Dear diary,
So, it’s day 150 of human box rest and I’m thinking of resorting to sedalin — whether for me or the humans I, as yet, know not. I am currently wondering however, if cross-tying mother is a) legal or b) strays into slightly dodgy Fifty Tastes of Hay territory? Thoughts?
It was bad enough when they were allowed restricted turnout, but then clearly a few of them wouldn’t stay in the temporary fencing and now all of them are on box rest with minimal in-hand walking if they behave themselves. Amateurs…
Before box rest was more strictly enforced however, I was subjected to a week of Aunty Em (which is bad) and a weekend of the mothership (much worse) cracking on with operation we-might-be-old-and-knackered-but-you-need-to-be-as-fit-as-a-flea-because-we-are-hypocrits (and no, naming of operations is still not a strong point). Aunty Em riding me is ok because she’s quite chilled, doesn’t know too many naughty words so I don’t have to fear for preserving the innocence of the rabbit militia, and on the whole, is pretty amenable to (and indeed competent at) carrying my head for me. I mean, I’d rather be in a field, doing grass and a fair few moral-less mares, but I can just about cope. Which is more than can be said for when mother rides me…
On Saturday, mother arrived and was somewhat perplexed to find me in the stables when it was way too early for me to have been brought in. That’s when the boss lady bustled out of the house and whistle-blew on me like Thomas the Tank Engine at a rave; explaining that I had been cavorting about like Hugh Heffner on those little blue pills (Valegro I think it’s called) over the fine young filly two fields over. Now, in my defence she was waving her booty in my direction like Beyoncé on a powerplate and yelling the sort of suggestions normally heard at the evening performance of Magic Mike — I didn’t even know what some of it meant, but it all sounded great fun. In light of her very, very clear admiration (and let’s face it, who can blame her — she’s only equine after all), I had been showing off my moves with such ferocity that the boss lady had been concerned I was going to pull something. To be fair, I was trying, but not the tendon that the boss lady was worried about…
Anyway, after a lecture about inappropriate behaviours in a male of my age, I was tacked up and led/dragged out to the school for more endless egg-like circles and mother out and out refusing to carry my head. I was, however, more giddy than a teenager after half a shandy as my new younger love interest resumed her rather saucy diatribe as soon as she caught sight of my now naked, manly physique — I puffed up my muscles, grew an impressive few inches and threw in a few moves of my own to impress upon her my stallion-like status. While totally forgetting that mother was just swinging and creaking an aged leg over my back at the time. Oooopppss…
What followed was 45 minutes of Lady (well not really, but it works with the alliteration) vs Libido as mother tried valiantly to stop me jogging about so vigorously, I was causing black eyes, while I ignored her and bounced about like Tigger on a trampoline. The situation was then worsened as mini-mother decided to give mother and I a lesson, forgetting in her youthful enthusiasm that I am not a barrel racer and mother can’t ride a rocking horse on a good day. And it wasn’t a good day…
Needless to say, we both finished aching (my bum and mother’s legs), sweaty and unsatisfied with our lot in life. Mini-mother scuttled off to play with Barbie Boy, mother limped off for a hot date with a bucket of tramadol and vat of wine and I pondered if a smoking jacket would make me more desirable or look like a hairy sausage roll…
On Sunday, mother decided she couldn’t cope with riding Rudolph Valentino, so thus left mini-mother to take Barbie Boy in the school while she poo picked our field. Now before I go any further, I would like to point out that whatever “evidence” you think you have seen, videos only show a few moments in time. So, thus when Senora Smartbottom posts things all over my Facebook pages that appear to show me demonstrating an IQ level equivalent to the collective results of the TOWIE cast members’ Mensa test, I would urge you all to recognise this fact. I would thus argue I was not “proving why I was gelded”, but instead approaching the known hazard of electric fencing with the caution is deserves. After the unfortunate wee spray incident of 2015, I am very wary of that white tape and for very good reason…
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I now know that the tape was indeed down and thus there was a sizeable gap in said fence, but a man cannot be too careful. I thought I styled out my escape into the other part of the field extremely well while showing she-who-thinks-she-is-hilarious the sort of distain that she deserves. I feel any commentary given by the payer of my vets’ bills is not reflective of my intellect, nor a fair and balanced voice-over of events. I am, therefore, interested in hearing from any of you currently box resting barristers as to my legal rights for suing on the grounds of defamation of character and the use of a Northern accent…
One final note from me; as many of your humans are confined to their stables and unable to visit, then absolutely enjoy the peace, the quiet and the lack of stressage, but just remember that spring grass is coming through now, so in order for you all not to be on box rest yourselves with the dreaded laminitis, just calm down the scoffing — remember the simple saying “the grass goes on the ass — it might be the best but you’ll end up with a crest”.
Laters,
Hovis
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