After the excitement of Ofsteding and the engagement life at the ranch got back to normal (a label that can only be loosely applied here) and whatever plans I had, like listening to The Darkness' new album Hot Cakes on repeat, loud, or watch the paralympics cycling were surpassed by more pressing matters like finding the answer to why Chester was wearing aqualung gear and where had a pathetic triever put my left wellington. Second question was mercifully quick to find the answer to saving yours truly from limping around the smallholding with one wellie and a carrier bag. (It was in her basket, the missing left new boot still awaits discovery) The reason Chester was swimming became apparent when I opened his stall to find the massive bird brain equine had kicked off his auto drinker thus allowing the 500 gallons of stored water the other side of his wall to gush uncontrollably (the thought of the doofus thoroughbred trying to stop the flow did raise a smile, much like the constipated elephant and monkey pulling the cork joke from schooldays) into his stable this, once depleted was not the end of his problems as the stream then constantly filled the emptying tank and so our Chester became a trainee Seahorse while his master got some well earned Zzzzz's and wandered out into the smallholding arena to take on all comers at half past the usual time full of sausage sandwich, tea and toast and marmalade. The penance for a late breakfast and later start was calming a soggy horse who was having trouble with the front crawl.
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