Dear diary,
Well this week has been a bit wild! And sadly, I don’t mean in the rock and roll-in-the-hay with frisky mare’s sort of a way. I mean the weather. Holy black and white cob it’s been evil. Which made mother nature and my mother a complete pair because mother made me stay out in it, I mean like all day and all night. It’s a wonder I’m still here and not currently wandering around some place with a yellow road and green cities; mother suggested it was down to be admirable ballast but then she’s always had a mean streak…
Friday it was so windy mother, aunty H and the other slightly less batty women at the yard were seen having a joyous tug of war game with Aunty H’s tarpaulin which covers my lady love’s lunch reserves. If I had to score them I’d have given them a B for effort, an A for excessive swearing, an F for technical ability and Aunty H an A* for throwing the most impressive strop I’ve seen since mum told mini-mother she couldn’t have another Barbie. It did however give us equines a good half hour’s amusement in a day in which just putting your head down to graze was to run the risk of having your ears blown inside out. Which, for the record, isn’t funny…
Upon wrestling the tarpaulin into some semblance of control, the combined brains of Britain decided jointly that we were all “safer out than in” (which just goes to show they have the collective survival instincts of depressed lemmings), and that bringing us into the barn where the roof was shaking more violently than Lance Armstrong in a dope testing queue would be dangerous. Rrriiiiggghhhhtttt…
Because the alternative of changing rugs in force 22 gales in a field was always going to end well, right?
Oddly, most of my equine companions appeared to end up wearing the same rugs as they’d been wearing all day (funny that…), but since I HADN’T HAD ONE ON, mother was left with little choice but to do the impossible and attempt to get a rug into the same postcode as my delectable bottom while mother nature used her hairdryer on us at mach one.
Now some would say the fact she succeeded is due to mother having the tenacity of a shop-aholic in the January sales. Others would say it’s due to her matador type skills which enable her to expertly flick her wrists and cape the rampaging bull (that would be me obviously). Personally, having had said rug over my ears, my head, my face, up my nose and wafting leg straps around my trim physique like an octopus at a rave, I would say the fact she got it on my was down the fact I have the patience of a saint and am (in certain circumstances) about as spooky as a block of cement. A statement Aunty Em might not entirely agree with after she rode yesterday ,but then like mother, she is prone to over embellishment…
Continued below…
Hovis’ Friday diary: she’s hooked on feather power but doesn’t want to admit it
There have been a couple of Hovis-related incidents over the past week, but they are absolutely not his fault..
So, I hope you all survived storm what-ever-this-one-was-called and that you all remained safe, hopefully cocooned in nice warm, dry stables because you’re owned by someone a lot nicer than she-who-must-be-obeyed. The only blessing is I got to try out my new rug, which did lead to my lady love eyeing me like a fat fighter eyeing up a doughnut. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or scared for my life. Women — one day I will figure them out…
Laters,
Hovis
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