My Hair Windows

Look at this! That treacherous human, who goes by the name of Vet, has given me hair windows!

The large window!

Not only that, they don’t match! My extreme hairiness broke her zuzzy zuzzy clipper machine, leaving my right window half the size of my left window! In the name of all that’s green how am I to compete for Jack’s affections, with that feckless imp Freckles, looking like this!

The small window!

When I conveyed my displeasure to Kat, she said these were real windows so her and Vet could look inside me to check what is causing my current tummy turbulence. This was all starting to make a small blade of sense as the equine tail art of ‘lift, shoot and clear’ has been particularly tricky for me lately. Mind you, I think even a poopy tail would be a better look than these preposterous windows!

After looking at my tummy through the windows, Kat and Vet declared everything was where and as it should be, apart from my fat layer. Vet said it was far too big and instructed Kat to reduce it with lots of hard work. This seems nonsensical to me given the considerable effort it took to create in the first place…

The humiliation of my windows was all forgotten when, after so many months apart, me and Jack were properly reunited with Aunty Tills. It was pure joy to finally complete our horse hello with a super sniff, squeal and groom.


I’m crossing all four fetlocks that we can stay together but if we don’t, I have a plan. I reckon if I work super hard at eating all the sweet juicy grass that Tills can’t have, then it will be safe for her to be with us.

Super hard work will undoubtedly follow to keep my fat layer under control, but it’s a small price to pay for Aunty Tills.



Demon Dentist

I was subjected to the most shocking treatment recently. 

On the day in question, Kat came and fetched me from my field – usual enough.  Then she dumped me in a stable – unusual and something definitely a hoof.

Of course I was right.  We horses are, after all, gifted with at least 50 senses and not the 6 primitive humans have to make do with.

A human called Dentist then arrived and immediately got my forelock up as she thought I was a ‘he’.  What is it with these humans called Vet and Dentist, don’t they know a bodacious babe when they see one?

I was just launching my objections about this unforgivable error of judgement, when that all too familiar sharp stab came in my neck, followed by that all too familiar feeling of needing to sleep.  Urgently..  

This is when things got a bit blurry.  It felt like a big metal contraption was put over my head, my mouth cranked open as wide as possible and my (very heavy) head flopped onto a smooth, flat small tree. 

Dentist then transformed into some kind of blinding light demon with long metal sticks for arms that were loudly grinding away at my teeth! In the holy name of Pegasus and all that’s green, this couldn’t be real, I must be dreaming!

Apparently not!

Kat told me it was necessary for me to have the Demon Dentist so my teeth and mouth didn’t get too sore – poppycock!  She then said having my teeth all nice and smooth meant I could eat well – mmmmmhhh.  

Then she suggested Jack might appreciate my pearly whites and they would go well with my blond bodaciousness.  Why didn’t she say! Some things are worth enduring.

She then said it was time to shake a fetlock and go back to the field.  Give me a minute I said; I can’t move. Plus, I’d quite like to straighten myself up a bit before Jack sees me…


F x

Lone Surveillance

The amount of lone surveillance I have been subjected to recently is simply shocking.

Aunty Tills has not been with us on our training sessions as Sara, her human, has been too busy looking after an older member of her human herd. A lucky break indeed for Tills. I, on the other hand, am burdened with lone predator surveillance duties on my training sessions with Kat.

Single hoofedly I have to cover: the front and the rear, left and right, above and beneath. All the time. This can make progress slow, straight lines impossible and Kat exasperated, which I really couldn’t give a hairy fetlock about.

Adequate left and right surveillance needs a full head turn; full body if something requires extra scrutiny. The front and rear need constant sight and sound monitoring and my feet have to always be checking for snakes or other such under-hoof threats.

You can see the level of lone surveillance required here!

Even with this painstaking and exhausting level of lone surveillance I was still chased by a wild boar yesterday. Kat said it was only a pig. ONLY A PIG!!!! In the holy name of Pegasus I really need to get myself a new human.

Once I realise we’re on our way home I usually ditch my surveillance for haste. I have an all consuming motivation to get back home so I can share surveillance with my own species as opposed to an inept human who thinks a wild boar doesn’t warrant full flight mode from a standing start.

Kat insists she understands my essential surveillance work and homeward haste, despite the undertones of exasperation. However, the extra weight bouncing around on my back when I was running from the wild boar (ONLY A PIG!!! REALLY???) was no help whatsoever. She’s lucky I didn’t try and remove it. I would have been perfectly within my rights to do so.

Come back soon Tilly.



Kat, Asthma and Me

Apparently I am now officially an asthmatic equine – or a very hairy trail riding cob who has difficulty breathing sometimes.

Given this diagnosis you’d have thought a life more befitting to my condition would be proposed instead of this trial riding toil nonsense. Chilling my hooves out in the field for the rest of my hairy life springs to mind.

