When strolling through the undulating landscape of Dorset recently, one particular right of way cut its way through a very large paddock. I entertained myself by trying to guess the types of horses that had been here. The field had been poached over winter, because even in May the grass looked decimated and was littered with discarded spoilt hay. This now empty field would have been a winter paddock, but I wondered at this decision. This was a steep hillside with beautiful views of the sea, but battered by the winds coming of the English Channel, yet there was no shelter, either natural or man-made. Ten minutes later I spotted a large barn which was flanked by smaller paddocks, much smaller paddocks. One particular paddock was approximately the size of 2 tennis courts, and I counted 9 thoroughbreds in there. Ears were pinning, tails were swishing and noses were curling as they jostled for space in an attempt to graze peacefully. Again, I wondered at this decision.