I’d like to introduce you a certain tank-like, semi-feral, ordinary chap called Mac. And you know me - ever the sucker for a sob story, here was me rapidly approaching my 6th decade, and suddenly I've got 4 horses again. What am I like ...

Earlier this year we moved house, which meant we moved livery yards as well. Boy did I land on my perfect dream yard – cheap as chips with a totally non-interfering YO, right on the top of the Mendip Hills with acres of untouched, ancient sheep moorland with perfect rough grazing, ideal for my two metabolics, Cookie and Murphy (er, make that 3 now with Mac), and our unridden TB mare, Carmen.

Murf, Cookie and Carms settled instantly into their huge field set deep in the Somerset farmlands, bordered by ancient, crumbling, dry stone walls lined with huge beech trees, and views as far as you could see out to the Bristol Channel. And in the next field were two other ponies, Shannon, one of the YO's home-breds, and Mac, as well as her other last few retirees dotted around the farm, all now well into their dotage and enjoying a free-range life.

Turns out Mac had a bit of a story. Born locally but of questionable breeding (we think a bit of Exmoor but being much darker he could be a DHP), he apparently belonged to a former livery, who’d disappeared overnight 4-years previously leaving him behind. After three failed attempts to rehome him, and now pretty much retired from all things equine other than leading her grandchildren out for a potter on one of her retired ponies, the YO eventually resigned herself to the fact that she'd been lumped with a now semi-feral thug who was there to stay, so she paired him with retired Shannon, chucked them both out together in one of her top fields out of sight, and he fell into a home for life with a buddy and no stress. Four years on, now 17yo, I met him over the fence.

He wasn't in great shape - clearly overweight with a crest the size of a small country, a thin scurfy coat, cracked brittle (and very much in need of a trim) hooves, but solid as a rhino with an attitude to match. It didn't take long to discover that he was a serial biter, with no concept of personal space, but ... there was something about the boy. Over time he started coming up to the fence when I did my two daily visits, curious and inquisitive, despite teeth always ready for a well-aimed g-snash.

I grew quite fond of MacAttack, as I renamed him. I always made time to say hello and risk a face-on stroke in the hope my arm didn’t get bitten off, but I wasn’t brave enough to get in the field with him so I played safe over the fence.

It also didn't take long to realise that this pony was never checked. His feet were in desperate need of a trim, and when I couldn't bear it anymore I asked YO if I could get his feet done at the same time as my lot. She was more than happy, and while we were chatting she told me a bit more about him. He had sweet-itch so every year she bought him a fly rug; he was also apparently unrideable – she didn't say why but anyone who'd previously been brave enough to try was sent skywards at rocket speed.

Trim day dawned, so I went to bring him in. But ... I hadn’t even considered the NIGHTMARE it would be to get him out of his field. First time I'd been in there, and he let me approach and put a headcollar on. But. Leading him away from Shannon to the gate was impossible. He saved the best till last - his final trick once I'd got him to the gate was to spin his half-ton thuggery against me and gallop flat out back down the field. I hadn’t felt the full weight of a horse - let alone pony - against me for decades, never mind rope-burn on my hands, so this was an almighty heavyweight shock. 

I got him out eventually but only by bringing Shannon in too – our field was quite a trek from the yard so yes, I soon became aware that my heart was in my mouth – another sensation that I’d not had for years. I could tell that I was consciously trying to stay calm and b-r-e-a-t-h-e. I’m so lucky with our three – we’ve been together for years so we all know each other inside-out and are very calm together - they lead like a dream and usually at liberty alongside me. Now here I was, suddenly with two half-tons of pulling, spinning, semi-ferals on the end of each arm. Frankly I was a little terrified, and a huge reminder that in a blink these sentient beasts can not only floor you, but it might hurt a lot too.

Finally we got to the barn, and that’s when I saw Mac's sweet itch for real - remember I'd never seen his rear end. I knew his skin was scrawny and in poor nick as I’d only met him at face level - his neck was a bit rubbed with a few bare patches and scurfy skin, and not much left of a scrappy mane, but I’d not been round his back end yet. Cue one almighty sharp intake of breath.

