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Hovis’ Friday diary: getting ready for next year’s Badminton call-up

Dear Diary

This week has been one of small triumphs and resounding defeats, mainly at the hands of my dastardly mother it has to be said.

As I reported last week I have had laser therapy on my shoulder and have as such been turned into Hovis the superhero horse.  I thought this would be an amazing opportunity but sadly my cape has yet to materialise and I have not witnessed any large “H” signs shining out above the city.

I thought people would just know that I’m now a superhero but I’m swiftly seeing I might have to advertise or something.

Hovis the Superhero Horse available for all carrot capers, treat trickery and rescuing mares with low morals.  Does not do dressage related heroics.”  What do you think?

Talking of dressage I come to the small triumphs and resounding defeats bit: Mum gave me the weekend off to recover from my superhero transformation and so the first real work I had to endure was when Aunt Becky rocked up to make me do some poncing.

Now my feelings on poncing about like a fluffy fairy on miracle grow are well documented so it comes perhaps as little surprise to readers to hear I wasn’t that keen.

Cue a very frustrated Aunt Becky worriedly discussing the fact I might be unwilling because I was still feeling my injury.  Not wishing to disillusion her — in case she’s hoping for a future career as a vet — I did little to dissuade of this and successfully ended the sessions forthwith.  Dressage 0: Hovis 1.  Oh how I sniggered to myself triumphantly.

Until the next afternoon — when Aunt Becky reappeared looking worried, with a mother who looked less worried and more mildly murderous.  Busted! I did briefly consider attempting to drown myself in my trough but knowing mother she’d have rescued me just to give herself the pleasure of killing me with her own bare hands.  Needless to say she did a LOT of muttering about the fact it was my other shoulder I’d hurt which in turn led to Aunty Becky looking somewhat shocked at my deviousness.   Ooooppps…

Under mother’s watchful eye Aunt Becky took me back in the school and BEHOLD! A MIRACLE! I was cured.  I’m not entirely sure who looked more miffed — Mum or Aunt Becky, but I was astute enough to realise the brief triumph was so not worth the fall out.  Oh how right I was!

For the next day a small lady turned up with Aunt Becky.  I was immediately wary: it has been my experience that the smaller they are the more cunning the tactics they employ — just look at the boss lady.  Once again I can claim the detective skills of Sherlock Gnomes as the small lady took one look at my half hearted “I really can’t do dressage at all” schoolwork and leapt aboard.

Do you think God gives little people really strong legs to compensate for their lack of height?  Not only had she got legs like steel girders she, like the boss lady, had clearly read horse evasions 101.

Every trick I attempted she neatly thwarted, every time I tried to play the “I really don’t understand what you’re asking for” game she ignored me and was soon heard telling Aunt Becky that “I could do a very very nice dressage test”.

I was heartbroken.  I did perk up a tiny bit when it became clear that she does eventing and thus any dressage might just be the price I have to pay to do the fun stuff i.e. cross-country and showjumping.

Talking of which I see it was a little bit chaotic at Badminton last weekend with lots of top riders falling off.  Two words people: wrong steeds.  When are these people going to realise that they need to think differently and take me?  I can absolutely guarantee that I would go around one of these 4-star courses in a way never ever witnessed before.  So Mr Fox-in-a-hole, Mr Knickerless, Mr Hot Toddy, Mr Village-end and co, I am ready to overlook your quite frankly hurtful rejection of me to date and as the bigger — and hairier — man I will accept your apologies and an invite to be your steed for Burghley.  Think about it: fear and feather power are an awesome combination…

I’ll be in the field awaiting your calls.

Laters

Hovis

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