Back to Brecon from Symonds Yat.

I'm bloody footsore, tramping for miles with Obama, bad back and all. Obama gets footsore and suddenly the support team spring into action. Patrick Meyer is out looking at Obama's feet, tenderly cleaning them and studying them as if they were some freshly discovered artwork, Denise is on the blower to Theresa and Obama is whisked back to learn to handle the trendy new boots which Patrick has lovingly fitted in all the comfort of Rowanoak.

And still nobody has even thought of looking at my feet. A wise decision actually, I gave up looking at them some time ago.

So I'm back at the start before I have even got round to describing the start, which is pretty cool. Also inevitable. I have come to realise that Obama is the point of this trip, and even if he wasn't, my support network is built round a pony who manages to convince the rest of the world that he is loveable and cuddly.

He is pretty good, and that is the point of the trip. He isn't unusual, he is just another rescue pony, 11 hands ish,

hang on, why am I writing a sentence that will confuse the majority of my readership.

Ponies and horses are measured from the top of the withers, which just means the highest point of the body at the bottom of the neck. It is approximately the same as the bottom of the mane, the long hairs that grow on the back of the neck. And a hand is 4 inches. So when I say he is 11hands ish I mean 44 inches from the ground to the highest point on his body at the bottom of the neck.

It is actually a pretty meaningless measurement as I have found in years of fitting saddlechariots on ponies that the owners either don't know how tall their ponies are or lie about the subject. Heightism is rife and a pony used to be under 12hands, but they have upped the pony size to 13.2hh and then to 14.2hh as kids now expect to ride bigger and bigger animals, which brings us back to Obama, at 44" he is too small to make a MODERN riding animal, which is why he is with EMW. He was up for sale at Abergavenny market as a 6 month old foal, and fetched 28 guineas. (Another traditional term that allows the seller of a horse to add 5% to the price. A guinea is one pound one shilling, or £1.05 in todays money.) Under £30 for a sound little pony, but what use are they?

That is what this blog is about. Eventually I will describe the start, but first I need to set the scene a bit.

It is early january 2009, Obama is back with Equine Market Watch who originally rescued him from the market, having proved too difficult for his first placement. I'm the mad inventor of the saddlechariot looking for a suitable pony to train for work in City farms, and also for a chance to show what a Saddlechariot can do. Nick Sanders is happily running Rowanoak natural horsemanship yard in Brecon and I'm looking for a base.

So the start is a great day for Nick as he finally gets rid of me, but not before I have had a chance to watch a real horseman at work. I came to Rowanoak because Nick shares my whip free beliefs, I stayed because he is a really nice guy and a gentleman.

As a pony trainer, the criticism I hear most about myself is that I am too gentle. I don't get this from Nick as he is just as gentle, and with big horses, vastly more effective. So Obama has learned his trade at Rowanoak, with me trying to work out a new training method and mostly finding Nick has done it already, and is enough of a gentleman to let me find my own way, only helping when asked.

Actually the main reason Nick and I work together so well, is that when we are working together we can both think we are the smooth, suave, well dressed one of the pair.

By the time I set off, Obama knows Brecon backwards, and most of the residents know him. he has been everywhere, seen everything, so when I finally set out, I am pretty sure nothing will panic him.
His training has been mindbogglingly simple. I walk him round like a dog, and when people ask, "Why are you walking your pony round like a dog?" I answer, "because what is good enough for a dog, is good enough for a pony."
This is education, "ex ducere" to lead out, and leading out is what I do, and Obama has learned. And learned enough in four months for me to drive him solo, bitless, barefoot, whip and groom free, towing a camping trailer from Brecon to Symonds Yat and then his little tootsies feel tender so where back where we started, which funnily enough is where I started.

Maybe the next installment will describe setting out, but given the present record I wouldn't hold your breath.