Over the stable door: Declaration of war on rabbit hazard

I gain a level of satisfaction from helping those eager enough to attend the courses and it provides an interesting variation to my daily routine. There can never be enough well-trained staff in the horse industry.

The fields are suddenly overrun with rabbits. Their numbers have exploded. Ten rabbits eat the equivalent of one sheep so I'm told. They certainly bring a hazard to my job. Every morning I check the gallop for rabbit holes before harrowing it.

It is too risky to presume we can avoid Mrs Cottontail's new family quarters when cantering a freshly broken three year-old around the track. My bunnies seem an indecisive bunch, they dig one hole, suddenly change their mind and dig another three foot away leaving a trail of foot-deep hazards across my perfectly tended gallop.

I invited some friends round for dinner to help remedy the problem. Rather than bring a bottle, the invitation suggested a 20- bore would be more suitable for the night's activities.

They're a band of steely country folk who live off the land rather than the supermarket and fortunately have constitutions to match. I knew they would appreciate the evening. We tucked into a hearty tea, the succulent joint of British beef thoroughly overdone by yours truly (a mortal sin for a farmer's daughter).

One of the guests arrived complete with home-made chocolate cake. When I lifted it from the tin, the cake was stale and wearing a fur coat, a left-over from last year's puppy show I suspected.

I didn't have the heart to bin it, so I cut the furry bits off and offered it round. Fortunately everyone was too full to tuck in but the hens seemed to enjoy it.

We took to the fields for some pest control. There were some highly skilled shots aboard and any dispatch was swift. After bagging 20 rabbits in one field alone, concentration turned to the few pesky crows hell-bent on killing the surviving lapwing chicks my parents have tried to protect all spring. Their numbers have dwindled on the farm this year. Some people may understandably disagree with shooting but if they witnessed the agonising pain and death caused by myxomatosis ravaging the rabbit population every autumn it may help them to understand.

The rabbits were gutted and in my freezer by the end of the evening and have since been enjoyed in a delicious casserole by all but dad. He refuses to eat rabbit, suspecting the only ones we'd manage to shoot would be those too sick to run away. My neighbour took the rest to make her superb game pat. You can't beat living off the land for a bit of eco friendliness.

I indulged in a little luxury at Royal Ascot yesterday – an annual treat marking the end of the pointing season and a slight relaxing of the tight rein I am on all winter with work. I went with some crazy Irish friends who own, breed and gamble on the horses. Any trip with "the guys" is memorable. It's not unusual to be in a restaurant, return from the ladies to find the whole bistro on their feet heartily singing an Irish republican song with Gerry stood on the bar conducting. They certainly have Irish charm. Let's hope I make it back for racing at Hexham tomorrow… sometimes you never know where you'll end up when they're around.

CW 19/6/10