When I went out to the barn last Thursday, I noticed that Archie had some new holes in his head.

Not gonna lie:  this freaked me the fuck out.

I'd taken his fly mask off because it was starting to rub a little bit in a few places.  In the twelve hours of facial freedom, he.. did something.  There was another mark on the opposite side of his head, so I can only think that he stuck his head through the fenceline and then got spooked.

The spots are mostly healed now, but I took ample precautions on our ride Friday and still haven't put a halter back on normally.

Gauze tucked into the ear bonnet.

Good pony!

Scrubbing off grossness.

Our rides of late haven't been much to write home about.  More cantering, which has an easier and friendlier depart when I (because it's always me): ask on a straight away, don't think about asking and don't demand instantaneous departure.  He's sixteen.  We'll learn new things, but we're also going to be respectful of age.  Yesterday's ride was just a walking trail ride.  There was a lot of this:

And I got mauled by our Siamese, spooked on my shoulder and launched off my face:

There was some boob injury, but I kept that to myself.

And a final shot of the Archer, looking adorbs:

Braided because I'm a nutjob.