Dear Diary,
Well folks it looks like my holiday might be over. After mother caught me cavorting around the field on far too many occasions and I have pranced in dragging her and the boss lady in my wake with an elevated trot that that Viagra dude could only fantasise about, it’s fair to say the “I’m lame” excuse is wearing a little thin.
While half of me is hoping that Herman the German Needle man tells mother otherwise, the other half of me admits I am starting to get a little bored.
The only worrying thing is with mother herself now out of action, if Herman does agree I can come back into work then it’s going to be down to the boss lady and Aunty Becky – both of whom have legs of iron and a complete inability to believe me when I say I am genetically incapable of schooling for more than 30 minutes…
Speaking of mother it’s fair to say I might have upset her at the weekend. She came up to see me, so as usual I pranced across the field at high speed to greet her. Let’s be clear here, this is not a girlie display of fluffiness on my account, I just know she’s usually got sweets.
Halfway towards her I suddenly realised that instead of a normal right arm she’d suddenly grown a great big pink thing instead, so I may have cautiously taken evasive action (no I did NOT spook and nearly fall over my own feet – that was a mere optical illusion).
When my desire to see if mum had got treats overwhelmed my concern about the strange pink thing I did approach and cautiously sniff this hard pot thing that now encases mums right hand and arm. It’s bright pink and vaguely resembles a lick-it so I do not see how it’s my fault that mums cast now has a couple of suspiciously large teeth marks in it. A boy had to make sure that it wasn’t edible…
To say mother wasn’t amused would be akin to saying Charlotte-what’s-her-face is only a semi-decent rider — i.e. the understatement of the year. I sensed maybe she was a little sensitive about the fact as a 30-plus-year-old (and it’s a BIG plus I can assure you) woman she does look a tad ridiculous sporting a bright pink cast like a 10-year-old that’s fallen off a swing in the school playground. The fact that Aunty H and everyone else just kept laughing at her probably didn’t help — to be fair I’d have laughed too if I didn’t know how handy she is with her left hand and a lead rope…
So I’m now waiting to see Herman to see if I can start work again, I’m hoping he doesn’t suggest the only way forward for mother is the knackers yard but I do think the chances of her ever passing a lameness work up is statistically unlikely. Thus the younger, fitter model (i.e. aunty Becky) needs to start getting fit and ready to ride forth on the Destroyer once more. She may be used to riding all these dumb-blood fairies at her work but, as I told my friend Mr Hester, they’re no substitute for the real thing.
Cool New Shoes Man is coming out today to replace my shoes, have a discussion about putting my back shoes back on again and generally further deplete mother’s groaning bank balance. The fact I only saw him two weeks ago to replace the shoe I lost is irrelevant in my book. Mother doesn’t seem to see it my way and has done more whining than a constipated cocker spaniel.
So I’m off to enjoy what might be my last few days of sick note and frolic about in the white stuff with Dolly.
Laters,
Hovis
Hovis’ three books Hovis’ Friday diary: From the beginning, Hovis’ Friday diary: The year of the Destroyer and Hovis’ Friday diary: Fifty Tastes of Hay are available to buy from the gift shop at www.bransbyhorses.co.uk with 100% of the proceeds from the sale going to the charity.
