I still hear them calling me when I let the dog out morning noon and night, slightly bazaar as I don’t believe in ghosts, but it is strange. My little spotted pony was 35 years old last month and sadly failed to regain condition this summer. The Shetland was deaf and laminitic, he too was of great age; in his late thirties. I miss them dreadfully but the winter is not so far away and I am going to light a fire tonight as it is cold. The field is very empty without my four legged friends or should I say family as we have had them for more than twenty years.

Charlie, or Charlotte, the Appaloosa, came from the circus; she was a wonderful child’s pony, did not suffer fools gladly, was a great jumper and made sorties for charity, pony club and pony camps. She also kept Smokie under control.

He was a dream, pulled wheels with great enthusiasm, carried children through fords, old tanks out of the rough (Eddy Page please note and report back!), a gentle softy with characteristic Shetland mischief which Thelwell illustrated so well. He was an expert escaper and as good as any Rabbit at avoiding capture but always knew when to give up! RIP