Dear Diary

One day I shall learn.  I may be very old when this time comes but one day I swear on a bag of pasture mix I WILL learn…

I have been with my mum for quite a long time now so you’d think I would be wiser. The warning signs are usually there — the slightly red cheeks, the ‘I’ve just sucked a lemon’ lips and the utterly murderous glint in her eyes but time after time I tend to overlook these and continue blasély along in my own little feathered world until the point at which she launches into a tirade about my parenthood or my suitability for a hog roast.  By then of course it’s usually a little late and I spend days trying to wheedle back into her good books by cuddling her, helping her poo pick my field and generally doing my ‘melting puppy dog eyes’ trick.  Which in case you hadn’t guessed, is what I’ll mainly be found doing for the rest of the week after my antics the other night.  Oooops.

The weekend had found me in the dog house and banned from hacking out with Aunt Sam due to a slightly loose rear shoe and a very sun burnt nose.  This was not good news because it meant I had to endure another session of mother bouncing about like a jelly baby on a pneumatic drill whilst she worked me with no stirrups.  How she doesn’t have black eyes is quite frankly beyond me, as I refused to aid her after the telling off I got last week, for running about like the hunch back of Notre Dame trying to keep her in the saddle.  She had more bounce per ounce in trot than that Tigger dude after several pints of that stuff that tastes like cough medicine and gives you wings (I can vouch for that — I drank some of dad’s once and boy does it make you FLY).

Due to the sunburnt nose, which may or may not have been related to my new spotty friend helping me remove my fly mask every day for the past week, I also had to endure being pinned down and having my scabby peeling nose cleaned and coated in so much baby bum cream, I look like a Mr Whippy on legs. The boss lady has now foiled us by putting another section of electric fencing between us so he can’t reach me;  she and my mother could teach lessons on 101 ways to be a killjoy.

I was left with strict instructions to behave as a lady was coming to see me with a view to maybe sharing me.  She’d obviously got through mother’s pre-requisite grilling on the telephone and had probably already provided a DNA sample and her full family tree…

So the day dawned and a lovely young lady with very long legs turned up, called me sweet (which I wasn’t entirely keen on), clambered on board and started to work me in the school.  Well if I’m honest, I wasn’t entirely up for it and may have possibly sloped about the school with the enthusiasm of one of my relatives pulling a hearse. I may have feigned total ignorance of the command for canter and might have given the impression two strides of canter was all I was capable of.

At this point if I’d have read the warning signs I should have guessed mum was on the verge of turning me into a large portion of lasagne.  The girl was very polite and said that I was lovely but not as forward as she was expecting from mum’s description of me on the phone.  Through gritted teeth mother did say I was more forward out hacking and that I was extracting the urine a tad — which was unfair because I’d not weed once in the school…

She suggested that if the lady wanted to take me into the neighbouring stubble field (that we’re allowed to ride on) she could try me in there.  Now, by this stage I was getting the impression that my ‘I’m dead from the neck down’ routine was not amusing mother so I figured she wanted me to unleash my inner racehorse.  Besides which I LOVE stubble as you all know.  So it wasn’t my fault.  The lady said ‘GO!’ so I went.

Extremely quickly.  Like that Spankel dude in a pair of feathery flares. For quite a long way. Like most of the way around the field.

She did pull me up for a moment but then I spotted mum and ran over to await being told how wonderful I was.  According to Dolly, there was a swift sweep stake taken as to whether I would stop before I ran mother over, but I can usually judge these things and slithered to a halt a mere few feet in front of her awaiting to be lavished with praise.  Needless to say I might have misjudged things and mother was NOT happy.  The lady however thought I was amazing fun and said she thought I was absolutely great.   The look mother gave me does not bode well for the rest of the week and I have a feeling a repeat performance with the next potential sharer coming tonight might not go down too well.

So diary, if I don’t write next week keep an eye open for any suspiciously large mounds or a set of feathery legs sticking out of the concrete of a newly constructed motorway…

Laters

Hovis