Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Exercises in futility

Mother and friends spent a lot of time wandering around in the field, looking for my evil grazing muzzle. I either dug a hole and buried it, or talked the neighbor's dogs into taking it home with them... I can't remember which. I am certainly not going to let Mother know!

Mother is not pleased with me. She is downright irritable, in fact. She was irritated about my successful banishment of the hated muzzle, and her inability to see where I stashed it. She was angry because I wouldn't pose nicely for the camera when she actually had someone to help her, so she could get pictures of me "doing something besides standing there stuffing his face with grass, or standing there in the crossties"... so I just stand around in the field attached to a human?!?

That makes no sense, and I am quite sensible.

How could she be angry with me? I am perfection at all times. D'uh.

She has also been unhappy with me due to the copious quantities of burrs I've been filling my mane, forelock and tail with. She is talking about just roaching my mane, and being done with it. Does this look to you like something that needs removal?

Please, tell her I need it. (I don't really, but it is part of my gloriousness and I like it.)

She says without it, I would just look like this, on both sides... um, I still want to keep it. Please, Mother?

She did kiss me quite a few times on my nose today, but still NO COOKIES. 

I present my schnozzle for kisses, and should receive a cookie in return, but no cookies! I don't understand. What has happened to my world?


  1. Thank you, Grey. Mother said it is unlikely I would be mistaken for a three gaited Saddlebred, and I am too broad to be thought a polo pony... I would just be an old fashioned cowhorse, whose surplus hair was cut off to prevent just such burrs (and cactus, and what not) getting hung up on the horse and making the rides more interesting.

    I think I could pull off the three gaited thing, but I don't really wear a saddle anymore, so... yeah, she's right.

  2. Bif, as lovely as your mane is I do think you might enjoy a roach. There is nothing so noble as the statuesque perfection of a sharply delineated crest, and no neck so adequate for the task as your own.

    As for the muzzle, just tell her you ate it and that you need something sweet and sticky to wash it down . . . molasses, please, or applesauce . . . and quickly, before you colic!

    Your friend in equininity,
    Fenway Bartholomule

  3. I've tried telling her those sorts of things, FB, but Mother has a heart of stone.



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