Dear diary

Well whoo-hoo, I am HOT to trot people! Following last week’s exciting announcement that I am now passed fit to trot again, I have been making the most of it. Hurtling up and down my field, trotting when mother has come to walk me back to the yard (she was SO thrilled!), trotting sideways down the back track of doom (you do have to watch those chickens in the hedge row — cunning they are, cunning) and then doing far more than five minutes trotting in the school with mother. She did realise once she’d asked me for it, I wasn’t going to stop after the fourth turn around the school.

She had started with a gentle half-halt and a subtle movement of her seat (well as subtle as moving something THAT size can ever be) and progressed rapidly into a full “why aren’t you listening to me you great big oaf” style application of the brakes. Baring in mind I school in a snaffle, this was about as scary as her beating me with a large peacock feather. I ignored her and continued to relish the freedom of my frankly rather amazing powerhouse trot. Even the boss lady said I looked amazing — which was greeted by a glare from mother which even the blind would have realised said “yes but you weren’t trying to stop him were you?”

So you would think mother would be proud of me right? Be thrilled to have her baby boy up and running again? Be showering me in cuddles and love? Yeah right! This is my mother. On Saturday afternoon in high winds, mother advanced on my field with a determined look and some seriously wild hair. She removed my fly mask and slipped my headcollar on, leaving my lead rope trailing on the floor. Somewhat confused, I then watched her try to draw a syringe full of what I recognised as the seriously expensive stuff Herman the German needle man had given her last week. Now at this point I know mother has gone on Facebook extolling the virtues of a horse that you can headcollar in a field, leave loose and stick a needle in their neck all while they don’t move a muscle. She even told people she loves me.

Can I now tell my version? I wasn’t standing there like a plank waiting for someone to shove needles in me — I was transfixed with amusement at mother trying to coax fluid into a needle, while her hair billowed about like seaweed in a rip tide. Watching her steely-eyed determination as she eyed up the right part of my neck, I pledged not to move a muscle — not because I am well behaved but more in fear of what body part I might lose if I moved — while she was in the middle of trying to harpoon me with a needle. Once she had the needle in place, I merely resigned myself to getting it over as soon as possible before she decided she’d done it wrong and pulled it out for another go. Trust me — what looked like well behaved compliance, was more a sensible survivalist approach to my mother yielding extremely sharp implements.

Anyone not believing how special my mother is, should have stayed in that field for another ten minutes — when I ended up wearing my rug over my head, eyes and ears, while pom-pom hair girl laughed hysterically and tried to jump up high enough to retrieve it. Let’s just say she wouldn’t pass a BHS stage high enough to allow her to take care of a rocking horse. It’s a good job I believe strongly in an afterlife that will grant me a harem of hot mares and an endless supply of grass, otherwise I might have lost the will to live a LONG time ago.

So talking of unfairness in life, how come I haven’t been invited to this battle of the heavyweights? The race at Lingfield racecourse between the Shires and the Clydesdales? Seriously? Is this because mother believes I’m not entirely fully Clyde? Can I point out that this is nothing more than a vicious rumour and it’s never been proven that I am not 100% Clyde beef cake. Obviously, I am team Clydesdale all the way but I WANT TO COME AND PLAY! I feel very hurt that I haven’t been invited and would like to remedy this for the next one — pretty please? Who do I need to talk to?

Anyway, I’m off to wait by the phone in case they ring with a last minute invite and then practise my 0-60 take off. I think mother is due down later to stick yet another needle in my neck so boy I can’t wait…

Laters

Hovis