Not a good weekend for either me or Spuds. It is now early March, and we were out hunting. We came to a strip of virgin scrub woodland running downhill along the length of a stream. We fought our way through the scrub to cross the stream, then ascend a short but steep bank out into the next field. Unfortunately the stream area was extremely boggy, so when I came to cross it I got my front feet onto firm ground but my hind legs were deep in a morass. I sprung to free myself and ascend the bank, but either did it wrong or used too much effort. After a short distance it was obvious that I was lame (a better tutored bum than Spuds' could have detected it a lot sooner). So there we were, about 5 miles from the meet; me last in the line and on 3 legs.

Fortunately a friend had directed a car follower to where me and Spuds stood, and this kind person looked after me whilst Spuds borrowed her car and went back to get his car and trailer. Ever since Spuds witnessed a mishap at a show last year, he carries an equine first-aid kit of sorts, so we were able to bind my leg up to support it. By now I could put no weight on it at all, but I managed to hop into the trailer. Driving back to the yard was a worrying experience for Spuds, as obviously I was liable to fall over around any sharp bend. Fortunately the partition and side of the trailer were sufficient to support my weight, and he drove very carefully.

Back at the yard, Spuds immediately started running cold water over my injured leg, and waited for the vet to come out. He was there within half an hour, but couldn't tell too much because of the massive swelling. An injection of bute was given, and arrangements made for me to be taken to the equine hospital on Sunday for X-rays and investigation. A gloomy picture was painted of the possible outcome. The injury was not a tendon but probably the suspensory ligaments; if the sesamoid bone to which the ligaments attach was damaged then the outlook is particularly bad.

Spuds drove home in sombre mood. "You're late", said his wife cheerfully. "Has that wretched horsebox broken down again?".

"No. I wasn't in the box, I was in Eric's trailer. And it's my horse that's broken". Spuds had a hot bath, a stiff drink or two, and a generally cheerless evening.

At 2:30 on Sunday morning Spuds was awoken by the phone ringing. Expecting a call from the stables giving disastrous news of my condition, he rushed downstairs to answer it. The voice at the end was that of some low-life young scrote who had smashed the mega-expensive double-glazed window of his Mercedes and relieved the car of its mobile phone. He had then paged through the memory to find the entry for HOME. "Ho Ho mister where's your phone then?" he chortled. Spuds ran outside to see the car, and got a bit of broken glass in his foot. The youth rang again, but Spuds wife told him where to go, using short and easily understood words. Orange immediately disconnected the number, so the youth's fun was short lived. The excess on the insurance policy will cost Spuds more than the phone was worth.

However; this now meant that Spuds had no car with which to tow the trailer to take me to the clinic. Fortunately Dennis at the yard was happy to lend Spuds his Land-Rover for the trip. By Sunday morning I was putting weight on the bad leg and munching at my haynet, so Spuds' worst fears subsided. An ultrasound scan revealed that it was indeed my suspensory ligament that had been damaged, but not too seriously. The vet was amazed that my unhappy appearance on Saturday afternoon had transformed so quickly; I was now able to walk with only a slight limp.

It looks like we got away with it this time, though our entire social life and summer schedule is now in disarray. The vet says that the prompt treatment that Spuds was able to give helped immensely; the cold water plus strapping up the leg as soon as the injury was spotted. I have to stay in my box for two months, with 10-minute walks once or twice a day. Then I can be turned out in May for another two months (yippee!), then brought back into work slowly with 6 weeks of walking; 6 weeks of trotting. I should just be ready for the next season.

If they ever ban fox-hunting though, Spuds has a suggestion as to what species could be substituted.