I have big big big news!
And no I am not pregnant. And nor is dolly before any of you get excited at the thought of baby Hovis’.
No it’s far more exciting. Herman has been to see me and guess what?! Stubble here we come, baby! Yes, he has said I can start cantering work again. Now admittedly he didn’t actually say “can now hoon across stubble fields like a greyhound on steroids or Usian Bolt on a promise” BUT he didn’t say I couldn’t either. What he said is “build it up slowly”. Now I know he’s not from these parts and to be fair to the man his English is better than my German will ever be but I think someone needs to buy him a dictionary. How am I supposed to canter slowly? Cantering is not slow and poncy, it’s not leisurely and gentle, its full pelt, feather flying, muscle motoring, eyes streaming, ground shakingly FAST! I am thus assuming he’d got himself a tad confused and actually means I can go and play. Oh yes the Destroyer is back in town.
So he made my day and probably mother’s year but the next words out of his mouth nearly made me kiss him. Yes I, Hovis the Destroyer, the mostly manly of all men nearly developed a bromantic crush on Herman for his next sentence. He looked at me critically, looked at mum and said the incredible words…
“His weight looks amazing, if anything I think he’s verging towards a little thin”.
THIN! FINALLY! Finally someone realises what an evil witch my mother is, how she starves me and denies me basic sustenance. Finally someone has realised that she has a secret desire to diet me down to the size of a polo pony. Finally I am SAVED!
The feeling of complete adoration for the man, the forgiveness for every needle he’s shoved into me, for every time he’s put his hands in places no man has a right to put his hands, surged through me. And then exited more swiftly than Dolly downs her dinner as he then said: “Keep him right at this weight, it’s a life saver.”
WHAT? I think it’s fair to say I went from love to dislike faster than a member of the Kardasian family. Apparently I need now to build my muscles back up but stay at my current weight. It’s fair to say the look I gave him would have withered a lesser man but either he’s become immune to my death glares or they don’t work on Germans. He remained sadly unaffected.
He then added insult to injury by listening to my heart, turning to mum and saying: “To be honest he’s more likely to suffer athlete’s foot than an athlete’s heart”. I looked at him with my big melting brown, puppy dog, chocolate eyes and plotted my revenge.
In fairness mother did suggest he might want to sit on me in a stubble field and then see if he still stood by that statement but I don’t think she really did enough to defend my sporting pedigree.
It has to be pointed out here that the reason I have so much junk in my trunk (yep back the Kardasians again) is I need somewhere to store the jet engines. I might look like a fluff ball on legs but I have nitrox in my veins – just ask Aunty Becky!
Anyway Herman has gone, I’m back in my stable plotting all the ways in which I’d like to “thank” him for his comments about my weight, while drying off from the shower mother gave me after he’d left. My feathers are so white I dare not go outside for fear of blinding any passing airline pilots with the reflection of my dazzling legs.
Why am I being “spruced up”? Well this afternoon apparently I am going to do a meet and greet at the local Pony Club camp while mother judges the best diary from the week. Apparently some district commissioner person contacted mum and asked her if she’d do it so mum said yes. I am assuming it’s not the district commissioner of the Pony Club where I may, or may not, not have parted company with mother and cantered off to play with the ponies when I was younger. Any hearsay that I might have tried to fornicate with one of said aforementioned ponies is an unsubstantiated rumour. Any further tales that the district commissioner’s daughter was astride said pony is just vicious attempts to sully my reputation.