Fab update fm. What a clever boy with his red ribbon at his show. Im pleased youve been out and about. Cant believe its been 5 whole years!
Bad Hair Days
- Thread starter Flipo's Mum
- Start date
lovely pictures, I do so love Flipo, and well done at the shows, he has come on so far but such a character.
Fabulous pictures as always and such a bonus to have another update from you - I thought they were all over! Flipo is such a bonny lad.
whoopi, pictures and an update plus a red ribbon to boot a huge well done.
Flipo looks lovely as always such a cool dude I can't believe it was been five years.
Flipo looks lovely as always such a cool dude I can't believe it was been five years.
Scary how time passes isn't it! Thanks for replying everyone - I miss doing my updates but fear there would be very little to include other than farting and willy cleaning these days. I continue to take millions of photos, so it's nice to have a history of them all somewhere, and even nicer when folk take the time to reply.
What a lovely update!
I am so utterly in love with Flipo, and he sounds like he is such a character!
I am so utterly in love with Flipo, and he sounds like he is such a character!
September 2014 - August 2015
So I haven’t posted on here for a couple of years and have been pretty quiet on the forum as a whole. I’m not sure anyone would really be interested in my ramblings now because I have been so negligent, but I’ve been feeling a little contemplative considering my Flipo situation right now and if for no one else but myself, I feel like resurrecting my diary posts for a wee while. Feel free to ignore me!
Starting back where I left off, August 2014, two and a half years ago. Mental how time passes! Flipo and his arab fieldmate were highly contented, I rode occasionally, was studying and working like a trojan for my CA qualification and nothing of interest ever really occurred. After all our troubles in our formative years, I finally had the horse that I could enjoy spending time with to take my mind off the stress of work. I completely trusted Flipo, felt we could go anywhere and do anything without fear of something going wrong, and it allowed me to focus my efforts on my career.
There were lazy days…
Hazy peaceful evenings….
And Flipo’s usual grumpy moments…he refused to budge until I removed the offending rug!
Nothing of consequence ever happened and we bumbled along happily for a while…..Oh yeah, unless you count our trip to a weigh in clinic.
In an effort to take advantage of our now accomplished partnership, I thought it not beyond our capabilities to attend a diet consultation at the local feed merchant. We hacked the three mile route there with our arab fieldmate and arrived sweaty and tired from the warm May weather. Lamenting my lack of ability to keep up with superfit Arab, I did take heart that this made Flipo a little more settled while we awaited our turn, ignorant of all the tasty treats by which he was now surrounded. First up was the Arab who surprised us all by weighing around 100kgs more than my mate had been worming him for in the last few years (a big oops!) and then it was Flipo. Clearly the hack was just far too much for the poor tired boy and asking him to lift his hoof the couple of inches to step up onto the scales almost ended in him falling violently in the warehouse causing earthquake like tremors and almost puncturing the weighbridge. Luckily friend was there to immortalise the moment and publicise it on facebook for the world to laugh at. But if I thought Flipo had embarrassed me enough for the day, I was about to go one step further.
We tacked the boys up and I enquired casually as to if there was somewhere I could use to get back in the saddle. As a quick reminder, Flipo and I have a poor history with mounting and there have been many traumas involving nettles, the infamous farting incident (me, not Flipo), spooking and running, all ending in me lying in a heap. We’ve spent hours on this problem and I’ve patiently backed him up repeatedly, waited and ensured that he wasn’t moving a muscle before getting on. My confidence was annihilated by our mounting woes and it’s taken us years to get to the point where I would even consider this trip. Thankfully I had done my homework, offered to bring my own block before I attended, but reassured that they would take care of me, I decided there was nothing to worry about.
So when they produced an upturned plastic bin as my potential podium, I immediately regretted not making my own preparations. I looked with disbelief and suggested that it definitely wouldn’t take my weight. ‘Oh but a girl used it earlier on and it was totally fine.’ Yeah, a girl. Probably a 15 year old stick insect weighing around 7 stone who ever so elegantly vaulted onto her 12hh pony only grazing the plastic bin with the nail on her littlest toe. Double that stoneage, add another and what you end up with is an ‘exploding’ plastic bomb, Flipo almost wetting himself and my mate stood in the background with the shop assistants all laughing hysterically.
