Dear diary,
I’m back! Did you miss me? My secretary has returned (sadly — more on that in a minute) so you no longer have to be deprived of hearing from me — well until next time she bobs off to some foreign clime.
I’d love to say I had a lovely relaxing break while she-who-must-be-obeyed was away but I’d be lying. First of all she left me OUTSIDE in SNOW while she pranced about with some mouse dude. Admittedly it wasn’t a lot of snow but that’s beside the point — it was SNOWING.
Then it rained. A lot.
It got to the point when Dolly looked less “wet and wild” and more “doleful and drenched” while my feathers turned from white to brown and then to a very dodgy looking beige. I ended up wearing nearly every rug I own in the space of 10 days due to the weather behaving like a woman in a shoe shop — i.e. changing its mind every two minutes — and every item being soaking wet.
THEN Aunty Emily (who I thought was lovely and my friend) rode me a LOT. Including on weekends which is normally when I can sometimes convince she-who-yields-the-schooling-whip that I might be too exhausted to do anything other than lumber about with my neck in the air like a giraffe with vertebrae issues. I’ve long since been coming to the conclusion that every woman in my life is a demanding wench — and if they’re not when they start off then they are by the time mother has “trained” them.
While mum was away I had a new farrier do my feet as Cool New Shoes Man has broken himself doing some nonsense on a mountain bike down a big hill. If I ever questioned whether he was a little bit doollally then the news he had broken his collarbone following an argument with a tree cemented my view. Anyway this new chap was very nice and was most complimentary about me to mother, reporting I was “as good as gold”. He didn’t try to snog me either which was a bonus and proved to me that Cool New Shoes Man lied when he said it’s normal farrier behaviour. Weirdo.
It sounds like CNSM is now on the mend so I expect to have him taking selfies of the two of us with his tongue up my nose again sooner rather than later…
THEN mother came back. It was actually a beautiful day, the sun was shining and I heard the distance chatter of mini mother. The short little blonde one bounced over with that dopey grin of a greeting. And behind her, her three-year-old daughter also arrived. Bom bom!
So I got a cuddle, she fetched my leadrope, she led me into the stables and got my big molasses lick out. Life was looking good.
Until the witch then switched on the hosepipe. The cold hosepipe. After a soaking that would have made a polar bear shiver I was then doused in PINK pimp my pony shampoo and washed within an inch of my life. Was I going to a show you ask? Some TV appearance than necessitated such evilness? Oh no. Mother simply thought I “looked a tramp”. Pot, kettle, black springs to mind.
She and mini-mother laid about me with scrubbing brushes and sponges with such vigour that I felt like a ford camper van going through a car wash. On second thoughts don’t mention car washes — it might give the evil one ideas…
By the end I was drenched but very clean, mini-mother was drenched and giggling and mother was drenched and unbeknown to her wearing a three inch wide strip of lick down her back from her shoulder to her bum. I thought it was funny.
Continued below…
Read more from Hovis:
Hovis’ Friday diary: bidding you farewell
Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘please send blankets, food and mares with loose morals and great imaginations’
Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘Like asking Usain Bolt to run the three-legged race at the local school fête’
I was then frog marched back to the field to dry out in the sunshine, while mini-mother picked flowers and big mother picked up poo. Suitable analogy there really — one is pretty and full of life the other is full of…
Anyway swiftly moving on it transpires that Herman the German Needle man might be out later today so I look forward to seeing him. If he tries to stick a needle in me, shave any part of me and/or handle my Hovis sausage I may revise this feeling.
I shall keep you posted.
Laters,
Hovis
