Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I didn’t need to see his face to know that he was swiftly praying for some sort of divine intervention’
(Image credit: Unknown)
Dear diary,
I have much to tell you but it would seem wrong to do so without first mentioning the awful events in Manchester earlier this week. Tales of woe of my injured leg pale into insignificance against the horror that was witnessed by those who merely went for an innocent night of fun and for whom innocence is now a commodity lost. My heart goes out to all those affected; the victims, their families and friends, to the amazing personnel of the emergency services and simply to the everyday heroes who tendered any help they could.
In all the events I go to, the people I meet I always see the beauty in humans; the kindness, the laughter, the warmth. On my Facebook pages I see strangers brought together by a simple love of equines (and a certain Clydesdale) who have done amazing things for other people, despite never having laid eyes on each other. It is this spirit; this very essence of what makes you human, magnified by tragedy such as this, which is why evil will never prevail. Human, equine, white, black, brown or bay, male, female, mare or gelding our message is simple: we stand with you, Manchester.
So before the awful events of Monday, my week hadn’t been going well. You may recall last week I told you I might have set my recovery back a tad and that mother was not a happy bunny? That CNSM and Herman the German needle man were due on Friday? Yeah, well about that…
So while I was waiting for CNSM and mum on Friday morning, the little dude might have kicked off in the field opposite, tearing about like the Shetland Grand National. Which may just have set the high maintenance ginger dude, the middle-sized ginger dude and my lady love off too. So who am I not to join in?
The boss lady was in my field washing out the trough and did in fairness make a highly valiant attempt to contain me — just before I nearly knocked her into next week. I got up to warp speed in about four strides before realising I was out of room (damn that postage stamp paddock), swerving violently to try and execute an air born flying change and finishing off looking like Mr Bean at a break dancing contest; my back legs went flying and I fell over, slithering under the fence. The boss lady looked more horrified than a nun at a dream boy’s show and I was summarily dragged out of the field, down the lane and slap bang into my harassed looking mother.
I have to be honest, as an accomplice the boss lady sucks — she didn’t even try to cover up for me, instead pouring out the tale of woe to my now frankly murderous looking mother. I do feel if it wasn’t for the much needed presence of CNSM I wouldn’t be writing this right now — mother had murder on her mind and hammers within reach…
CNSM didn’t exactly succeed in calming mother down but he did at least keep me here to fight another day, so we take the small victories.
After he’d finished with my feet and the required male bonding, he left with little Miss Over-Reaction trailing like a storm cloud in his wake. I was left in my stable to “contemplate life” until Herman the German arrived a couple of hours later.
Mother met Herman and gave a highly colourful and slightly inaccurate account of my activities in the morning and Herman reached for the tranquiliser gun. Once he’d sedated mother enough to bring her voice down to a pitch that humans, rather than just dogs, could hear, he asked her to get me out and trot me up.
Continued below…
Hovis’ Friday diary: I am in the dog house. Big style