Red faced, we had to take a few turns around the yard and eventually I calmed Flipo enough to mount up using a more reliable bag of haylage as our platform. Regaining our composure, I rolled my eyes and tried to look on the brightside. We got there in the end, but clearly, it’s a case of like horse, like owner and we plodded home with our tails between our legs, my mate still sniggering beside us.
I guess if there’s one thing that came out of this, it was that the feed merchant tagged us in a few photographs and I received a lovely message from a girl who works in one of their stores. As well as an apology and a promise that they had already purchased a proper mounting block for any future weigh in clinics, she also got in touch to tell me that she knew my horse from before I had bought him.
As another quick reminder, Flipo came from a riding school in Aberdeenshire, sold to me as a quiet nine year old happy hacker to help me get back in the saddle after a ten year break. What I got instead, was a very spooky, worried horse who needed a leader, someone I wasn’t. We knew little of his history but the guess was that he was green as grass and apparently we weren’t far off the mark.
We knew Flipo had come over from the Netherlands, probably as part of a job lot, sold to the riding school for them to back, sell on and make a quick buck from. The girl who got in touch, told me that he wasn't used in the riding school and she was the only one who rode him. She mentioned that her boss had said he wasn’t long gelded, and knew nothing of his history so they started from scratch. Unfortunately however, she had an incident while getting on him one day, someone pulled a large roller door closed and the noise panicked an already concerned Flipo, he bronced, she landed on his bum, he bronced again, and she fell off, breaking her collar bone as a result. After that, he was never very settled to mount and it completely explains our issues since.
Back home, we continued with our relaxed lifestyle and Flipo hacked……
Contemplated making the odd bid for freedom from field……
And stable….
But generally decided it all seemed like far too much hard work and instead, yawned….
A lot…….
Lessons learnt in Sept '14 - Aug '15
1. We will never escaping our bumbling ways
2. We've overcome a lot, and I'm glad I didn't know half of his issues.
3. Flipo was finally my dream horse and I needed to really appreciate it.
So I haven’t posted on here for a couple of years and have been pretty quiet on the forum as a whole. I’m not sure anyone would really be interested in my ramblings now because I have been so negligent, but I’ve been feeling a little contemplative considering my Flipo situation right now and if for no one else but myself, I feel like resurrecting my diary posts for a wee while. Feel free to ignore me!
Starting back where I left off, August 2014, two and a half years ago. Mental how time passes! Flipo and his arab fieldmate were highly contented, I rode occasionally, was studying and working like a trojan for my CA qualification and nothing of interest ever really occurred. After all our troubles in our formative years, I finally had the horse that I could enjoy spending time with to take my mind off the stress of work. I completely trusted Flipo, felt we could go anywhere and do anything without fear of something going wrong, and it allowed me to focus my efforts on my career.
There were lazy days…
Hazy peaceful evenings….
And Flipo’s usual grumpy moments…he refused to budge until I removed the offending rug!
Nothing of consequence ever happened and we bumbled along happily for a while…..Oh yeah, unless you count our trip to a weigh in clinic.
In an effort to take advantage of our now accomplished partnership, I thought it not beyond our capabilities to attend a diet consultation at the local feed merchant. We hacked the three mile route there with our arab fieldmate and arrived sweaty and tired from the warm May weather. Lamenting my lack of ability to keep up with superfit Arab, I did take heart that this made Flipo a little more settled while we awaited our turn, ignorant of all the tasty treats by which he was now surrounded. First up was the Arab who surprised us all by weighing around 100kgs more than my mate had been worming him for in the last few years (a big oops!) and then it was Flipo. Clearly the hack was just far too much for the poor tired boy and asking him to lift his hoof the couple of inches to step up onto the scales almost ended in him falling violently in the warehouse causing earthquake like tremors and almost puncturing the weighbridge. Luckily friend was there to immortalise the moment and publicise it on facebook for the world to laugh at. But if I thought Flipo had embarrassed me enough for the day, I was about to go one step further.
