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Hovis’ Friday diary: visit from the physio

Dear Diary

Thank you for all your warm wishes this last week, from all of you concerned about my welfare post my distressing lameness at the dressage competition.  It touches my heart to think so many people are so kind and caring. It’s just a pity the human who claims to “own me” isn’t one of them — my mother is so hard-nosed she makes statues look jelly-like in comparison. In fairness, she did give me a few days off, which I think might be more due to the fact that she was in Scotland than anything else, but she did have the boss lady run up and down with me daily to give her reports on my movement.

The traitorous pint-sized blonde reported she couldn’t see anything majorly wrong and suspected I was possibly on the mend — which mother being mother took to mean I was “trying it on”.  Trying what on is still a mystery but heh where my mother is concerned the inner workings of her mind would be a mystery to most…

Despite her verbal and extremely vocal belief that I was being a big girl’s blouse, mum did get Cool New Shoes Man out to check my feet and ensure there was nothing wrong that she hadn’t spotted.  He too is off my Christmas card list after saying I was perfectly fine, and there was nothing wrong with me that a good diet couldn’t fix. I snorted, bided my time and then brought my knee up at the perfect moment — his fellow band members may find his singing is a few octaves higher for a few weeks…

After being assured that my feet weren’t falling off, mum proceeded to work me over the weekend, assessing my movement, bendiness and general way of going. This did seem to involve an awful lot of staring at the mirrors in the school, and her running up and down the driveway with me after we’d finished. She was heard muttering that it was the best trot work she’d had out of me in months and she was deducting the cost of my physio appointment from my food fund, as clearly there was nothing wrong with me that the business end of a schooling whip couldn’t sort out. I do love my mother but she is a total drama queen.

Anyway yesterday a lovely lady came out to see me and introduced herself as a new physio who works with the other lovely ladies who come to admire my manliness every few months. She had clearly been told by my other physio that treating me is a total honour as a) I am very famous and b) I am such an athlete. I know this because she cooed over me for some time while mother stood holding my lead rope and looking faintly nauseous. I can’t help it that people see my specialness even if mother doesn’t. Anyway the lovely lady topped up my super hero powers by giving me more laser on my shoulder (by the way my cape still hasn’t arrived?) and giving me a very nice massage.

I will deny any accusations of having my eyes closed and waving about in pleasure like Stevie Wonder on a waltzer but it was VERY nice. She did say that she couldn’t find anything that would have made me go lame and thus maybe I had got cold and had a muscle spasm. Mother’s unladylike snort and claim that “the only muscle that had gone into spasm was the small one between my ears at the thought of doing stressage” was quite frankly uncalled for. The lady is a professional and if that’s her take on the situation then none of us should argue with her.

Anyway I have today off and then I sense WORK will be back on the agenda. I did hear a tale of perhaps meeting Aunty Becky’s baby horse this weekend and taking him out on a hack so we shall see.

In other exciting news, Mr Tiptapner has been posting on that twit thing that he’s got a big surprise lined up for Your Horse is Alive, and that it will involve a famous person and gymnastics. Well people, it’s got to be me hasn’t it? Big? Check. Famous? Check. Good at gymnastics? Could be arranged.

So this could be it — my break into the big time and my chance to become an EVENTER. I am so excited I nearly weed in my food bucket. Keep your hooves, paws and fingers crossed that finally someone has recognised my great talent and that I can finally achieve my dreams of being ridden by someone who actually keeps their eyes open over a jump…

Laters

Hovis

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