Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘my foot is a lot more balanced than she is mentally’

  • Dear diary,

    It’s day I’m-running-out-of-sacrifices-and-yet-it-still-hasn’t-finished of the humans strangles epidemic, and while the herd leaders remain positive, I do worry that I have heard it all before — somewhat similar to Mum’s intention to go on another diet that this time will drop her from walking laminitis case to National ready thoroughbred. And yep, that doesn’t happen either…

    However, something did happen this past week, something so stupendous that I’m very surprised to not see a news crew at the end of the yard with their wide-angled lens poised. After nine months off, protracted box rest, more photos of my foot than a Kardashian in a swimsuit, several brushes with the man with the scythe (and I don’t mean the boss lady’s long-suffering husband cutting the grass again) and a vets bill that could easily be mistaken for a third world country’s national debt, I had tack on again. And not just for decorative purposes either. No siree. The tack had mother’s arse on top of it and thus, on top of me. A sight rarer than a full Flymaybe flight heading for Benidorm.

    But yes, on Friday, the day Jesus lost his life on the cross, I once again had my own to bear and mother and I were reunited once more. Now, a few Hovites politely asked if I was lunged first. Well, the answer is no. Simply put, I have a mental switch which goes off upon being asked to walk in circles which means I go from zero to weather-vane-in-a-hurricane at the drop of a hat, and nothing on God’s green little earth is ever going to change that. In light of the fact Herman the German Needle Man still views me on the broken end of the spectrum, it is deemed that this is a BAD idea, and as such, mother had to put on her big brown brave pants and just get on. Did I mention I’ve not been ridden in nine months? Oh, and that mother can’t ride one side of a rocking horse. And is off the end of the broken spectrum herself?

    It is fair to say I was rather on my toes and it’s only the fact that mother is very well-versed on looking like she’s got me vaguely under control while hiding shaking muscles under rolls of arm fat insulation that the photos probably don’t look that way. She did at one stage comment that I felt like an unexploded bomb and she was massively regretting the lack of neck strap choice. But then she also cried on me, so it’s fair to say my foot is a lot more balanced than she is mentally.

    By the time Aunty Em was thrown up to enjoy a few minutes, I was expressing my desire for action. Mother called it snorting, I called it the Hoverine version of Scrappy Doos — “lemme ad ‘em, leeme ad ‘em” — but it’s fair to say if Aunty Emily had so much have sneezed we would have been in Bedfordshire. But she didn’t. Damn those pesky antihistamines…

    It was also fair to say, after the prescribed 10 minutes, the smiles were wider than mother’s thighs (and a lot more attractive) and everyone was thrilled. Apart from me, who was desperately hoping for a much more exciting dancing partner who you know… can actually ride?

    Mother rode me again on Monday alone, which did have a few moments of being subjected to “10 green bottles sitting on a wall” — like who is she kidding? Bottles don’t stay unopened long enough around these parts to end up on a wall — but passed without major incident. Or tears. Which was an improvement.

    Aunty Em has been on duty this week while the blubbership has been at work, trying to save her first born from being down payment at the bank. And while it’s fair to say she does have a much more electric derriere than mother, we have managed to carry on our sedate walking without major issue. I am, however, somewhat alarmed that sedate walking in the school might be on the cards for a while and if so, I will need to think of some ways to liven things up. I am, after all, the Destroyer not some doddery old man. Ideas or suggestions on a postcard please!

    Continues below…

    In the meantime, this weekend tune into the first spring Your Horse is Alive, which is clearly virtual due to the fact the humans are all feral and need to stay away from us. My peoples have made a little video about the past few months and while you will have to tolerate some waffly nonsense from the untalented half of our relationship, you will also get to see me. So, bonus! See you all there.



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