This was the worst sweet itch I’d ever seen, and our Kelso had been the sweet itch king so I thought I knew sweet itch, but this was something else. Huge, deep, open, suppurating wounds, raw and weeping, the size of dinner plates each side of his tail. Just dreadful. I mentioned it gently to YO who sputtered that yes she felt dreadful about it but she had ordered a rug for him, and to be fair it coincidentally arrived that same day.

Long story short, I now became really concerned for this chap. Knowing we could help him, I had another gentle chat with the YO. She was delirious with joy that someone could help, and this is when it happened ... I really should have sensed those planets aligning. She just happened to say that she was hoping to find someone to take him on as she felt so sorry for him, didn't really have the know-how, the courage, or the energy, and frankly was a tad overwhelmed by him. And that was it. Those fatal words.

Just like when Carmen came to join us, I neither needed – nor wanted – another horse. For one thing I’m knocking on a bit now, but another reason is cost as, let's face it, four horses on livery, albeit DIY, ain't cheap. But as I always flipping do, I start pondering, and I found myself wondering if I could take him on as a ‘sharer’, which meant maybe I wouldn’t have to pay livery as technically YO would still own him. But I could take responsibility for his care, maybe do some retraining with him, or at least get him used to humans again, and he might pair-up with Cookie who often played third-wheel alongside Carms and Murf. And and and ... The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself, and Boom! I found myself really keen to go for it.

And so I had the chat – YO was very agreeable, and more than happy not to charge me any extra livery. The deal was done - MacAttack would come under my wing with me as his 'keeper' but not his owner. I now had a herd of four to care for. Again.

This must’ve been around end May-ish time, 2017? Time flies so not sure. Anyway, MacAttack moved into our field and went straight onto our regime: EquiVita minerals, Alcar to target his ginormous crest and leptin resistance - he was permanently starving and we soon learned he'd mug anyone for their feedbow; linseed for his coat/skin and salt for all the right reasons, and all mixed into Agrobs' Leitchgenus fatties chaff. I also gave him a detox with our OptimaCARE, followed by our SwItchTonic to calm his itch and support his detox organs. (2021 - Edited to add - we now know that sweet itch is very much part of the KPU syndrome so I would have managed him differently back then had we known. However, Oct'21 we started his KPU programme with a totally successful outcome).

Of course, his chronic sweet itch was deeply embedded in him so while we were waiting for the herbs to take effect it took just one week for Mac to completely trash his new rug. So, I dug out Murf's fly rug from the previous summer and on it went.  All mine have fly rugs, not special SI rugs – just cheapo Ebay ones in case the flies are bad, although it's only Murf who occasionally needs one on the odd day as he proper cries if the horseflies are bloodsucking. So Mac got Murf’s rug, and within a week he'd trashed that as well.

Cookie’s fly rug then went on him, and by now we were starting to see progress on his bum – the herbs were starting to clean up his skin and I'd started trusting his back-end enough to slather our aloe SwItchGel on by the gallon. He still rubbed like mad, but he was doing less damage to himself, although of course he rubbed where his skin was starting to heal, so it didn’t take much to rip it open again. But together, me, Mac, whatever rug he was in, and the SwItchGel, were slowly starting to make progress.

I really wish I’d taken a photo of him at his worst before any rugs went on him, but the first picture here is him with Cookie’s rug on, so about 3-weeks in. You'll definitely get an idea of what we were dealing with ...

The second photo was around 2-weeks later after Cookie’s rug gave up the ghost and I finally put Carmen’s fly rug on him - our last one. I'd inherited a smart, expensive Horseware rug with her but never needed to use. It was perfect for Mac, strong and robust, and best of all, seemingly untrashable. You can see how the raw skin is now starting to regrow some fluff and his tail is much less inflamed.

We were slowly starting to win the SI battle.