Thankfully I’ve just got the mothership to write this down for me before she ships out to Mum-bye (lord, if only!) for a week, but it’s likely I won’t be able to write to you next week as she will be busy being a smorgasbord of culinary delights for the resident mosquito population. As she woefully points out, she’s at an age where the only things that think she’s attractive are the ones who want to eat her, but hey how does she think I feel when she suggests retiring to France…?
Anyways, I see like mother you’re all being stubborn and refusing to deal with the issues you have caused? Or more precisely, whichever of you has upset Mother Nature. Why can’t you just be the bigger person and apologise? That way she might be tempted to follow the rest of the population and do dry January. Instead, we are still either being water boarded within an inch of our lives or being frozen to death; Jeez, I thought my mother was the expert at the cold shoulder and frosty demeanour, but honestly, she is an amateur in comparison to the mercurial one.
Last week I spent more time in my stable than mother does in the pub (which is saying something), with only brief forays outside into the arena for a leg stretch. I now know why mother manages to contain her temper and not actually punch people – prison would seriously suck…
I at least get to go into the arena rather than the horse hamster wheel, which everyone else has to go on. Ginger Whinger suggested I don’t go on it because my arse is too large, but since crazy Daisy goes on it (and politely she has a LOT more junk in her trunk than I do), we all know this to be horse poo. The reality is I am much too intelligent to walk about in circles in a giant metal wheel and instead walk about in large circles in an arena…
At the weekend, it was decided that everyone should be exercised, and after a brief consultation on a) the likelihood of the mothership actually being able to get her leg over and b) the chances of her back disintegrating like a vampire on the beach in Barbados if I so much as showed a smidge of forwardness, it was decided that the Crazy Self-Employed Lady would take me out. Which was fine – she has a death wish, but I have got used to this. What was not fine was when it was then decided that mini-mother would come with us on the pint-sized pain in the posterior.
Now to be clear, not only is he small, annoying and very, very ginger, he’s also a vile-mannered psycho with some sort of confused belief that he is a self-appointed defender of Wales, and thus waves his back feet at me if I am within so much as 7ft of him.
We were put in the same field once.
There’s a reason we are no longer in the same field.
And it wasn’t because of me.
Small man syndrome is putting it mildly – it’s like mighty mouse mentality on steroids.
Anyways, as you can imagine, I wasn’t keen on getting close too him to be on the receiving end of his Suck Norris impression, so mother wanting a “family photo” proved rather more difficult than she anticipated. Kind of like trying to get a full body shot of her, which doesn’t require panoramic mode…
I did manage to contain my horror at having to be seen out with something so small and orange in public (I swear I heard people exclaim something about an Oompa Loompa as we went past) for the sake of mini-mother who did try and ensure that the karate kid was kept under control. Mind you, it’s hard to karate kick when you’re having to run after your older brother because you cant keep up. Short arse. Honestly, I wasn’t even striding (and as mother oft tells me I am very old and very broken) and yet still poncy pony couldn’t keep up without trotting; I haven’t been so amused since mother last told me she’d lost weight.
We managed all the way around the village and back with zero incidents, with me manfully leading the way past all issues. I briefly considered throwing him under the literal (not metaphorical) bus at one point, but fortunately for him, while I would have happily sacrificed him, I love his rider with all my heart. I would like to point out at this juncture that even mini-mother is starting to realise that large mother is possibly the queen of exaggeration as upon arriving back she declared that I was a totally good boy and not the hacking horror that mother has oft portrayed me as. I rest my case m’lord. I am much maligned.
Anyways I am off to do star jumps to stay warm as its cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, while mother moans about mozzies and being too hot.
You might also be interested in:
Horse & Hound magazine, out every Thursday, is packed with all the latest news and reports, as well as interviews, specials, nostalgia, vet and training advice. Find how you can enjoy the magazine delivered to your door every week, plus options to upgrade your subscription to access our online service that brings you breaking news and reports as well as other benefits.