Dear Diary
It’s here again, that most “wonderful” time of the year, this year made even more “magical” by the new mandate from the bushy haired blonde herd leader for all humans to stay tethered on a short hobble to their biscuit barrels (or “home” as he euphemistically called it) as of Monday.
May whatever deity you believe in help us all.
Kissmuss is bad enough as it is – humans take all leave of their senses (mainly their eyesight and any form of common sense) and suddenly develop a view that we are all Friesian and more Fir tree and start decorating us in all sort of holiday horrors including tinsel, flashing lights and worst of all antlers.
But now they’re prevented from going to their place of work, this can only leave them a) closer to home b) bored and trigger fingered on the Nile (or whatever that shopping river is) and c) more likely to follow some online “dress up to cheer us up at Kissmuss” organised by some idiot called Karen on a Facebook group for people who shouldn’t own horses. I am telling you we are more screwed than the hardware on a B&Q demonstration stand.
I therefore feel it is incumbent upon me to help us formulate a nationwide equine plan B – and one a lot more intelligent than stick a grazing muzzle on and hope for the best.
The first part of the plan involves never letting the human get close enough to you to place any form of coloured light/tinsel or head gear near your prideful posterior. I thoroughly recommend the “wall of death” manoeuvre alongside some seriously sick sliding stops (thus scaring them into thinking if they don’t desist you may rupture something thus wrecking the Baileys budget and giving your vet a VERY happy new year).
Do NOT be fooled by the bucket. Step AWAY from the bucket. It’s a TRAP. The likelihood of you being able to eat its contents for anything other than the split seconds it takes for them to lasso you into a headlock is minimal, and if your human is anything like my evil mother then the rattling is probably pebbles.
And yes, she has done that.
And yes, I have fallen for it.
More than once, dammit.
If your human is blessed with lightening fast reflexes, you have a brain like Dory or you actually don’t want to be tethered to the side of the road with a “free to anyone I don’t care” sign, then there is a chance you will be caught at some stage. This is almost inevitable. It still doesn’t mean you have to accept being festooned like some sort of sorry spruce. Squashing the human into walls, standing on their appendages is something to try first which can be escalated to throwing yourself about on the ground like some sort of landed fish. One word of warning with that – keep your ears open and at the first mention of the C word then I would strongly recommend you leap up and resume the squashing options. Unless you enjoy your unmentionable passages being violated by an over enthusiastic vet whose festive call out rate would have settled most third world countries national debt.
If your human is very tenacious then it is again almost inevitable that they may well get said tinsel terror onto your personage and thus then decide that you should head out on a holiday ho ho ho hack. This is the point of no return. You go out there in public dressed like the aftermath of an explosion at a grotto and your street cred will be last seen running away with the speed and focus of any fitness coach asked to help mother get back into single figured dress sizes… You are DOOMED. So thus, make like the tree they have dressed you as, and plant. Seriously grow roots and refuse to budge. It’s your only hope. Yes, they may threaten, possibly even wave a whip in the direction of your ass, but answer me this – what’s a small sting compared with looking like a big p**ck?
I can offer no more support than this, but remember you are not alone – this only last a few weeks and we can get through this. Join me with the hashtag #dignitynotdecorations and let’s make a stand.
Laters
Hovis
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