My first own horse.
He's a gelding and born in Spain. Although he's a member of the high society (as P.R.E. his official name is Islero LXIX), his manners are quite undistinguished. :-)
At the back you can see the legs of the co-owner.
At one of the main bus stations stands this monument to the Icelandic horse. It clearly depicts its history as a working horse. In the 19th century it was exported to England for the use in coal mines, so the Industrial Revolution might not have happened…
Dirk leading them to us. We (guests) weren't with the herd from the start, because it's always difficult to get them away from home. So we joined up here and then we drove the herd together. Dirk left us after this day.
A shoe was lose, so Hróðmar changed it. This happend again on the road and at that time - at least one of the others told this; I didn't see it myself - he bent the shoe to the right size with bare hands. In Þingvellir he used a stone as an anvil.
In the lower right corner you can see the ear of Kröggur. He went quite close to the abyss, but made a cautious step backwards, when he looked down. It's about where the edge of the rock at his ear is.