Dear Diary,

Its official – the flying feathered one is back! Stubble is in the fields, the sun is sort of shining (well among the horrendous rain but heh, we can’t have everything) and I’m allowed to canter again. Life is pretty good.

So after a brief moment of panic on Friday when the boss lady had to look after me instead of mum (the joys of Flymaybe apparently) I had a pretty good weekend. I’m still in during the day but I overheard mum saying to Aunty H (Dolly’s mum) that she wants me back out 24/7 because I’m actually verging on having lost too much weight — that’s right, she did say that, no I haven’t been sniffing any funny substances, and no I can’t say the same for mother…

We did a bit of work in the school but it was a tad deep so mum said she’d rather I didn’t work in there and promptly decided we should go hacking with Dolly and Aunty H instead. Sometimes mother’s logic is so warped she makes a corkscrew look straight but other times she is a positive genius. This was one of those times.

So we set off with my high maintenance, utterly useless wing woman and her horse (bom bom!) and were promptly nearly run over by a large orange tractor. I managed not to embarrass myself too much and thus received a happy pat from mother and a look which to me was verging on admiration from Dolly. On the other hand she could have had something in her eye…

We managed to dodge several more tractors (it’s clearly breeding season) by walking through the stubble fields down the side of the road. Now two things should be noted here — firstly the boss lady owns the stubble fields so we’re allowed in them and weren’t trespassing because that would be bad, secondly what the heck were we doing walking though stubble fields?! Mum said it was to ensure that I didn’t take off every time my feet touched stubble. Like duh? Isn’t that the point of stubble fields? See comment above re mother’s logic and note I revoke the comment about her being a genius.

Anyway, we trotted on down the verges and up through the next village where due to mother’s insistent right leg I trotted in the lead past a very dodgy looking skip which was clearly going to eat us. Mother may have insisted I was on point but I insisted on taking a detour into the hedge on the other side of the road to avoid the enemy. This was a strategic plan and in no way a reflection on my level of “poofiness” as stated by mother. I have to also point out that Dolly also scraped along the hedge row so her mother joined mine in moaning about twigs in their boots for at least another 10 minutes. Sheesh why can’t these mares just be grateful I saved them and stop harping on about foliage in their under garment department?

We trotted round the village being admired by several dog walkers – well I was admired, Dolly was appreciated from a distance as she was clearly wearing her patented “I’m dangerous at both ends and moody in the middle” expression. We then started for home and I resigned myself to a zero cantering day out, still it had been nice but cantering is always the icing on the cake.

Just as I was losing hope I heard mother mutter her code words “do you fancy a little C then?” to Aunty H. Now mum’s owned me for eight years and I really hate to burst her bubble but has she not yet realised if I can write books I can sure as heck figure out what “going for a C” means?

I started to put an extra spring in my step and waited. “Ok” came the slightly cautious reply form Aunty H and we moved into the stubble field at the side of the road on the way home. Mother indicated Dolly should go first and we sat back to wait.

She started to trot.

I tensed ready for mum to so much as twitch the signal to go.

She carried on trotting.

I stood poised like that Bolt dude on the track.

She carried on totting.

I started to wonder if she’d forgotten how to canter.

She carried on trotting.

I started to lose the will to live.

Eventually mum shouted “are you going to go or what?” and Dolly laboriously started the most slow, poncy canter I have ever seen in my life. I shifted to turbo and launched into canter. Needless to say two strides later we caught them up.

Now to give mum credit she did valiantly try for a second or two to slow my canter to the snail’s pace that Aunty H was holding Dolly to. She tried. Honestly. But let’s face facts – I am 700kg of masculine muscle and I don’t do poncy canters. Who was going to win? So with a muffled word of apology we hurtled past. Now to be clear everything was perfectly in control I just don’t do an impression of a donkey with a broom up its bottom in a stubble field. It’s an insult to stubble fields and let’s face it; we all know I worship at the altar of speed.

Next thing a shout is heard from behind of “I’ve lost control of her!” and Dolly hoof falls could suddenly be heard upping the tempo. Laughing out loud mum calmly pulled me up just as Dolly nearly barrelled into us. Aunty H’s surprised “oh so you do have brakes then” had mum positively doubled up laughing.

Needless to say we all went back to the yard with big grins on our faces – Mum because deep down she’s as big a speed freak as me, me because I love cantering with my mum and for a while there it looked like it wasn’t going to happen again, Dolly because she’d gotten to actually canter and Aunty H because she hadn’t actually died.

Everyone’s a winner.

So who’s up for coming with me next?!

Laters,

Hovis