Goodnight Columnist Tessa Waugh’s hunting diary, plus our weekly cartoonist “The Final Straw”

An idyllic Sunday hack takes a rogue turn and an out-of-control crisis ensues, as Tessa Waugh and her entourage are spooked by an unsuspecting gang of teenagers

‘Perhaps it was the backpacks that made them look strange, like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on a mission to destroy all ponies’

WE had a drama this week, albeit a small one, and like many dramas it could have been a lot worse. Mary and I have recently managed to coax Jack, who is four, into riding Josh, the oldest and steadiest pony, around the farm. It was a hell of a job persuading him to do it but once on board he loved it, telling me, “Riding’s really fun, Mummy”, in joy and disbelief, on several occasions. Naturally, I was thrilled.

On Sunday we set off again; me on Rusty, Jack on the leading rein on Josh, and Mary on foot as back-up. It was a beautiful sunny day — we had trundled down the road and “jumped” the stream and were all enjoying ourselves when Rusty spotted some walkers. This was a classic case of Sod’s Law. The likelihood of seeing anyone here at 10am on a Sunday morning is minuscule. More to the point, what is so scary about a group of walkers? Perhaps it was the backpacks that made them look strange, like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on a mission to destroy all ponies.

Rusty, usually so sane, started to behave as if we were under attack, so I called to Mary to come and take Josh. I hadn’t thought for a minute that he would react. Big mistake. It turns out that Josh doesn’t like turtles either. Suddenly he snorted, revealed the whites of his eyes (unseen since 1998), shot backwards, spun around and started cantering off in the opposite direction. Mary still had hold of the rope and was running along in his slipstream hanging on for dear life. Jack, by some miraculous act of God, was still in the saddle.

I’m not brilliant in a crisis, I freeze, but I managed to shout at the turtles, “For God’s sake, STOP! Can’t you see there’s a problem?” They had failed to register the tiny tot/ runaway pony combo and were still plodding towards us. Mary still had hold of Josh’s rope and when they stopped, he steadied up and I was able to grab Jack. We heard a muffled “sorry” or two from the turtles as they stomped past — they were only teenagers on an Outward Bound expedition, but the ponies were having none of it and carried on snorting in terror until they were out of sight.

IWAS very proud of both children — Mary for keeping hold of the rope and Jack for sticking to Josh’s back like a limpet. Neither panicked, but I needed a strong drink.

Moral of the story? Don’t take any pony for granted, however steady, and beware of Ninja Turtles in the Cheviot Hills.