So, after yet another weekend of Mother Nature’s flatulence, loud snoring all night, bad temper and general surliness, in the latter part of the week a strange thing was seen in the sky. Something not seen for some time – and no, I don’t mean mother in a size eight – something far more attractive than that could ever be. It was a bright shiny ball thing that if you fantasised long enough, you could have sworn was even emitting the smallest bit of heat. I think peoples, it was actually a SUN!
Now don’t get me wrong, let’s not break out the Speedos and the factor 50 just yet, but even the brief appearance of the lesser spotted celestial being is enough to raise the spirits a smidge after the rain, the mud, the darkness, the rain, the wind, the storms with very funny names, the rain, did I mention the rain? This rare sighting coupled with the view that maybe, if you squint right (and let’s be honest, I am blind as a bat in my right eye) that the mornings are getting lighter and the evenings staying lighter for longer could possibly mean that spring might be on her way to you know, springing?
Now last year, it had to be noted that spring, like gentlemen of a certain age, needed more than a little bit of encouragement to get up and at it. We had many a false start before we were indeed in business, so I am thinking maybe we need to get on the front hoof here and you know find spring’s equivalent of the little blue pills.
I have thought long and hard about this; spring is all about weakly filtered sunshine, new life, babies and bonking, so what better way to bring her out to play than to sacrifice orange, gelded Welsh ponies over a certain age? I mean it’s obvious, right? I would like to point out that my deductions are purely scientific and the fact I may have such a sacrifice readily to hoof in the shape of the bane of my life is purely a heartbreaking coincidence. But this isn’t about me losing a not-asked-for-and-didn’t-come-with-a-gift-receipt-ginger-whinger-“brother”, this is about the greatest good for the greatest number. We need an end to winter and a start to spring sooner rather than later after we have just endured the 5,789 days of January – none of which were dry…
I am clear about my offering, I think you all need to think about yours and be quick about it. This is not time for sentiment, nor selfishness. We need to act now before we are into flooding February and we spend yet another month either inside, outside in a sea of mud in which grass is seen about as regularly boobies on a snake, or outside in water deep enough to require a snorkel every time your head goes lower than your knees. And that’s before we mention the wind.
The other week it was noted that in the high winds while the rest of the yard were indulging in self-exercise and group stampeding, I was seen trying to throw myself onto my hay to stop it blowing under my fence and away to become nesting material for migrating birds somewhere on the south coast. I noted that this is because I am an intelligent being who a) likes his food and b) knows only too well the wrath of the women in my life if I strain something hooleying about in this level of mud. I may enjoy ensuring my vet’s children are well fed and watered by selflessly paying for it all, but even I know better than to do it in January…
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Anyways, please go away and report back on what you are prepared to offer spring to make her you know, like boing boing.
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Hovis shared his weekly diary each Friday on the Horse & Hound website between 2008 and February 2025. Initially located on the popular H&H forum, he moved to the main website in February 2013. He published nine books, each to raise funds for his local equine welfare charity Bransby Horses. You can read all his diary entries below. H&H also published a final tribute to our much-loved equine contributor.