We tacked the boys up and I enquired casually as to if there was somewhere I could use to get back in the saddle. As a quick reminder, Flipo and I have a poor history with mounting and there have been many traumas involving nettles, the infamous farting incident (me, not Flipo), spooking and running, all ending in me lying in a heap. We’ve spent hours on this problem and I’ve patiently backed him up repeatedly, waited and ensured that he wasn’t moving a muscle before getting on. My confidence was annihilated by our mounting woes and it’s taken us years to get to the point where I would even consider this trip. Thankfully I had done my homework, offered to bring my own block before I attended, but reassured that they would take care of me, I decided there was nothing to worry about.
So when they produced an upturned plastic bin as my potential podium, I immediately regretted not making my own preparations. I looked with disbelief and suggested that it definitely wouldn’t take my weight. ‘Oh but a girl used it earlier on and it was totally fine.’ Yeah, a girl. Probably a 15 year old stick insect weighing around 7 stone who ever so elegantly vaulted onto her 12hh pony only grazing the plastic bin with the nail on her littlest toe. Double that stoneage, add another and what you end up with is an ‘exploding’ plastic bomb, Flipo almost wetting himself and my mate stood in the background with the shop assistants all laughing hysterically.
Red faced, we had to take a few turns around the yard and eventually I calmed Flipo enough to mount up using a more reliable bag of haylage as our platform. Regaining our composure, I rolled my eyes and tried to look on the brightside. We got there in the end, but clearly, it’s a case of like horse, like owner and we plodded home with our tails between our legs, my mate still sniggering beside us.
I guess if there’s one thing that came out of this, it was that the feed merchant tagged us in a few photographs and I received a lovely message from a girl who works in one of their stores. As well as an apology and a promise that they had already purchased a proper mounting block for any future weigh in clinics, she also got in touch to tell me that she knew my horse from before I had bought him.
As another quick reminder, Flipo came from a riding school in Aberdeenshire, sold to me as a quiet nine year old happy hacker to help me get back in the saddle after a ten year break. What I got instead, was a very spooky, worried horse who needed a leader, someone I wasn’t. We knew little of his history but the guess was that he was green as grass and apparently we weren’t far off the mark.
We knew Flipo had come over from the Netherlands, probably as part of a job lot, sold to the riding school for them to back, sell on and make a quick buck from. The girl who got in touch, told me that he wasn't used in the riding school and she was the only one who rode him. She mentioned that her boss had said he wasn’t long gelded, and knew nothing of his history so they started from scratch. Unfortunately however, she had an incident while getting on him one day, someone pulled a large roller door closed and the noise panicked an already concerned Flipo, he bronced, she landed on his bum, he bronced again, and she fell off, breaking her collar bone as a result. After that, he was never very settled to mount and it completely explains our issues since.
Back home, we continued with our relaxed lifestyle and Flipo hacked……
Contemplated making the odd bid for freedom from field……
And stable….
But generally decided it all seemed like far too much hard work and instead, yawned….
A lot…….
Lessons learnt in Sept '14 - Aug '15
1. We will never escaping our bumbling ways
2. We've overcome a lot, and I'm glad I didn't know half of his issues.
3. Flipo was finally my dream horse and I needed to really appreciate it.
@Flipo's Mum - Thank you so much for the update and photo's, I love your writing style, and Flipo, well, he's just such a handsome chap. Glad things are good for you both 
Thankyou guys. For the last three years I've just not had the time or inclination to sit at a computer after work and study and I've truly missed writing. It's all been about numbers for me! Since flipo has been ill the last few weeks, I've been stood with him while he munched and found myself itching to start writing again. I'm a bit rusty but got a few more updates to do over the next few days so thankyou for reading, it's lovely that a few folk read my ramblings!
