Dear diary,
Well the good news people is that I’m still here! Which to be honest, after the incidents during the week before, is nothing short of a minor miracle…
I spent a week contemplating my life, having some good drugs and generally wondering if it’s actually humanly possible to spontaneously combust or whether mother is secretly some sort of superhero fire starter. Either way, I didn’t really want to see what would happen if I hobbled up the drive lame again when Herman revisited on Friday lunchtime.
Friday dawned beautifully sunny and we were all dragged in to avoid sunburn which did at least mean that my fellow equine yard mates would be witness to mother attempting to hide my body in the hay barn if I wasn’t sound. I walked back to the yard from my field with the boss lady like a meek and mild poodle with piles and vowed to behave until mum and Herman arrived.
Mother arrived at lunchtime looking hot, stressed and near to a total breakdown. In stark contrast when Herman arrived, he swung jauntily into the yard, narrowly missed running mum over from where she was sat in the sun waiting for him and looked only mildly perturbed to find mother in a vest top.
I was dragged out of my box with little fuss and warned to behave. Herman was warned to watch my legs and nothing else and off we went.
I sashayed up the drive with a swing in my step and attitude in my eyes, about turned on command and flattened mother as I knocked her into the hawthorn bush. What can I say? I needed a small snack to sustain me the 40m back to Herman and she was in the way.
I sauntered back with all the swag I could muster (I’m not entirely sure what “swag” is but I’m sure I have a lot of it) and Herman beamed. He asked for a trot-up and we smartly leapt forward like a turbo-charged truck (well I did, mother sort of limped for a few strides before she got with the programme) and demonstrated some reasonable high-kneed extended trot. Again, a halt was called, a turn was executed and I grabbed a mouthful of bush narrowly dodging taking mother’s eye out. I won’t repeat the language used — it wasn’t big nor clever and certainly wasn’t lady like. Mind you, this is my mother…
So we trotted back with Herman manfully keeping his eyes on my feet and not mother’s heaving breasticles, which quite frankly were doing a passable impression of two cats fighting in a bag. How she doesn’t go around permanently looking like a panda, I have NO idea…
So the end result is that I’m sound in walk and so can start some light walk work with big boobs on board. I’m still about 1/10th lame in trot so we’ve decided to give IRaP another try.
Continued below…
Hovis’ Friday diary: ‘I didn’t need to see his face to know that he was swiftly praying for some sort of divine intervention’
Hovis pays tribute to those who lost their
For those of you who don’t remember, I’ve had this before and it’s where they take my blood, mutate it and then re-inject me to turn me into a superhero. There was something wrong with the last batch because although it healed my ligament problem, I didn’t get a cape or indeed X-Ray vision, but I’m thinking faulty specimens? Hopefully this time I will truly become Hoverine — an unstoppable force of nature. With a cape. A red one. I so want a red one…
So I’m off to practise my superhero moves as well as my best angle for photos — don’t forget I’m at the Lincolnshire Show on the Bransby Horses stand raising money for the charity, hanging out and generally saying hello to my lovely fans. Please come and see me if you’re there!
Laters,
Hovis
