Hovis_and_SidsMum
Well-Known Member
Dear diary
My name is Hovis. I am a horse. A land living, terra firma loving horse. NOT a sea horse, a bog monster or a pond dweller. So for gawds sake turn off the shower!
I am wet. I dont mean in that sexy way that those naughty ladies who forget to put their clothes on before they have their photos taken type way, but more in a soggy mane flattened to the head sort of a way. My clothes are wet, my mane is wet, I dont look all wet and wild I look damp and depressed. My field is boggy, my feathers are now brown, I have water in my ears and the only thing dolly wants me for is as a rain shield. Our ménage has become a swimming pool, useful only if we had a mad desire to indulge in aqua aerobics, the roads have become rivers and if the puddles on the drive get any deeper we can expect Tom Daley turning up at any minute. The rain has been bad enough but then yesterday we got the wind as well. My mane looked like an elvis impersonators hair piece after an electric shock. My tail was blowing in so many directions I looked like I had a chimney sweeps brush stuck to my bum. My rug was wriggling about like a tented awning at a swingers party and as for my treat ball well I think I last saw it heading for Scotland.
Mind you whatever woes I was suffering seeing mum made them all seem tiny in comparison. Im sure I have mentioned mum has curly hair? Very curly hair? Well imagine a pom pom in a tumble dryer and you might have an inkling of what she looked like. Less sexy come to bed hair and more human fur ball on legs. She looked like the yard cat had just projectile vomited her into the hay barn. If her coat had billowed out any further she might have taken off and that was before I dragged her at haste from my field to the barn. I admit that nature gave my legs an unfair height advantage on my mothers but if she cant keep up thats not my problem. The bow wave behind her on the drive possibly did drown the local mouse population but heh a boy cant hang about when his rug is blowing up his bum like the wind up the M1.
So other than a hack out with Aunt Sammie last weekend in which I didnt nearly sit on the bonnet of a very posh white range rover as reported to my mother (I merely inspected it closely before trying to give it some character white in the country is impractical) I havent done a lot all week. Mum did lunge me in the dark the other day before the school became impassable but since I class that as cruelty and not work the least said about it the better.
So whilst the sun has briefly made an appearance today we are bracing ourselves for a further drowning at the weekend. If you are all stuck inside and bored then do some christmas shopping and buy my new book. I need to sell some more so I can tell Dolly I am once again a Christmas stocking filler for the masses it got me an offer of looking in her stocking last year and I tell you at the moment I need all the help I can get!
My name is Hovis. I am a horse. A land living, terra firma loving horse. NOT a sea horse, a bog monster or a pond dweller. So for gawds sake turn off the shower!
I am wet. I dont mean in that sexy way that those naughty ladies who forget to put their clothes on before they have their photos taken type way, but more in a soggy mane flattened to the head sort of a way. My clothes are wet, my mane is wet, I dont look all wet and wild I look damp and depressed. My field is boggy, my feathers are now brown, I have water in my ears and the only thing dolly wants me for is as a rain shield. Our ménage has become a swimming pool, useful only if we had a mad desire to indulge in aqua aerobics, the roads have become rivers and if the puddles on the drive get any deeper we can expect Tom Daley turning up at any minute. The rain has been bad enough but then yesterday we got the wind as well. My mane looked like an elvis impersonators hair piece after an electric shock. My tail was blowing in so many directions I looked like I had a chimney sweeps brush stuck to my bum. My rug was wriggling about like a tented awning at a swingers party and as for my treat ball well I think I last saw it heading for Scotland.
Mind you whatever woes I was suffering seeing mum made them all seem tiny in comparison. Im sure I have mentioned mum has curly hair? Very curly hair? Well imagine a pom pom in a tumble dryer and you might have an inkling of what she looked like. Less sexy come to bed hair and more human fur ball on legs. She looked like the yard cat had just projectile vomited her into the hay barn. If her coat had billowed out any further she might have taken off and that was before I dragged her at haste from my field to the barn. I admit that nature gave my legs an unfair height advantage on my mothers but if she cant keep up thats not my problem. The bow wave behind her on the drive possibly did drown the local mouse population but heh a boy cant hang about when his rug is blowing up his bum like the wind up the M1.
So other than a hack out with Aunt Sammie last weekend in which I didnt nearly sit on the bonnet of a very posh white range rover as reported to my mother (I merely inspected it closely before trying to give it some character white in the country is impractical) I havent done a lot all week. Mum did lunge me in the dark the other day before the school became impassable but since I class that as cruelty and not work the least said about it the better.
So whilst the sun has briefly made an appearance today we are bracing ourselves for a further drowning at the weekend. If you are all stuck inside and bored then do some christmas shopping and buy my new book. I need to sell some more so I can tell Dolly I am once again a Christmas stocking filler for the masses it got me an offer of looking in her stocking last year and I tell you at the moment I need all the help I can get!
