Dear Diary
I am writing this from a secret location where I am in hiding. I dare not reveal too much in case my cunning mother figures out where I am, but rest assured the hay barn is very comfy…
Why is such a big brave specimen of manhood such as yourself in hiding I hear you ask? Well since you’re so curious I shall tell you. The answer is simple — needles and knees.
Herman the German needle man is due back today to give me my second “injection” (for injection read “spear gun-sized dart”) in my neck, but I now understand he can’t make it and is sending a substitute. This I feel is a cunning plan on his behalf because I don’t know what the substitute looks like and if he/she employs the same dastardly tactics as Herman, then the first thing I’m going to know about it is when the “hug” they give me turns into a cunning sleight of hand and I get walloped with a knitting needle.
This added to the fact I know mother is in possession of some high strength knock out medicine aimed at making me so spaced out I can see tweety pie flying around my head, thus allowing her to clean the backs of my knees whilst I am otherwise occupied.
To be honest neither of these upcoming events holds any appeal so I have tapped into my inner combat Hovis and am now all but invisible, kind of like one of those stealth bombers only with less wing and slightly more feather. The fact the yard cat has mistaken my moustache for a mouse a few times is unfortunate and once I can break cover I have devised payback for that unfortunate feline…
The rest of this last week has been quite fun. I hacked out over the weekend in gorgeous weather and fine company. Admittedly the increasing massing of the dastardly yellow perils always makes hacking at this time of year a little more tactically challenging, but I have learnt over the last few years how to disguise daffodil killing under a thin veneer of dressage manoeuvres. Who knew a piaffe could hide mass foliage felling? I am almost forced to take back every comment I have ever made about that dorrito fellow — maybe he’s not a high prancing poof, but more a black belt crocus killer? It makes me view river dance in a whole different light I can tell you.
On a less happy note aunty Becky has had an accident and might be on box rest for a while. I can hoof on heart say it was nothing to do with me and all to do with the metal two wheeled horse she’s started riding to come and see me on. It bucked her off and sat on her which even by my standards is just rude. I’m hoping she’ll be better soon because I want to go cross-country with that little yellow coloured mare again. Things with Foxy may be going a tad better (i.e. it’s been at least a week since last she tried to kill me) but a boy needs to keep his options open.
Anyway I’m off, I have much to do. This internet craze for using “selfies” to promote charities and such like has given me inspiration; I’m just trying to figure out the best pose to send to Misters Fox-in-a-hole and Knickerless and Beauty Pageant to alert them to my presence (I’ve given up waiting for mother — as an agent she is quite frankly useless). Ideas on a postcard please?
Laters
Hovis
