sound of pony nuts hitting the bottom of his blue bucket, eyes bright and alert.
As I started writing this last night, I was leaning in one of my favourite spots on the field gate and he was back out again, day done and on to the usual water trough, roll and graze routine, and I could predict it all so accurately; but had loved the unexpected morning of peaceful dozing and some quality time with my sleepy boy.