Feb 13th
For the first time since arriving in Christchurch, The Phantom and I were invited to go on a trek.
The very kind lady who invited us, arrived, in the pouring rain, in her huge truck to pick us up.
The Phantom’s eyes just about popped out of his head. He was convinced he was about to be kidnapped and nothing could persuade him otherwise.
Persil wasn’t helping any by racing up and down the fence line shouting “HELP HELP, the Aliens are here, they’re taking Phantom!”

Finally I managed to coax the suspicious Phantom up the steep slippery ramp, but he rushed the last bit and fell on his knees sliding back down to the bottom.
He stood up shakily and held his leg up. It was bleeding.
Of course there was no going on any trek after that. I sadly bid the truck farewell and walked Phantom back to bathe and bandage his leg which he helpfully held up for me. I gave him a couple of medicinal carrots and turned him out with Persil.

“Crikey”, said Persil, “That was close; they were probably going to give you an annual probe,” and he admired The Phantom’s bandaged leg. 

I came inside, soaking wet and miserable to find D. I. Zeuss and his posse of constables, comfortably arranged in the window seat from whence they had witnessed the morning’s events.
“Surveillance team”, he said, followed by, “I understand there was an attempted kidnapping by Aliens in which YOU played a part”.
I glared at him.
“Not that I believe any of it”, he said gracefully and elegantly flexing round to vigorously wash the base of his tail.

Feb 14th

The possibility of Alien Abduction followed by an Annual Probe, has D. I. Zeuss’s surveillance team on high alert.

They were all clustered around the window seat except for Flossom who was snoozing on her chair.

D.I. Zeuss peered gloomily out into the mist that clung around the house like a damp shroud. “Strange things are afoot”, he said, “We have a missing leg, a pair of traumatised underpants, a stabbing and, an attempted abduction, all on my patch. P. C.’s  Mooster and Suckymoto nodded in agreement.

“It may be”, D. I. Zeuss continued, “That all these events are somehow related; what we need, is a map and some coloured pins”, he said looking at me. I found him a map, it was of Europe but he didn’t seem to mind.
The surveillance team spent the morning busily pushing pins around the map of Europe.

At lunch time I came in to check on their progress to find Flossom sleeping on top of the map, roughly in the vicinity of Siberia; the pins were scattered all over the floor and the surveillance team were fast asleep in a heap on a cushion. As I bent over them to give them each a kiss, Zeuss opened one eye, “Power Napping,” he said.

Feb 15th

We appear to have become part of a large water feature.

Two days of solid rain after three months of ‘drought’ has turned the house into an ark, of sorts.

The cats are disgusted, the dogs are disappointed and the horses are downright depressed.

I’m going to arm myself with a flotation device and visit my neighbour for coffee and a chat any minute now…

Feb 16th

The rain just keeps coming down.

D.I. Zeuss and his team of investigative Know-alls, have stuck pins all over Europe and are no closer to working out the where-abouts of the criminal mastermind behind recent events.

F. Possovitz (Attorney at Paw), who loves the cold weather, burst in from outside at one point, with a ‘client’ she’d ‘apprehended’ whilst taking a bath. “Here’s your criminal mastermind,” she said proudly, “Sung like a canary”, and she deposited the terrified, fortunately unharmed chaffinch into my hand. I released him immediately, “ON BAIL”, yelled Possovitz happily.

“Well, well,” said a somewhat miffed D.I. Zeuss, “What did you find out then?”

But the District Attorney wasn’t speaking to him.

“Feeling a little peckish,” she said to me, “Its not easy being out there apprehending dangerous criminals and the like”.

The investigative team broke into loud guffaws. “I guess you could have been PECKED to death”, snorted P.C. Mooster, “Or suffocated on a mouth full of feathers”, added P.C Suckymoto.

“No, no,” yelled D.I. Zeuss, “Come on now Team, give credit where credit is due, the, er, District Attorney here, obviously disguised, as she is, as a right FLAPPER in a CHEEP fur coat…” I managed to grab the airborne Attorney and the ‘singing’ Detective and escort them both outside before world war 3 broke out over Europe.

 

Feb 18th
The Phantom and I went out for a ride – something we’ve been unable to do for four days now due to a combination of rain and Phantom’s cut leg.
There were puddles galore.
The first one we came to, was, Phantom pointed out to me, big enough to ‘house a fleet of crocodiles’.
“I’m not going near that”, he roared.
“Yes you are”
“I don’t think so”.
“I’m afraid you are.”
“There are crocodiles in there”.
“There’s more behind you Phantom”.
He leapt up and right over that puddle in spectacular style and landed in the middle of an even bigger one. He stood shaking, unable to decide what to do next. “Phantom, there are no crocodiles in New Zealand, let alone in this puddle”. “But”, he said, “Persil said…” So that’s where he’d got the notion of crocodiles from – an Australian know-it-all Stock Horse, I’d be having a word with him when I got back.
We sploshed happily through every puddle we came to, eventually coming across a ford, which, for once was full of flowing water. Before I could wonder how on earth I was going to persuade the (previously) water-phobic Phantom to get into it, he launched himself at it with all the vigour of an African Hippo after a canoe full of tourists!
We waded through it and out the other side. “Any missing legs,” I joked; “Oh my Gawd!” he yelled, “Have you got piranhas?” and he danced around doing a leg-check.
After assuring himself that all his legs were present and correct, we moved off again.
He’s not the bravest horse in the world and he sure is gullible, but I can’t help loving him.

 

 

Feb 19th

Stupidity levels in the paddock are running high.

Persil and The Phantom appear to be spending a lot of time practicing for the Hoe Down that will celebrate Nibbler’s return from the ‘Health Spa’ where he is presently being pampered to death.

They (Persil and Phantom) have spent the better part of the morning standing on their hind legs, waving their hooves at each other perfecting the Gay Gordon. This is interspersed with cavorting around in a big circle, kicking up their heels and squealing.

The fresh new grass seems to have gone straight to their heads; either that or they’ve been down at the bottom of the paddock snorting speed.

The two great golden boys are as camp as a row of tents at the best of times; disappointing, no doubt, to the row of mares mooning over the fence, hoping for a look-in.

If Nibbler ever returns, the stupidity levels would be unbearable.

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