Seabiscuit (not his real name *)

Apologies for this blog's silence but alas even I struggle to extract mirth from some circumstances and so while the last week's Battles took their toll, I thought it best to keep quiet. All that is in the past however and there are of course some vaguely amusing vignettes to report from the wilds.

So... when a 3 year old ex race horse with all his testosterone parts still attached comes to stay, it is best to keep your wits about you for at least two reasons. The first is that Seabiscuit , (not his real name *) whilst playing a game that lots of young horses like to play, called eating shoes and hats and jumpers still attached to the person wearing them, may in fact suddenly decide that he is in fact very pleased with himself. He may in fact be so pleased with himself that he will grab your loose fitting boys jumper and lift it clean over you chest just as the elderly neighbor comes up the drive to collect the fire wood you promised him. Most amusing for young horses and dare I say, elderly neighbors, less amusing for me. The second reason to keep an eye on said fine equine companion is that it seems race horses are Pavlovian in their responses to loud sharp noises. Bird scarers (boom) and guns (bang) all serve to send The Biscuit clean out of his imaginary starting stall and in a misguided nostalgia for a more glorious past, galloping down the straights. In all the excitement, he has the black labrador (Banana McFly*) and Collie Wobbles* (The border collie) in hot pursuit. Of course his gallops aren't straight and they aren't over a few furlongs and between him and his finish line stands a startled blog writer, wildly waving her fence mending kit in a desperate attempt to avoid a collision. I was imagining how I had narrowly survived The Battles only to be wiped out by 500kgs of testosterone tentatively held together by 4 spagetti legs and a fuzzy winter coat. The final bloody insult! Happily, Seabiscuit (not his real name *) being the consummate professional 3 year old ex race horse he is, puts in a death defying stop and casually leaned over for a victory kiss. A bit charming really...

(* Names have been changed to protect the identity, dignity and future career prospects of all the dogs and horses mentioned in this blog)

Other advice gleamed from a difficult week; when it all goes pear shaped, slight;y snooty ladies who own farm shops and slighty snooty ladies who own saddle shops are powerful and loyal allies. It is unclear how I managed to impress them but they have been solid and forthright supporters during The Battles - the dynamics of who is accepted and who not are still some what mysterious. I will investigate further and report back ...