So said my older daughter as we struggled to stack the 100 plus bales of hay in the new hay shed having moved them from the second stable. We did it, cleaned the stable, put in lovely, fluffy pink shavings and waited for a reaction from the ponies.
We got one, but not what I expected. Ben saw the open stable. He came up to inspect. He sniffed from outside, backed away and shot Rosie a look from 20 metres that sent her galloping and bucking across the grass. He turned and galloped after, skidding to a lovely, muddy, tearing-up-the-ground stop before rolling.
Rosie had her tea in that stable, but by the time I came in at dusk, neither had voluntarily gone in.