Dear Diary
Well it’s been another week of small highs and serious lows; it’s fair to say that as a yard we’re not having the best time of it at the moment.
So the small highs first — mum was away on Saturday so I was limited in the amount of hellish stressage she insisted on putting me through. Thank the Lord. What I’m not thanking is all the fans who have got thoroughly over-excited about me going to Your Horse is Alive and are currently trying to convince Mr Nester to ride me. This is the man who mother cites as the reason we have to do 101 transitions in a lesson — I thought you all liked me? Apparently these supposed “fans” think it would be marvellous to show the ability of all horses to do dressage. Really?
I’m all for taking one for the team, but seriously just because all you humans can run around naked doesn’t mean you want to does it? Same principle people, same principle. I know I can prance about like a fairy elephant on steroids and I know mother would die a million times over of happiness to see what a “proper” rider could make me do, but seriously is the man up to the job? I am after all Boglands Quaver, not some little poncy beast like Flatlands Dorrito…
All that said, if you all want to badger William Fox-in-a-hole or Mr Village-end with the same enthusiasm, who am I to stand in your way?
In other news my mother managed to embarrass me so much the other day I nearly prayed to be a TB just so I could fit down the drain to hide. After working me half to death in the blazing heat, mother then led me to the hosepipe for the usual freezing cold shower. All so far normal you think? Yes but then she proceeded to wash my mane and thus get extremely wet herself in the process. Not an issue you might think? Did I mention she was in a skin-tight vest top? And that she was singing? And prancing about?
All harmless you would think, in light of the fact we were alone on the yard and thus the only person having to witness this spectacle was my long-suffering self. Except we weren’t. Alone that is. There was a man in the field next to the yard — to say he got an eyeful would be an understatement.
Let’s just say, when he jovially conveyed his enjoyment of mother prancing, I would have been less inclined to kick him if he’d been talking to her face. I was torn between wanting to die of mortification on the spot and kicking him to defend my mother’s honour. Wanting to die won though — I figured my mother’s honour is long past saving to be honest…
The week has been marred by the other terrible event. Foxy had been undergoing treatment for a serious back problem and this week her mum took the decision to let her go and join so many others across the rainbow bridge. She was a feisty mare, who was only in our lives for a short time, but she was my friend and I’ll miss her.
Farewell darling Roxy
Run free now angel, free from pain
Gallop to our friends
For now you’ll see them again.
They’ll look up from their grass
And whinny you home
So don’t be afraid
You’ll not be alone
For they’re all waiting for you
Every horse that has ever died
All stood waiting for you
In the field on the other side
As for those you’ve left behind
For a time they’ll cry and miss you so
But they will take solace from knowing
It was the greatest love to let you go
So for now my darling say goodbye
But when my time comes don’t be late
For I expect for you and our friends to be there
Whinnying for me at the gate
In loving memory of Roxy “Foxy” Marshall
Hovis
