Hovis_and_SidsMum
Well-Known Member
Dear Diary
Well another week has gone by and mother's leg still hasnt healed up. To say I sense shes frustrated is like suggesting that Mike Tyson bloke might have had an ear fetish.
On Monday she rode me once again with her boot at half mast, zip undone, looking like an escapee from Chavs Are Us. Thankfully the hedges are now quite high around the school so I was comforted by the thought that no one could see us. They could probably hear us though as the list of adjectives mother used every time we tried rising trot was enough to educate an Irish navvy. And let me tell you as an Irish man that takes a LOT of doing.....
That said mum was most pleased with me as we managed to go from walk to fast with no trotting in the middle. Even Boss lady said this was impressive. To be honest when i felt mums leg move and the code word to go fast be given (Canter we have to keep it simple or mum gets confused) I did think shed had a bit of a brain fart. But in no mood to have an arguement with her i did as she requested and voila! One happy if lame mother.
As mum legs had bled into her socks she gave herself a few days off and lunged me which to be frank I find discriminatory: just because i havent got a hole in my leg should not mean i have to work. Is there a union i can complain to?
So yesterday I was alarmed to see her bringing my tack and the big guns. I.e. Dad. We managed 10 minutes of mothers swearing and pathetic attempts to ride in trot before she whimpered sufficiently to make Dad volunteer to get on me. Great. Needless to say the clash of wills that ensued was epic, mano vs mano, big hairy beast vs horse....... *snigger I am SO funny sometimes*.
I was apparently (according to Monty Roberts mother) in a Kevin mood and behaving like a stroppy teenager. This is untrue. I was staging a protest about being made to work correctly when I am a big hunk of muscle manliness and should be allowed to go how I wish. But I do forget how strong Dad is and more to the point how determined he is. After we had ridden round with him making noises that sounded like eeyyyoooorrr, eeeyyyyoooorrrr and half the yard killing themselves laughing it became clear that he was suggesting I was a Donkey. Ha! I lifted my bottom in preparation to buck and show him who the Ass in this relationship really was when i got a quick reminder from Mr Schooling Whip that it might not be a good idea. Damn the man.
45 minutes later, dripping with sweat and defeated I produced work which was apparently was reasonable. Ha! Reasonable my hairy fat bum! That Dorritios bloke would have been shaking in his crisp bag let me tell you. Mum clambered back on board to cool me down and i was eventually allowed to go to bed to rest my exhausted legs. I am so unappreciated.......
Anyway at least i get the weekend off as Mum is going to that cult place called Your Horse is Alive. Shes very excited about it and seems to think people might go and say hello to her. I didnt point out that her only claim to fame is being a famous horses PA and that really these people are MY fans not hers. Bless her if she wants to believe these things, who i am to burst her bubble? Please some of you at least humour her and say hello shell sulk for a week if not. For me? Please?
On a final note I know that today is the 11th Day of the 11th Month and that it is the day we remember all the brave men, women, dogs and horses that have given their lives so that we can roam free across our country. I think we should all say our thanks to them all for their sacrifices:
They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old
Age will not weary them, nor the years condem
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We shall remember them
And one for the horses:
An Appeal
I'm only a cavalry charger,
And I'm dying as fast as I can
(For my body is riddled with bullets-
They've potted both me and my man);
And though I've no words to express it,
I'm trying this message to tell
To kind folks who work for the Red Cross-
Oh, please help the Blue one as well!
My master was one in a thousand,
And I loved him with all this poor heart
(For horses are built just like humans;
Be kind to them-they'll do their part);
I'm only a cavalry charger,
And my eyes are becoming quite dim
(I really don't mind though I'm "done for",
So long as I'm going to him);-
But first I would plead for my comrades,
Who're dying and suffering too-
Oh, please help the poor wounded horses!
I'm sure that you would-if you knew.
Lest we ever forget.........
Well another week has gone by and mother's leg still hasnt healed up. To say I sense shes frustrated is like suggesting that Mike Tyson bloke might have had an ear fetish.
On Monday she rode me once again with her boot at half mast, zip undone, looking like an escapee from Chavs Are Us. Thankfully the hedges are now quite high around the school so I was comforted by the thought that no one could see us. They could probably hear us though as the list of adjectives mother used every time we tried rising trot was enough to educate an Irish navvy. And let me tell you as an Irish man that takes a LOT of doing.....
That said mum was most pleased with me as we managed to go from walk to fast with no trotting in the middle. Even Boss lady said this was impressive. To be honest when i felt mums leg move and the code word to go fast be given (Canter we have to keep it simple or mum gets confused) I did think shed had a bit of a brain fart. But in no mood to have an arguement with her i did as she requested and voila! One happy if lame mother.
As mum legs had bled into her socks she gave herself a few days off and lunged me which to be frank I find discriminatory: just because i havent got a hole in my leg should not mean i have to work. Is there a union i can complain to?
So yesterday I was alarmed to see her bringing my tack and the big guns. I.e. Dad. We managed 10 minutes of mothers swearing and pathetic attempts to ride in trot before she whimpered sufficiently to make Dad volunteer to get on me. Great. Needless to say the clash of wills that ensued was epic, mano vs mano, big hairy beast vs horse....... *snigger I am SO funny sometimes*.
I was apparently (according to Monty Roberts mother) in a Kevin mood and behaving like a stroppy teenager. This is untrue. I was staging a protest about being made to work correctly when I am a big hunk of muscle manliness and should be allowed to go how I wish. But I do forget how strong Dad is and more to the point how determined he is. After we had ridden round with him making noises that sounded like eeyyyoooorrr, eeeyyyyoooorrrr and half the yard killing themselves laughing it became clear that he was suggesting I was a Donkey. Ha! I lifted my bottom in preparation to buck and show him who the Ass in this relationship really was when i got a quick reminder from Mr Schooling Whip that it might not be a good idea. Damn the man.
45 minutes later, dripping with sweat and defeated I produced work which was apparently was reasonable. Ha! Reasonable my hairy fat bum! That Dorritios bloke would have been shaking in his crisp bag let me tell you. Mum clambered back on board to cool me down and i was eventually allowed to go to bed to rest my exhausted legs. I am so unappreciated.......
Anyway at least i get the weekend off as Mum is going to that cult place called Your Horse is Alive. Shes very excited about it and seems to think people might go and say hello to her. I didnt point out that her only claim to fame is being a famous horses PA and that really these people are MY fans not hers. Bless her if she wants to believe these things, who i am to burst her bubble? Please some of you at least humour her and say hello shell sulk for a week if not. For me? Please?
On a final note I know that today is the 11th Day of the 11th Month and that it is the day we remember all the brave men, women, dogs and horses that have given their lives so that we can roam free across our country. I think we should all say our thanks to them all for their sacrifices:
They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old
Age will not weary them, nor the years condem
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We shall remember them
And one for the horses:
An Appeal
I'm only a cavalry charger,
And I'm dying as fast as I can
(For my body is riddled with bullets-
They've potted both me and my man);
And though I've no words to express it,
I'm trying this message to tell
To kind folks who work for the Red Cross-
Oh, please help the Blue one as well!
My master was one in a thousand,
And I loved him with all this poor heart
(For horses are built just like humans;
Be kind to them-they'll do their part);
I'm only a cavalry charger,
And my eyes are becoming quite dim
(I really don't mind though I'm "done for",
So long as I'm going to him);-
But first I would plead for my comrades,
Who're dying and suffering too-
Oh, please help the poor wounded horses!
I'm sure that you would-if you knew.
Lest we ever forget.........
