Dear Diary

Well it’s been a relatively quiet week for me principally because this week was the week of the “epic run” — aka Mother, Aunty Becky and mum’s brother waddling round muddy fields in aid of charity.

Mum and I did a small amount of work in which she made me do some trot, seemed pleased I wasn’t dog lame (I’m FIXED mother, why can we not go stubble racing?!) and gave me a bit of a tidy up.

Apparently resembling a feral bog pony is not a good look, so lots of girlie smelling products were plastered all over me and I was brushed within an inch of my life. Reeking like a counter at Boots the Chemist, I was turned back out into my field where I promptly resolved the situation by rolling about in the dirt near Dolly’s field like a chicken having a dust bath. Minus the cock-a-doodle-dooing obviously – I’m not a pervert…

Mother was thrilled, shot me a look of pure admiration and stormed off. I presume she was practising for her mud run because she did leave at some pace. Watching Mum try to speed walk is like watching a hedgehog try to jog – all determined attitude and short little legs going 10 to the dozen. Come to think of it, she’s small, round and can be very prickly – my god, my mother is Mrs Tiggywinkle!

On Friday I was lightly lunged so mother didn’t injure herself. Please! Mother can fall over her own feet brushing her teeth so I fail to see why I presented a risk to her. Needless to say my version of “lightly” and Mother’s weren’t quite the same and a lot of “whoa” and “whoa means slow down moron” could be heard being shrieked across the Lincolnshire countryside. I’m well aware of what “Whoa” means Mother, I was choosing to ignore you. I am not deaf – I am defiant. I am not retarded – I am rebellious. I am not disobedient – I am the Destroyer. Oh and you are a lady with a lunge whip? Why didn’t you say so…

Anyway Mother then turfed me back outside for the night and took off to prepare for her race. Did I mention she left me outside? In a thunderstorm? With NO rug on? By the time the boss lady came to fetch me in the morning, I was a sodden heap of big brown-eyed misery. SHE took pity on me and took me into the stables to dry off (and to keep Dolly company, who was equally wet and shivering). Mother seemed unmoved by my plight. I just have to ask who was smirking just a few hours later when she and Aunty Becky took on the might of Airfield Anarchy. Have you SEEN the photos? I have actually got over the horror of mother plastering pictures of herself all over MY facebook page because they are SO funny. It’s fair to say it was very wet, very cold and they both looked like drowned rats.

Oh how I laughed.

In fairness they not only finished it and in one piece (and trust me with my Mother that was something of a miracle) but raised a HUGE amount for Cancer Research in memory of my Granddad. Both of them came down to the yard after they’d finished and were clearly completely pumped up. Mother was covered in bruises to the extent her legs looked as mottled as my neck, but they were both very chuffed with themselves. I am allowing the takeover of my fan pages for a little while longer before I am forced to remind them both who the real star is.

Anyway I am off to giggle some more over photos of mother crawling through mud like a giant unamused worm and will enjoy the peace while it lasts. Cool New Shoes Man is due later and he was at some upload festival last weekend so no doubt I’ll have to listen to them comparing notes. *Yawn*

Laters,

Hovis