I have been violated and abused by my mother and evil Herman the German needle man so badly that I need someone to call Horseline. I am a poster boy for horse cruelty, so severe that those of a delicate disposition ought to stop reading now to avoid undue distress. What has happened I hear you all cry? Well not only did mother allow Herman to drug me again — she allowed him to top up the level of drugs in my system when he’d finished, so that SHE could *shudders* handle my Hovis sausage…
I am still in shock.
Allow me to elaborate, however if you can’t handle tales of dastardly deeds and enormous evil then to be honest I’d look away now. You have been warned…
Friday dawned again and I was duly hauled in from the field by mother and mini-mother to the less than welcome sight of Herman’s van by the stable block. Despite me now knowing exactly what he was going to do he still tricked me with his sleight of hand and managed to get a needle in my neck before I’d even so much as thought about taking evasive action. Two seconds later and I was away in la-la land with tweetie pie doing formation flying around my ears. He is so sly.
To my horror he scrubbed my massacred feathers once again, donned rubber gloves and carefully injected my feet with more super-charged blood. Now some of you have asked what this super-charged blood is for — well allow me to explain. Mother’s version is that I’m lame and having tried steroids to no avail she and Herman have agreed to try IRAP treatment which effectively uses my own body’s proteins to repair the soft tissue damage in my feet. It is stupidly expensive and I’m supposed to be duly grateful for a) good insurance and b) that mother was prepared to sell a kidney to pay for it if the insurance hadn’t agreed to pay.
My version however is that I am the subject of a government cloning scheme to select the most talented horses in the land and enhance their skills ahead of Rio 2016 so that the team GB eventing and showjumping squad can wipe the floor with the rest of the world and their poncy dumb bloods. Some cunning person in power (like that yogi bear dude) has realised that feather power is the future and is ensuring that those elite few of us gifted by nature to have the necessary equipment (feathers and dubious parentage) are scientifically enhanced to the max. Think X-men for equines…
My version is SO much better than mother’s and to be honest I feel, far more likely…
Anyway after Herman had injected my feet again I was once more trussed up within an inch of my life in blue vet wrap and more bandages than a bondage party at a nursing college. I looked like an equine extra from fame.
But worse was to come.
In yet another cunning move Herman “topped up” my la-la juice and then proceeded to stand giggling like a school boy while mother donned a pair of bright yellow marigolds, a bucket of water and a serious expression before grabbing my Hovis sausage. I did attempt to kick her in the head but she held on to little Hovis with such a grip that the only result was that a) I nearly fell over and b) I was nearly talking an octave higher for the rest of my life. She is an evil, evil sadistic witch.
Herman wasn’t much better implying that mother could be a prawn star and some weirdo would pay good money to watch the situation. I did try to glare at him but since I was still seeing double from both the drugs and the shock of mother manhandling my Hovis hose, that it probably just ended up looking more like my eyeballs trying to join together over my nose. By the time I was with it sufficiently enough to try to kill mother, she had put me back in my stable, taken the offensive “washing up” gloves off and was a safe distance away looking faintly horrified.
Needless to say we’re still not speaking and any attempt to touch parts of my anatomy again, will result in her becoming up close and personally acquainted with the business end of my hoof.
Herman is apparently back again today so the mind boggles what I will be subjected to this week — someone please, please take pity and come and rescue me.
Yours a distress