Misty, one of our shitlands, does not look too impressed all kitted out ready for the apprentice smallholder to climb aboard. She surpassed expectations in that she meekly condescended to having a toddler balanced on her while she wrotted (cross between a walk and a trot) around the yard with a very excited 3 year old gripping her mane and bouncing in time to her cadence. Surpassed expectations as we envisaged her bucking him off and try to trample him/us/paramedics to death.
Local village show meant watching other peoples offspring on their honies ( a hony is a small porse. Honies and porses appear after yours truly had two pints of Otter a lethal brew at the best of times but as yours truly doesn't usually drink, except when taking painkillers, lets go an see the honies was one of the more sensible utterances blurted out around lunch time today, thinking about it, the picture is not blurred, its as I saw it) and imagining a time in the not too distant future when weeks will be spent trying to comb the dead rabbits and tree branches out of our shitlands tails so the apprentice can get dragged around the ring in his riding gear in the hope he gets a rosette.
Thankfully there were some real boys toys to keep me occupied, this was one of the best
and judging by the apprentices reaction to it, much more interesting than a silly old porse.
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