Always always enjoy your updates, even when there is some catching up to do! I'm glad to see you're back at it.
August 2015 - December 2015 - PART ONE of TWO
Must have been a late one!
So it’s been a few years (eek) since I last updated this diary, and I thought considering the current lock down situation, I’d finally finish what I started ten years ago.
There wont be many who will remember my ramblings as I’ve been less active recently - I changed career a while back and increased computer time for work has directly correlated with a reduction in my social media presence. Any time I’ve not been forced to use a screen, I’d rather be outside…..preferably with a horse.
As a recap, no secret, Flipo and I struggled early days 2009-2012. He wasn’t confident, neither was I. After a ten year riding break he was my 30th birthday present to myself. Imported from the continent, just backed (we didn’t find this out till a few years later), a belly as yellow as a canary and I didn’t help when I hit the deck within a month; we were doomed from the very start. Despite the difficulties, we persevered and eventually as of 2015, we had reached the dizzy heights of solo hacking around the tracks and fields near my livery yard with no elaborate plans for further achievement. Time to just enjoy the quieter ride (literally) and concentrate on my next challenge in life (training to become an accountant).
We’ve suffered through some pretty ridiculous (and amusing) incidents over the years - that time when I farted while mounting, Flipo freaked and I ended up in the nettles. Or the quest for a willy washing concoction to both satisfy my exacting standards of horse hygiene and Flipo’s inappropriate delight whenever I donned a pair of marigolds. It’s been fun, and a big part of that has been the friendship with Flipo’s fieldmate’s owner. We knew each other from work, but within the first month of things going Pete Tong with Flip, she invited me to move yards and we’ve been mates ever since. It worked really well as while we shared the chores and responsibility, for the most part not seeing each other suited our independent natures. She would perform morning checks and I spent most of the evening at the field. We bickered good naturedly over who’s turn it was to poo pick or when to restrict grazing, but would always unite to ensure our horses’ welfare and had a little fun along the way. Over the course of five years we battled the worst of the Scottish weather (who doesn’t remember where they were, Winter 2010-2011?!) Enjoyed summertime midnight hacks to avoid the ‘heat’ and flies; held all night vigils when artic lorries threatened to slide down the embankment into our field; undertook adventurous equestrian related carpentry projects (our hay feeders survive to this day, but now have very different uses), and provided much needed mutual support when concerns over the health of either horse materialised. The friendship and livery mate arrangement worked well and provided an enhancement to horse ownership that I had never anticipated. It’s odd now reflecting on this ten years later and realising that it only contributed to half of my overall Flipo experience……
New Year's Day Hacking
The beginning of the end of our happy quartet came around August 2015. I was starting my final year of a full time (and then some) training contract with an audit firm. The weather had been glorious (adding to my pain of being cooped up infront of a laptop) and I remember there was the first occasion in a long time when I wasn’t in receipt of a text message reminder to pop on the Arab’s lightweight rug during my evening check. The temperature was still a balmy 15 degrees at 10pm and I guess I’ve always been a bit anti-rug, so didn’t question it further. A few days later, my fieldmate jetted off to Australia and I was left in sole charge of the terrible two at arguably the easiest time of year to care for horses. Good thing, because I had a fortnight of four hour round trip commutes to Edinburgh for classes and a mock exam at the end of it. I grumbled that her timing sucked, but assumed naively all would be fine.
The first night she was away, I noted the temperature was similar to when the Arab last went naked and decided he wouldn’t suffer badly if I left him in the buff for a second time in as many weeks. In my defence, I knew after five years that my mate’s weather concerns primarily focused on wind and rain. While Flipo was impervious to any extreme of temperature, the Arab was a wimp (and so was my mate). The day had been glorious and the forecast reliably reported more of the same. With the risk of wind and rain negligible, I assumed he’d appreciate the fresh air on his back. Oh how wrong I could be.
