There was much excitement on the yard one evening in late summer. This isn’t unusual, it’s show season, and there will often be much equine brushing and plaiting going on. What did make this slightly odd was that, for the first time, I was included. Mum and Dad bathed and brushed me to within an inch of my life, my tack was taken home to be polished and I was rugged up to ‘keep me clean’.
Early the next morning, Dad arrived, and I barely recognized him. He was spotlessly clean, pristine cream jodhpurs, shiny boots and smart Harris tweet jacket. I was inspected, with Mum doing a last minute primp and soon found myself adorned shiny bright tack. Together with a few other yard mates, we took off on a bit of a hack.
Where it gets really exciting was when we reached our destination. The local hunt extends an invitation to yards to join them on a pre-season hound exercise and boy, were there a few horses there I can tell you.
We started off on our adventure, and I have to confess, I may or may not have gotten a little over-excited by it all.
As we took off for a jolly good (and steady) whoo hoolie, it was clear to anyone with sense that a fine figure of equine such as myself should lead from the front. That in mind, off I went.
Dad, however, had, frankly daft, ideas about us staying where we were in the group, so circled me around. That was ridiculous, obviously, because now we were further back, so I was forced to whoo hoolie that bit faster, and round once again to circle back. And repeat.
Soon, we were both getting dizzy (and a bit sick).
I redoubled my efforts and began to try and barge the other horses out of my way. Move! Very important horse coming through! With my traitorous rider yelling ‘Sorry!’
Dad was suddenly hit with a vision of me charging into the fray, of ladies alarmed and small children being catapulted asunder, as a gigantic ginger juggernaut ploughed his way through the pack.
He tried, he really tried to persuade me that we needed to chill out, but I was having none of it, I was a horse on a mission, I was getting to the front, while his arms were getting more than a bit tired.
The route just so happened to pass near to our yard, and Dad decided discretion was the better part of valour, so we peeled away to make our way home. I was not happy.
The spronking and snorting didn't actually stop until we were coming through the gate by which time Mum was waiting for us and commented ‘he looks pretty chilled to me.’
I won’t tell you what Dad said.
And that dear readers is why all Dad's sleeves are a bit short.
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