Dear diary,
As I am sure you all know, the mothership bobbed off at the weekend to St Morzits to watch over-washed and thus shrunk thoroughbreds chase after a bouncy orange ball on a frozen lake while their riders try to smack each other with long hammers. A game only humans could have dreamed up, let’s be honest…
I didn’t fancy that, but she also sent tales of people on skis being pulled behind horses going full tilt across the frozen ground. I would just like to point out it was while watching this that I can imagine she was hit once again by the sheer luck she has had to have been chosen by me. Because she has never had to trek to frozen lands to achieve the same experience – I have done it to her on both of the two times in my life she attempted to long-rein me outside of a school. My selfless desire to give her the full, varied spectrum of equine extreme sports experiences I have always felt has been undervalued by her. Perhaps now she might start to see this in a different light. Possibly the diffused light which pokes through under the duvet she has over her head while she rocks sobbing hysterically but, heh, it’s a light…
Anyways, while she was away, the new boss lady re-clipped me – apparently after suggesting I looked a tad “tufty”, but I think honestly, she’s trying her hardest to show mum how skinny I am. If I get any slimmer, I’m going to be hard to see side-on and I think I have an ally to this fact. The chances of her persuading mother of this is about as likely as mother turning down a Dairy Milk mid-“diet”, but a boy can dream.
It’s fair to say I had been really liking this new boss lady – she had seemed very sensible and unlike mother, in possession of an IQ, which was fractionally higher than her bra size. Until this week. When she decided that she and I would venture out on a hack.
ALONE.
As in sans wingpersons/sacrifices to the tractor Gods.
Like totally ALONE.
Now it needs to be pointed out also that I haven’t hacked since we’ve been at the new yard due to mother not being able to convince anyone to come with us. Mini-mother has always said her and Barbie would come – which I had zero problem with as I’m sure small ginger offering would be well received by the tractors of terror. But apparently mother takes a view that having surprised everyone by getting her offspring safely into double digits, trying to deal with one of my “moments” and protecting her child is beyond her. Let’s be honest, as we have said on many occasions, mother slipped into the gene pool when the lifeguard wasn’t watching, so the list of things “beyond her” is longer than Beyoncé’s rider.
Anyways, back to the point.
So, the crazy boss lady tacked me up and off we headed. Out of the yard and around the village whereupon I swiftly decided I was going to have to be the intelligent one between us and thus affected DEFCON One Hovis Hyperawareness. She relayed this afterwards to the mothership as me being very “buzzy”, but frankly, I have gone from thinking this one was actually quite normal to realising that sadly like so many of her species, she is a “horsewoman” and thus has the self-preservation tendencies of a lemming on suicide watch. We did meet a tractor and despite my attempts to save her by wheeling round and changing direction faster than a politician on a breakfast show, she merely put her leg on and turned my 180 into a 360, which was as annoying as it was faintly impressive. Deciding therefore that discretion was the better part of valour I went past it with the focus and speed of mother heading to a free bar.
She has reported back to she-who-must-be-obeyed that I enjoyed the experience and was nowhere near as bad as mother had described. All I can say lady is give me time, give me time…
Laters,
Hovis
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