But no, quite the opposite. Kat says I now need to be kept fitter than ever and is significantly ramping up the trail riding training sessions. All for my own good – allegedly.

My diagnosis happened when the person called Vet visited. It started off badly when she thought I was a ‘him’ and said I was fat. Before I had chance to contest this, I felt the sharp stab in my neck followed by the woozy helplessness.

From past experience I know all manor of defilements are carried out against me when I’m in the woozy helplessness and I can’t lift one hairy fetlock to stop it. On this occasion Vet had a long, thin snake like thing which crawled through my nose, down my airway and all the way into my lungs.

As if this wasn’t bad enough it then started squirting liquid into them! In the name of Pegasus and all that’s green this was one defilement too far – so I dug deep beyond the wooze veil and promptly expelled the long thin, liquid squirting invader.

Big mistake.

Just as I was about let the wooze take me again, another sharp neck stab and I was rendered unconscious on four legs – with the snake, once again, nostril bound. It was a traumatic experience I can tell you – and one that confirmed I am too fleshy on my inside as well as my outside…

So, I now have to contend with all manor of torments to try and make me less fleshy on my inside so I can breath better.

Torment 1 – I have to wear this preposterous covering over my nose – all the time!

Torment 2 – I have to breath in and out of this absurd device – every day!

Torment 3 – I have sticky smelly gloop rubbed around my nostril – every day!

Of course, the only way I even entertain participating in these torments is with a carefully chosen, richly varied and boundless supply of treats.

I do also have all my fetlocks crossed that the pay-off from these absurdities is I’ll never have to encounter the ill-mannered, nostril invading, lung sluicing Vet person and her pernicious snake ever again!




Hench Wench Thunder Feet and the Puff Puff

Grassy munchies all. I have news – a new name and a new problem.

I am now known as Hench Wench Thunder Feet and, my human has been harassing me with an alarming ‘puff puff’ sound.

My new badge of honour is quite a mouthful so I’m happy to stick with Frankie still. Or, just Thunder for short.

My interpretation of this is ‘She Who is Fast and Strong’. Kat said it was because I was ‘built like a tank’ and ‘the ground shakes as my hooves pound over it at full pelt’.

Good job I can happily disregard my human.

I’ve also had more of the horrible hay-fever which has turned into Asthma, meaning I can’t breath as well as I should be able to. Kat said I need to start using something call an inhaler.

I am deeply suspicious of the ‘puff puff’ sound the inhaler makes and there is little this side of The Bridge that could convince me otherwise.

Kat even tried to tempt me with the Hobnob – literally my favourite thing about humans – but it wasn’t enough to entice me. In-fact, it was almost enough to put me off these crunchy oaty delights for life – an unforgivable travesty that would have been.

The ‘puff puff’ must be important as Kat has sought a higher authority – the man that can talk horse. Why she thinks I will ever be talked into liking something that sounds like a snake going in for the killer bite is way beyond my extreme hairiness.

They think I don’t know, but once I’m able to tolerate the ‘puff puff’ near me, they are going to ‘puff puff’ it up my nose – 5 times a day. I’ve never heard such nonsense. Game on humans.

While Kat is plotting and scheming with the ‘puff puff’, I’ve got the same medicine to take in my grassy munchies feed instead. Apparently, it’s something called Steroids, which is working wonders.

I think it’s probably what’s earned me my new title – my turn of hoof to full velocity the other day nearly sent Kat catapulting over my head.

That’s definitely something to keep up my hairy feathers if she continues with the ‘puff puff’ abuse. Tit for tat and all.

Until next time.


F x (HWTF)

Haribo Fields Forever

Three words.  Sweet Spring Grass.  

It’s my favourite time of year – no cold, no flies, just an endless sugar hit.

Not only does it taste mouth-wateringly amazing but, after a long hard Winter, every bit of my physiology is shouting ‘eat up all this goodness and don’t stop for anything – especially your human!’

Who am I to ignore such a direct instruction from Mother Nature?

Attempting to entice me away from this feast to embark on any amount of toil and effort for human entertainment is simply absurd.

Despite this, Kat is insisting we carry on with our training schedule – unfortunately these have now resumed after the welcome break due to the human loo roll crisis.

She says that I need to go back to work because my Winter field of Broccoli has turned into a Spring field of Haribo and it’s making me too round and too naughty.  

I have no idea what she’s on about. Although, I did bite her bum the other day – right cheek to be precise.

If I’m going to be dragged away from my so called ‘Haribo field’ and asked to flout a direct instruction from Nature herself, then I need to be asked politely.  Several times.  Probably over the course of about 20 minutes.  Or maybe 30. Depending on what day of the week it is of course.  With the proviso that I may still just refuse. 

