Dear diary
So today is D-day with Herman the German Needle Man coming to ascertain whether I can go back to work. Part of me is ever hopeful that my foot is now better after my rest and I can get back out there showing the world how the Destroyer does cross-country. The other part is extremely concerned that mother now might wrap me in cotton wool and only allow me to prance about like an over-sized fairy for the next six months — so is hoping for an extension to the enforced holiday. We shall see. The only person probably looking forward to today is Herman himself — the amount of money he’s had out of mum apparently has funded the new west wing extension to Herman Towers. Well according to mum anyway — I wonder if I have a plaque on the wall or something?
He might be the only member of Team Hovis who is pleased to see me, as I might have upset Cool New Shoes Man last week. Mum still can’t drive due to the large pink Lickit thing on her right arm and so not only had to walk to the yard but also had a very moany mini-mother in tow. As a result Cool New Shoes Man came down to the field to help her get me, as she is labouring under such a disadvantage (and I do mean her hand here people — although she does have many other issues too).
I came trotting down the field to see the posse in the gateway, which caused Cool New Shoes Man to comment that I looked pretty fit for a supposedly lame horse. He rather blasely went to put my headcollar on and I decided it was high time to remind him of the hierarchy around here — admittedly the buck was a tad closer to his head than I had originally intended (although it did look cool — think Kung Fu Panda meets the Matrix…in leg warmers).
It did mean I had to put in a series of smaller ones while running forward just to retain my balance but still, that will teach him. My mother’s growl however would subdue even Jive Bunny on E-numbers so I swiftly returned all four feathered feet to terra firma and gave my best big puppy dog brown-eyed look.
It melts the hardest of hearts.
Mother remained unmoved.
She is a witch.
The icy “get here now” does invoke an instinctive recall akin to a turbo-charged boomerang and within seconds I was by her side while Cool New Shoes Man fixed my headcollar on. He did comment he was impressed with her control — I refrained from pointing out at her first growl he’d gone to heel so fast he nearly fell over his own feet as well, so he needn’t act all macho with me. I thought it but didn’t say it — after all he was about to be holding hot metal near my feathers…
The fact I then pranced in from the field, refused to stand still to be tied up and then wavered about like Stevie Wonder on a cross-channel ferry the entire time that CNSM was trying to do my feet, might not have gone down too well. Mini-mother started crying every time Cool New Shoes Man even looked at her so I thought stealing her hat might cheer her up. With hindsight, taking it off her head with my teeth was always risky. I’m sure the chunk of hair I accidentally removed at the same time will grow back…
It’s fair to say by the time all four feet were done CNSM was blowing like an asthmatic on a treadmill, mini-mother had wiped tears and snot all over her sleeves and mother herself was looking a tad fraught. It’s probably not surprising then that I was put back in the field with no polo and a suggestion I wanted to have a good hard think about things. What things I wasn’t sure so I thought about Lickits good and hard for at least an hour. I’m nothing if not obedient…
So cross your hooves and fingers for me today — I’m not sure I can cope with the mother-shaped tear waterfall if Herman says I’m still broken. To be fair, he can’t ever cope with it either so lord help us both. I’ll let you know how I get on next week.
Laters
Hovis
P.S My three books Hovis’ Friday diary: From the beginning, Hovis’ Friday diary: The year of the Destroyer and Hovis’ Friday diary: Fifty Tastes of Hay are available to buy from the gift shop at www.bransbyhorses.co.uk with 100 per cent of the proceeds from the sale going to the charity.
