The Riot Diaries
March 5th
The Phantom is getting a pair of boots.
I kid you not.
It’s the latest thing in ‘must-have’ horse equipment and we’re going to trial them.
The farrier came out yesterday to trim Persil’s nails and assess Phantom’s suitability for boot wearing. (Unfortunately, as he’s just been shod we’ll be waiting another 6 weeks before getting them)
We
tried a pair on Persil, so I could see how they were fitted.
They look like gigantic sandshoes. Persil was very impressed.
“Boots”, he said dreamily, “I have boots”, and he shuffled around in them.
“I don’t know about the colour’, he said – they’re black. Then he looked at The Phantom who was admiring them over the fence. “And The Phantom would need a stripe or two on his – you know, to give the illusion of speed”.
I
may…or may not…have got THE JOB.
The one time I left my phone in Possovitz’s lazy paws after faithfully carrying it at my side every day since the interview; and they ring.
“Your people rang”, said my P.A. when I got home.
“What
people?”
“You know, THE JOB.”
“Really? What did they say?”
“Um”.
“Did they leave a message?”
“Yes”, said Possovitz.
“Well?”
“Um…”
“Flossom; what did you say to them?”
“I said I’d have my people get back to their people”,
she said, followed by, “I could use a snack”.
I’ll ring them first thing in the morning.
March 7th
Nibbler is coming home.
His personal ‘masseuse’ emailed me from his health spa…
“Dear Mrs Dingle,” she wrote,
“I am writing to inform you that there will be a special delivery…..if you are not available to receive……will insert Hoof Hefner into the paddock containing the gay cowboys….”
Of course this merited a reply as follows…
‘Dear Mrs ……….
I just know that this is one of those suspicious emails where the next thing you'll want to know is my bank account details so you can deposit him there. I know this because I am wearing my schmart glasses.
Well I'm on to you. I'll be waiting here at McLeods Rd for him NOT AT THE BANK...’
I’m onto these weird emails.
By the way I did not get THE JOB, but let’s face it, zooming around the countryside eight hours a day being serious, would have been a hazard to my health and well being.
Instead I spent a very pleasant day driving about 300km away
with a good friend to look at a horse. He was a lovely horse.
When
we’d finished looking at him, we drove home and I
rushed out to the paddock to look at my horses.
Then I brought them in for a polish and Brent arrived home from work just in time for a polish too.
March 8th
My friend Maree was down for the day.
She came round to the house
for dinner and got a Quadruple Cat Scan.
As usual, Grommart greeted her like a long lost best friend, clambering over her the minute she sat down and conducting an ‘in your face’ inspection before settling down and making herself at home on Maree’s lap.
Sticky wandered in and gazed at her blearily, before traipsing into the kitchen for a bowl scan.
D. I. Zeuss, having heard from Flossom that there was a ‘stranger’ in
the house, bustled in importantly and asked for a quiet word with
me.
I picked him up.
“Just WHO is this?” whispered Zeuss, pressing his
mouth into my ear. I explained; he looked at her suspiciously. “Have
you checked her for any extra limbs?” he said.
I popped him outside before he could conduct a full body search.
Finally Flossom stalked by, waving her tail imperiously in the air.
“I sincerely hope this won’t mean any delay of my dinner” she said pointedly glaring at the empty food bowls. “I’m starving, you know, could die of hunger at any minute”, and with that she flopped onto the floor and rolled on her back in a dramatic demonstration of death by starvation.
It takes a lot of imagination to picture this ‘cat of substance’, expiring from malnutrition.
March 9th
Nibbler arrived home.
He shot out of the float, blew himself up to his full 16.3hh height and tossed his head magnificently. Unfortunately it was all a bit of a waste, his only audience was his two gay friends, Persil and The Phantom; certainly not the paddock full of mares Nibbler had obviously been expecting.
“Look who’s back,” said The Phantom, a little peevishly I thought.
Persil was thrilled; they trotted up to greet Nibs.
“Oh”, said Nibbler, “it’s you two; any mares?”
“Just the Phantom,” said Persil; ducking as Phantom threw a well aimed hoof in his direction.
Nibbler set off around the paddock to check for any stray mares. He ambled along at a gentleman’s pace while Persil and the Phantom raced each other energetically.
After a couple of laps and no sign of mares, Nibbler settled in to stuff his face with the long grass.
Phantom stared at him, plainly disgusted, “Well,” he said, “it certainly didn’t take long for the ‘Fit Stallion’ to turn into a ‘Fat Gelding’” he said waggling his hooves to emphasize the descriptions.
March 10th
My friend Jess and I took The Phantom and Nibbler for a very long ride.
It wasn’t meant to be quite so long but we got lost. Having previously researched the route on Google maps, I thought I’d be fine, but dyslexia and map reading really don’t go together.
I’m going to have to install a satellite navigation system into my helmet.
Imagine our surprise to hear a loud American voice from above instructing us to “turn left 300 metres”, or to “Jump that fence 200 metres”.
Conversation will be out of the question because I’ll be too busy concentrating on my next set of instructions. I would call it divine intervention.
March 11th
The
cats appear to have had a bit of a party.
I walked in after a ride, to be greeted by a swaying Sticky. “Hey”, he said and promptly fell over.
There was shredded newspaper all over the floor and Zeuss was doing Batman impersonations from the top of the bookshelf.
Grommart sat splay legged in a chair, it was no use asking her what was happening as she can’t remember anything sober, let alone half cut.
I turned to Zeuss just as he fell off the bookshelf, onto the couch, where he proceeded to zoom around like a small furry hovercraft. There was no getting any sense out of him.
Flossom was mysteriously absent…The cats have a lot of explaining to do, which will have to wait till tomorrow when they sober up.