Kat, however, is showing an exasperating amount of determination and patience. She loiters about, trailing after me and being so irritatingly persistent that I am completely put off my feasting. Often, I have to let her catch me, simply to stop the persecution.

This is an example of her harrassment.

Busy right now, you’ll have to wait.
Nope, still busy. Please stop following me.
Seriously? I’ve told you I’m not ready yet!
This is actually harassment now. Bugger off.
Okay, let’s get this over with so I can get back to my Haribo in peace.

See what I have to put up with?

Luckily for Kat, I’m the good-natured, easy going Cob I am. She’d be having all kinds of trouble with me otherwise…..



Wobbly Bottom

Well, my days with Kat just keep getting stranger and stranger.

She put this blue coat on me the other morning.

Do I look good in this blue coat? No, I look bloody ridiculous!

Kat said rain was forecast and my own coat needed to be dry as someone called Physiotherapist was coming to check my back.

We horses need our backs checking now and again because we aren’t designed to carry humans and it can sometimes make us sore. The only thing we would be unlucky enough to carry on our backs in the wild is a lion – before it drags us down for dinner.

Physiotherapist felt all over my neck, back and general bum vicinity (yes, I know).

I was starting to feel all nice and sleepy when I heard the words ‘wobbly bottom’.

Physiotherapist was saying the left side of my bum wasn’t as wobbly as the right side and they both needed to be equally wobbly. I was just starting to quite like her.

I always thought I was the proud owner of a peachy, pert posterior. To discover it’s not only wobbly, but uneven in it’s wobbliness, is pretty shattering.

See any wobble?

Then she pressed all around the none wobbly left side until she was satisfied it had reached an equal level of wobbliness to the right side.

Then – and you’re not going to believe this – she showed Kat how to do a wobble test on the left side – just to make sure it didn’t lose any of its new found wobbliness.

I was an ergot away from retreating to my happy place, where these insults couldn’t reach me, when Kat put my mind to rest.

She said wobbly was good as it meant my muscles were nicely relaxed and working properly. Not wobbly meant they were too tight and needed releasing a bit. Then she reassured me my bottom was perfectly peachy, wobbly or not.

Just when I was starting to get all sleepy again, Physiotherapist told Kat I might need some schooling. What? Why? I don’t think I’ve been overly naughty lately?

Apparently, the schooling she means is going round and round in circles and other fun (yes, again, I know) shapes in the building with sand on the floor.

Kat did promise Physiotherapist she would do this but the look on her face said differently. She prefers straight lines in the great outdoors, like me.

Once all the rubbing, massaging and general wobbling was done, this very strange afternoon was rounded off in a nice way. Physiotherapist showed Kat how to do some stretching exercises – with treats!

Every day I have to stretch 5 times on each side of my body and be justly rewarded with a hay cob when I try really hard.

I’m going to be trying really, really hard. A lot.


F x

The Thwarting of my Advance and Retreat

A frustrating thing happened today; my ‘advance and retreat’ head-collar evasion strategy was thwarted.

Kat came striding across the field with my soggy grassy munchies at the ready. Mmmh, here we go, grub up! Then I spotted the head-collar, which meant a training session might also be on the menu. So, I actioned the retreat.

Now, there is an obvious flaw with this. I am turning my back on my soggy grassy munchies, which, as you know, I’m rather fond of. So, I combine a bit of advance with the retreat – just to see if Kat is prepared to drop the head-collar and let me get stuck in, without being snared.

That’s a win win for me. I get the lovely grub and don’t have to leave my field and pals.

The advance and retreat usually goes on for about ten minutes, while Kat follows, waits, follows, waits. Between you and me, I sometimes have to remind myself why I’m doing this – it’s very entertaining.

Now, I am not of an awkward disposition. I just don’t see why I should happily leave the safety of my own field and own kind. It’s scary out there!

There are large noisy machines that whiz past me. Humans sitting on two wheeled contraptions that creep up on me and then swoosh past. More importantly, how can I be sure there aren’t any hungry lions hiding behind the hedges or around the next corner?

Kat says there are no lions in Derbyshire. How does she know? Humans aren’t as intuitively tuned into these dangers as horses. So every cell, in my extremely hairy body, remains on high alert.

Anyway, back to the thwarting. Today, as soon as I began my retreat, Kat walked back to the gate and sat down! What in the blazing green grasses was this now!?

What is she doing?

After a while, she came towards me again, armed with said headcollar. Cue, retreat. And, there she was, back at the gate, sitting down! What in the name of Pegasus was she doing?

Now, I’m smarter than I look. It’s all the hair – it masks my intelligence. Next time she came to me, I tried a small retreat and just turned my head. Off she went! Major thwarting was clearly staring me in the face.