We still don’t know if the lack of rug contributed, but at 5.30am the following morning I was rudely awoken by a call from a local dog walker telling me something wasn’t right. I live within a mile of the horses and was dressed, out the door and down at the yard five minutes later to find a usually pristine white-grey horse, mud covered and writhing at the bottom of the field. I grabbed a rug, headcollar and my trusty tub of treats hoping somehow if I could tempt him to eat, it would mean it wasn’t so bad as deep down I knew it to be. It didn’t take more than a minute before I opted to call the vet and while awaiting his arrival, I paced the field with the poorly Arab, cursing myself blind for making a mistake within 24 hours of my friend leaving the country. Sod’s law isn’t it.
I managed to get ahold of my fieldmate’s cousin for moral support and we shared that knowing look. All the signs of a horse potentially fighting colic, grass sickness or atypical myopathy. Take your pick, they could all end badly.
This wasn’t the first colic experience with the Arab. We’d spent a very cold overnight vigil wrapped in his rugs a year or so earlier only for him to bounce back the next day and just as I was suspecting the worst, he groaned, assumed the position and produced the only thing that can lighten the hardest of horse owners’ hearts in these situations. A decent sized steaming pile of manure.
I diligently marked the poo so that the vet could inspect it and we continued to, more positively, await his arrival. Even with the small glimmer of hope a fresh bowel movement brings, I couldn’t help but anticipate the worst while the vet carried out his examination in deathly silence. ‘You said he managed to pass something?’ he asked and I point behind, ‘its marked with that white tub, just over there’, not feeling able to take my eyes off the Arab for a second. The mood was sombre, I was expecting the worst, so it seemed a tad inappropriate that the vet and my mate’s cousin were now chuckling away.
Screwing up my face, I turned to question the source of their amusement only to realise that while the life of the Arab hung in the balance, now trotting frantically towards us, worry eye ablaze with terror, head tossing violently, was Flipo. With the now empty treat tub firmly welded to his nose.
Two vet visits later that day (I called in sick to work), we made the uneasy decision to call my fieldmate and from an Australian airport she was given her options Dick vet for an op; local practice for fluids or do nothing. I can’t imagine how difficult that decision could be at the best of times, but impossible when you’re half way around the world with absolutely no control.
She chose a night spent in the local vet practice and we breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled through the next day. Needless to say I rugged that horse to the eyeballs for the remaining three weeks she was away, but if only we knew then that there was more to come.......
Must have been a late one!
There wont be many who will remember my ramblings as I’ve been less active recently - I changed career a while back and increased computer time for work has directly correlated with a reduction in my social media presence. Any time I’ve not been forced to use a screen, I’d rather be outside…..preferably with a horse.
As a recap, no secret, Flipo and I struggled early days 2009-2012. He wasn’t confident, neither was I. After a ten year riding break he was my 30th birthday present to myself. Imported from the continent, just backed (we didn’t find this out till a few years later), a belly as yellow as a canary and I didn’t help when I hit the deck within a month; we were doomed from the very start. Despite the difficulties, we persevered and eventually as of 2015, we had reached the dizzy heights of solo hacking around the tracks and fields near my livery yard with no elaborate plans for further achievement. Time to just enjoy the quieter ride (literally) and concentrate on my next challenge in life (training to become an accountant).
