Dear Diary

After the highs of my rather baffling success in the stressage arena “bit of grass with some trotting poles around it”, I’ve had a rather quiet week — which has been most pleasant and has allowed me to step up my “fool around with Foxy” campaign.

At the weekend, I enjoyed some quality time with mum, grooming each other, hanging out in my field, chilling…oh and helping her poo pick, which I know she was thrilled about. Despite the photos she put on my Facebook pages that make me look like a guilty wheelbarrow murderer. It wasn’t my fault — it fell over. Honestly it did. I was simply resuscitating it like the good gelding I am. Mum moaning about having to re-pick all the poo, merely demonstrated her lack of concern for the barrow and quite frankly I think she should be ashamed…

On Saturday evening, I was relaxing in my stable hanging out with Billy, when in walked Aunty Becky with another girl who turned out to be her younger sister. It appears news of my fame and general amazing talents had reached her ears and she wanted to meet me in person. Or Aunty Becky has moaned once too often about me, and she wanted to see if I was really as bad as Aunty B said I was. Take your pick…

Because I am lovely, and mum volunteered me, I let Becky’s sister have a little ride on me, which was great because a) she enjoyed it and (far more importantly) b) it got me out of doing any real work for the evening. Sadly, this didn’t last — the next day mother insisted on lunging me like a weather vane on a waltzer. I was dizzy by the time we’d finished so how mother wasn’t walking like a drunk with vertigo I have no idea. Practise I assume…

I’d worked rather hard so had a manly glow to me when I re-entered the barn which Foxy appeared to appreciate. Cue lots of sloppy kissing, an embarrassed mother and a cold shower for me. Sadly though, this display of affection didn’t last and the next day she had the audacity to ignore my generous gift.  Admittedly, taking the “ooops, I’m out of date” sticker off the swede before I gave it to her, might have been a better idea but have you tried removing things like that with your teeth? She seemed rather unimpressed and I made a mental note not to waste anymore root veg on the ungrateful wench. 

I might be an author but like most artists, I am poor and after all it is the thought that’s supposed to count. I am guarding her body tomorrow out hacking, so I shall see if she makes up for her spurning of my swede . . . then “hubba-hubba”.

Talking of foxy females, it has come to my attention that my diary is posted to the blog of a very famous American race mare, who won lots of money and now makes impressive babies. I’m not sure about the baby thing (I am only young and can’t afford the maintenance), but having a famous female fan is rather cool (even if she is a thoroughbred). Billy said she probably thinks I’m heir to a baking fortune, and so will be most disappointed when she discovers the truth — that I’m merely 2 sandwiches short of a picnic.  He fell about for half an hour over his wit. I weed on his rug. Who’s laughing now?

So I’m off to ogle Dolly, practise my body guarding moves for tomorrow, hide from Aunty Becky wanting to practise more stressage, and dream of an American starlet with a poster of me on her stable wall.

Laters

Hovis