Dear diary,

I think I need to clear a few things up. Firstly I am Hovis. My Facebook pages are for ME. For the Hovite Army to come together in mutual adoration of my Clydesdale manliness NOT for you all to babble on about mother’s recent “heroics” running a Tough Mudder for charity.

Secondly when I roll in mud and end up looking like a creature from the black lagoon everyone gets very upset. How come when mother does it, and looks like the fat offspring of swamp-thing, everyone tells her how brave and awesome she is? This, right here, is a perfect example of discrimination in action. Is this because I’ve got feathers?

Anyway now I’ve got that off my impressively large chest, can you all stop encouraging mother’s antics? She’s getting way too old for all this silliness and quite frankly someone needs to tell her filthy Lycra is not a good look. Besides which she’s got another one in four week’s time and trust me, from the way she’s hobbling about then the second one might just finish her off, then who’s going to bring me dinner? It was bad enough it was late on Saturday after this one. I know it’s for charity and all that and I’m very supportive of her efforts in principle. But in practise if she breaks her legs then who’s going to look after me?

I wasn’t entirely feeling the love for my dear mother as it was before she took over my Facebook pages and was late with my food. Why is that I hear you ask? Simples people, I shall explain.

So last Friday I told you all Herman the German Needle Man was coming to see me? Well he stood me up. He actually stood me up and sent his sidekick instead. I was outraged; I have let that man do things to me that are verging on illegal and never once kicked him or bitten him (thought about it yes but done it no) and he STANDS me up? Admittedly his wingwoman is better looking than he is and probably holds a better tune (I have never got over the trauma of him “rapping” to me) but that’s not the point.

So there I was in my field hanging out with Dolls and minding my own business when I hear the excited female tones of mother and mini mother. Peering through the hedge I see them approaching with the lovely but sneaky sidekick in tow along with a small rat like creature wearing a collar. They all came into my field, cuddled me and fussed me while mother slipped my headcollar on. The sun was shining. All was well with the world. Then wallop! A needle was in my neck faster than a peeved wasp on speed. Where it had come from I have no idea but I can tell you the girl has a career in Las Vegas. Well if they ever want to put on a show about evil vets taking advantage of lovely big gentle giants that is…

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I wouldn’t mind but she murmured her apologies, stroked me some more and then stuck ANOTHER one in the other side. All while telling mother how well behaved I am. The woman has clearly spent far too much time with Needle Man. He’s apparently coming again next week to repeat the process. So he thinks…

Talking of people being back Aunty Emily is back from holiday so I’m expecting her one woman crusade to turn me into the feathered equivalent of that Viagra dude to continue. Needles and stressage. Life sucks.

Laters,

Hovis