We’ve suffered through some pretty ridiculous (and amusing) incidents over the years - that time when I farted while mounting, Flipo freaked and I ended up in the nettles. Or the quest for a willy washing concoction to both satisfy my exacting standards of horse hygiene and Flipo’s inappropriate delight whenever I donned a pair of marigolds. It’s been fun, and a big part of that has been the friendship with Flipo’s fieldmate’s owner. We knew each other from work, but within the first month of things going Pete Tong with Flip, she invited me to move yards and we’ve been mates ever since. It worked really well as while we shared the chores and responsibility, for the most part not seeing each other suited our independent natures. She would perform morning checks and I spent most of the evening at the field. We bickered good naturedly over who’s turn it was to poo pick or when to restrict grazing, but would always unite to ensure our horses’ welfare and had a little fun along the way. Over the course of five years we battled the worst of the Scottish weather (who doesn’t remember where they were, Winter 2010-2011?!) Enjoyed summertime midnight hacks to avoid the ‘heat’ and flies; held all night vigils when artic lorries threatened to slide down the embankment into our field; undertook adventurous equestrian related carpentry projects (our hay feeders survive to this day, but now have very different uses), and provided much needed mutual support when concerns over the health of either horse materialised. The friendship and livery mate arrangement worked well and provided an enhancement to horse ownership that I had never anticipated. It’s odd now reflecting on this ten years later and realising that it only contributed to half of my overall Flipo experience……
New Year's Day Hacking
The first night she was away, I noted the temperature was similar to when the Arab last went naked and decided he wouldn’t suffer badly if I left him in the buff for a second time in as many weeks. In my defence, I knew after five years that my mate’s weather concerns primarily focused on wind and rain. While Flipo was impervious to any extreme of temperature, the Arab was a wimp (and so was my mate). The day had been glorious and the forecast reliably reported more of the same. With the risk of wind and rain negligible, I assumed he’d appreciate the fresh air on his back. Oh how wrong I could be.
We still don’t know if the lack of rug contributed, but at 5.30am the following morning I was rudely awoken by a call from a local dog walker telling me something wasn’t right. I live within a mile of the horses and was dressed, out the door and down at the yard five minutes later to find a usually pristine white-grey horse, mud covered and writhing at the bottom of the field. I grabbed a rug, headcollar and my trusty tub of treats hoping somehow if I could tempt him to eat, it would mean it wasn’t so bad as deep down I knew it to be. It didn’t take more than a minute before I opted to call the vet and while awaiting his arrival, I paced the field with the poorly Arab, cursing myself blind for making a mistake within 24 hours of my friend leaving the country. Sod’s law isn’t it.
I managed to get ahold of my fieldmate’s cousin for moral support and we shared that knowing look. All the signs of a horse potentially fighting colic, grass sickness or atypical myopathy. Take your pick, they could all end badly.
This wasn’t the first colic experience with the Arab. We’d spent a very cold overnight vigil wrapped in his rugs a year or so earlier only for him to bounce back the next day and just as I was suspecting the worst, he groaned, assumed the position and produced the only thing that can lighten the hardest of horse owners’ hearts in these situations. A decent sized steaming pile of manure.
I diligently marked the poo so that the vet could inspect it and we continued to, more positively, await his arrival. Even with the small glimmer of hope a fresh bowel movement brings, I couldn’t help but anticipate the worst while the vet carried out his examination in deathly silence. ‘You said he managed to pass something?’ he asked and I point behind, ‘its marked with that white tub, just over there’, not feeling able to take my eyes off the Arab for a second. The mood was sombre, I was expecting the worst, so it seemed a tad inappropriate that the vet and my mate’s cousin were now chuckling away.
Screwing up my face, I turned to question the source of their amusement only to realise that while the life of the Arab hung in the balance, now trotting frantically towards us, worry eye ablaze with terror, head tossing violently, was Flipo. With the now empty treat tub firmly welded to his nose.
Two vet visits later that day (I called in sick to work), we made the uneasy decision to call my fieldmate and from an Australian airport she was given her options Dick vet for an op; local practice for fluids or do nothing. I can’t imagine how difficult that decision could be at the best of times, but impossible when you’re half way around the world with absolutely no control.
She chose a night spent in the local vet practice and we breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled through the next day. Needless to say I rugged that horse to the eyeballs for the remaining three weeks she was away, but if only we knew then that there was more to come.......
OH my word, I rushed through that tale with bated breath! What a rollercoaster.
Thanks Huggy, I appreciate you reading and commenting! I hate that i've let this diary lapse so badly, but i think its only now i can write this without the extra raw emotional crap that came with it at the time. It really was an awful time......and the rollercoaster continued!
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