A rather fat Newt – his real name is “Viking” but I just can’t bring myself to call him that.  So he is Newt as in My-Newt because he was 24″ high when he first arrived as a foal, and probably not much more than 27″ now.  Small, sturdy, with an attitude around the others but not around me because he knows better.

And his cousin, Storm.  Storm is an evil genius but also agreeably open to all ideas of my stupidity, like trying to lead him with my coat because I have nothing else to hand.

Vitamin. 30 years old now and still the Queen of the herd.  Mad as a box of frogs and I can’t catch her, but then completely calm while I clean her mouth out standing in the field without a headcollar.  Who knows what goes through her head.

She gets two pictures because she is so pretty.

Vitamin’s sort-of BFF is Fivla. She is 28 years old and drifts through life in her own world.  She always has. The summer diet seems to suit her and she is no trouble to anyone because that would involve effort and at her age, why bother?

Fivla’s doppelgänger is Silver.  He listens to his own voices, as my previous neighbour would say, and looks so much like Fivla that he sometimes gets her bucket before I realise.  Like Vitamin, some days he is my best friend, and then he is feral.

This little soul is Albie.   He is speshul and wants all the love in the world. He follows me round.

Waffle, who briefly managed to put his head up – he probably can’t see out and didn’t know I was there.

And little pink-nosed Tiddles, who is the best kisser of them all.

I adore them all.