However, I did what any dogged extremely hairy cob would do – I put it to the test and carried on.

The sight of my grassy munchies – so close yet so far – was my eventual undoing. And, I stood, without moving a single hair on my hairy body, while she snared me with that ******* head-collar.

Makes it all worth while 🙂

She seemed very pleased with this, clearly believing victory was hers.

Round 1 is all I can say. I am very resourceful as well as very hairy.


F x

A Stick Too Far

Grassy Munchies All.

I’ve not been myself this week, so Kat asked someone called Vet to come and check me over.

We met Vet down at the Farm and she placed a round circle on different parts of my body. The circle had tubes coming out of it that went into her ears. She seemed to be listening for something. Music? Voices?

It’s a small wonder she could hear anything through my extreme hairiness but she seemed to find what she needed.

I was okay with that. Then she tried to put a small stick up my bum.

What in the blazing green grasses did she think she was doing? I did not agree to this! Horses have rights you know!

Well, as you can imagine, some serious clenching ensued. Then Kat got me with the old hay cob distraction trick. For a second my attention was drawn from the clenching to the hay cob and, of course, in went the stick.

The indignation! I have never felt so mortified – not even when my beloved belly beard was so cruelly taken from me. I tried to spit it out, but Vet had a good strong hold.

Vet and Kat seemed very approving of the stick finally reaching its intended destination. I, on the other hand, had to retreat to my ‘happy place’ until it was over.

It was dark when Vet left so I had a bed for the night at the Farm, next to Jack.

This is Jack

He used to live in my field and only has one eye like Echo, who he used to be good pals with. We had a good chat during my stay. He looks like me but taller and less round. Impressively hairy though, I must say.

The next morning Kat gave me my breakfast, made my bed and took me home.

She said I coped very well with my night away. Apparently, King of Cool, Murray, used to go to pieces when he had to stay at the Farm. He even put his foot through a new stable door once!

I don’t think this behaviour scored many points with Alison, the human in charge at the Farm. Hopefully, my quiet fortitude went down a bit better.

Anyway, turns out I have something called Virus and will just feel a bit out of sorts for a while.

So, now that’s official, maybe Kat will give me a holiday from our training sessions and extra treats for showing such stoic forbearance during my night away.

However, let this be said, if anyone comes within 10 foot of me again with one of those sticks, I’ll be ready. Just saying.


F x

The Violation of My Belly Beard

I feel like I’ve been violated.

I can’t even muster up a happy grassy munchies today.

I’m utterly devastated. My luxurious and beloved belly beard has gone. A lady called Heather used a small zuzzy zuzzy machine to cut it all off.

Not just my beard either, but my chest hair too!

There was no consultation. No permission requested. It’s going to be a long road back from this for me and Kat. I need time. And a lot of treats.

To make the hairy matter worse, as I was leaving the so called ‘horse salon’ there was poor Aunty Tills waiting to go in after me!

I’m not one to gloat, but her belly beard isn’t (wasn’t!) a patch on mine, so I’m hoping her experience won’t be as traumatic.

When I’d regained my composure, I asked Kat what in the blazing green grasses did she think she was doing?

She said there was a little bit too much of me for January and she was worried there would be far too much of me by Spring, when really there needed to be a lot less of me.

Uhh? I think she means I’m overweight!

I asked her why horses in the wild weren’t defiled in this callous and inconsiderate manner. She said they don’t have any zuzzy zuzzy machines and they’d probably have trouble working them with their hoofs if they did.

Is she mocking me?

She also said they don’t necessarily have the same weight problems as domestic horses. This was because they can roam 20+ miles every day and eat dry grasses which aren’t as rich and sugary as the lush grass in our field.

Kat said our grass in Spring time is particularly high in sugars which can result in obesity and Laminitis. I had no idea what these were so, at this point, I started to listen – whilst retaining an air of frosty indignation, of course.

Obesity is when you get so overweight it can make you poorly and Laminitis is a very painful and serious disease of the hoof and foot. In severe cases it can lead to that final trip over The Bridge. Apparently, the high sugars and starch in rich Spring grass are one of the causes of Laminitis.

To reduce this risk, Kat said it would be better if I use the current ‘more of me’ to keep warm during the rest of Winter, instead of my ample belly beard and chest hair. That way, there will be just the right ‘amount of me’ when Spring arrives.

And, as an added bonus, I won’t drip so much with sweat after our trail riding training sessions. Bit rude.

After some grassy munchy ponderings, I decided I could understand why Kat had done it and, if she’d asked permission, I would have said over my extremely hairy dead body.

Kat doesn’t need to know that though. I’m happy for her to think I’m still grieving for my belly beard and need considerable time to recover from her betrayal. Plus, a lot more hay cobs. And, maybe a few weeks holiday from training. That might just bring me round.


F x