Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘It’s been a really bad week’
(Image credit: Karen Thompson)
Dear diary,
This week has not been good. Like really not good. On more fronts than a Hollywood plastic surgeon has put fake airbags.
Bear with me and I shall explain.
The weekend saw me having some much needed R&R as the mothership, mini-mother and the old squawky one, who I enjoy terrorising (otherwise know as Granny) had all pushed off to God’s Own Country to take a trip down memory lane – the mothership was hatched there apparently, although personally, I would have staked good hay that she was created in a test tube by some evil and totally insane scientist – and take mini-mother to try upside down roller coasters now she is actually marginally taller than one of my more impressive poos. All was going well until the Sunday, when the palomino pint-sized pain in the posterior and I were turned out on the all-weather to avoid the need for a lifeguard on standby if the shady short arse fell into a water-filled divot in the field.
Now, to be clear, we were not turned out together – there was bitey fence between us as he is about as trustworthy as a fox selling a second hand car – but that didn’t stop the wicked Welsh weirdo from deciding that I was too handsome and thus having a go at some DIY plastic surgery.
By the time the Crazy New Boss Lady found me and phoned mum, there was an alarming amount of claret, some rather significant chunks missing from my mouth and my lips were more swollen than a Kardashian after a filler top up. Cue a video call to the mothership to decide if her ailing bank balance could cope with hauling Herman the German Needle Man out of H-man Towers on a Sunday, and indeed if there was anything he could even do. For once, this was not a slur on Herman’s veterinary capabilities, but more a reflection on the fact that the carrot crunching carnivore had not left a lot of flesh to allow for stitching.
After the blood had been cleared away, enough antiseptic applied to clean up a whole government department and I had been fed copious amounts of bute, mother had calmed down sufficiently that Barbie Boy’s demise went from “imminent” to “pending” as she was prevented from jumping in a car there and then and whizzing home to fit him out for a pine turnout rug with the promise of photos of the damage first thing the following morning. To say she was rather miffed would be the understatement of the decade – the ginger ninja definitely hadn’t got the memo which clearly states that she’s allowed to inflict mental and physical torture upon my person, but woe betide anyone else who does.
The following day, the swelling had gone down, but it became clear I wasn’t going to be able to have a bit in for some time as the worst of the gouges inside my mouth were right where the bit would sit. Now, as I don’t possess a bitless bridle (as funnily enough, while mother has the IQ of a garden gnome, she’s not usually suicidal) and lungeing me in a headcollar would require ballast even beyond the size of mothers substantial backside, I’m benched for now. The Tiny Toothy Terrorist is on very thin ice – at least if the incredibly icy glares, along with oft used descriptors implying the ginger ninja’s parents were not married were anything to go by…
As pants as being savaged by something as puny as the pint-sized princess pony was, that wasn’t the reason for this week being so awful. That reason was soley down to the passing over the Rainbow Bridge of the love of my life.
I haven’t seen her since our old yard closed down and we all went our separate ways, but she was a very big part of my life for a very long time and she now leaves a very big hole in my heart. She was feisty, opinionated, mercurial and always swung wildly between being unable to live without me and being hell bent on ensuring I didn’t live much longer, on an almost hourly basis, but I loved her.
Goodnight my black beauty, my gorgeous girlFor these many years, you were my worldSo, if I close my eyes I can see you stillAnd here in my heart, I always will
You were my love, my wingwoman and my friendI know we’ll be reunited at my journeys endSo, until that time comes, I’ll comfort them hereYour friends and your mum who loved you so dear
So, when I tell your mum to listen, to open her earSoftly whicker beside her, to show that you’re nearLet her hear your hoofbeats, alongside her ownSo, she knows that you’re with her, that your spirit’s come home
You’re over the bridge now, on the other sideWith all of those horses, who’ve ever diedForever ageless you are now, running freeAnd when my time comes, then come and meet me
In loving memory of Dolly – irrepressible, irreplaceable, irreverent and always herself until the very end of a long life well-lived and well-loved.
Laters,
Hovis
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