Dear Diary
I write this from a happy place, a place in which two mares are furiously fighting over me, where we are actually listening to cool tunes on the radio and not some horrific caterwauling. From a place where Aunty Becky has finally faced her demons and SHOWJUMPED me!
As I reported last week the Ginger fly-trap is suddenly as keen as ginger mustard on me which is great. Undoubtedly it won’t last long and when she’s stopped eyeing anything with a man sausage as potential daddy material, then I will no doubt get savaged every time I’m within striking distance again. In the mean time, I’m making the most of it even if I don’t have enough pocket money to be able to support children. Mum says I also don’t have the equipment to make babies but to be honest with all the nonsense mother spouts I’m not sure she’s to be trusted on such matters.
This interest from the Ginger fly-trap is sparking immense jealously from Dolly, who, whilst probably not interested in me anyway, is also determined that no one else shall have a slice of Hovis love either. If it can ever be said that two pretty mares spend all day screwing their faces at each other and generally eyeballing the other, then it’s definitely happening between these two. I feel like the meat in a feisty mare sandwich and I LOVE it!
Even better is the fact that the little orange dude and his mate have decided to go out during the day now — even though it’s still very hot. So we are actually getting either blessed silence or some semi-decent tunes on the radio. There’s five of us still staying in during the day and going out at night to protect us from the sun. So we hang out and throw buckets at the birds — one of who actually had the cheek to poo on me the other day. Mum said it’s lucky. I agree — that bird is lucky I didn’t introduce his feathers to mine as I flicked him into next week…
But the best news of the week is mum has finally coaxed Aunty Becky over some showjumps! I have been subjected to a LOT of stressage of late and been made to run around in circles trussed up like an accident in a bondage factory — so to be honest I was getting a little fed up. Until this week when both mother and a slightly pale and worried looking Aunty Becky rocked up.
I was confused until I saw mum flexing her bingo wings and hefting jump wings into the school. My ears pricked. Mum picked up poles. I snorted with excitement. Mum put poles onto the wings. I nearly dragged Aunty Becky into the school in excitement. Aunty Becky didn’t look quite so keen, whilst mother shook her head in disbelief that someone who can be so brave across country is a bit of a girl about showjumps. Mother stood in the school shouting encouragement and generally bossing Aunty Becky around, whilst I demonstrated quite why a) it’s clear I have showjumping genes and b) why feathers are made for flying.
Once Aunty Becky got into the swing of things we were quite the team, and were soon flying over jumps with the ease of Tigger after a pint of Red Bull — to be honest, I have a LOT of bounce per ounce. By the end we’d not knocked one pole off. Aunty Becky looked slightly less like she was about to show me her lunch all over my mane and mum was pleased with us both. She did say that Aunty Becky needed to concentrate on piloting me to the fence and then let me worry about getting over it, something mother is a master of — let’s face it, I have to sort out getting us over jumps because mother has usually got her eyes closed…
So I am very hopeful we might be going to a jumping party soon but I did unfortunately hear Aunty Becky say that we’d also do some stressage. Such a party pooper…
So all in all it’s been a good week, despite mother’s sudden obsession with trussing me up like a refugee from a fishing line factory and running round in circles. I am being fought over by two mares, my ears are no longer bleeding listening to Wrong Direction on the radio. I’ve got Aunty Becky to realise what a dude I am over showjumps AND I’ve found out that there’s an eventer person joining me at Your Horse is Alive. Mr Tiptapner? Is he any good at this eventing lark?
I’m thinking that it might be worth offering him my services to help him make it to the top so I need to get his phone number. Mum was last heard muttering something about restraining orders but I think that might be another one of those fishing line contraptions? What do you think?
Laters
Hovis
