Dear diary,
Well done whoever it was that went and soothed Elsa’s ruffled feathers – she does need to understand that the cold bothers everyone else, despite her warblings – but whoever was on point to deal with Mother Nature seems to have fallen a little shy of the mark. To put this into perspective, when I say “fallen a little shy”, don’t think of a farrier’s six inches, but more the distance by which mother wouldn’t make the weight for a point-to-point…
Seriously, someone needs to get that mare into a control headcollar and in-hand immediately. If it’s not freezing, it’s raining – it’s either a foot deep in snow or two foot deep in water. The fields are either useful for curling or for (front) crawling, but since I am no good at either, I’d quite like them just being, you know, like fields – full of grass and not requiring a buoyancy aid or a lifeguard?
You know the cute little rhyme thing that helps kids remember how many days there are in each month? I don’t recall the part in which January has 7,854 days and ALL of them are wet ones? We have already been confined to barracks for 70 billion days and it’s only half way through the month. If 2025 sucked any harder, Dyson would be suing it for plagiarism.
On Sunday, the mothership limped into view like a deflating blimp, having now been cleared to drive on medical grounds. I don’t think she’s ever been cleared on either having the necessary skills, nor on health and safety of other road user grounds, but still, she emerged from the driver’s side of her new motor with the agility of octogenarian with rickets. It does appear her left leg still isn’t really working that well, but she was there valiantly trying – mainly my patience, but still it’s the thought that counts, right?
Having decided the upper school was suitable for me to at least have a walk around on, she managed to get my 73 layers of clothing off (Crazy Self-Employed Lady looks after me) and pleaded with me to keep my head still long enough for her to put my lungeing bridle on. From the looks of the other mums and dads, it was clear she shouldn’t have been doing any of this, but since Step-Dad-To-Be is in India, she had been left alone without adult supervision – something I suspect he has since realised is not a good idea. The woman has the self-care tendencies of a depressed lemming on a good day. None of the 7,854 days in January are ever going to be a good day…
As it’s just been Kissmuss and is about to be her birthday, I briefly considered giving her a flying lesson, courtesy of Hoverine Airlines, but while she might have forgiven me, I’m not sure SDTB would have done, so I decided discretion was the better part of valour. Besides which, half the yard’s humans came over to watch after she had insisted that a, she didn’t need any help (a total lie) b, I would explode for everyone else if they tried to lunge me (truth) and c, despite my failings I do love her very much and wouldn’t harm her so I didn’t want to burst her horse whisperer bubble. Bless her. If she gets any more deluded, Trump will be hiring her as his press officer…
Anyways, we had a very civilised walk around (I walked – she limped like some sort of pirate with a peg leg from IKEA’s value range) while she crooned how good I was and then rewarded my brilliance with treats. There are times, peoples, it pays to let them think they haz skillz…
We have had a few dry(ish) days, so I am making the most of finding some grass in the mud before we are no doubt back inside due to the mercurial one throwing another strop. Don’t make me break out the sacrifice shortlist again… it’s not looking good for small, ginger Welsh ponies.
Laters,
Hovis
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