Eklil Blog – October 2024
I was supposed to be going to Windsor today, but those very kind humans all around me decided that lugging through the mud is not really necessary for me. I will remember their kindness, but probably only until something else exciting or mad occurs. Horses do not put aside much room in their brain for non-eating related memories, and being trained for racing takes up most of the spare capacity.
Anyway, this precipitation driven hold up reminds us that October is here, and with it comes the autumnal weather, which had been here most days anyway. It is very confusing if you are using the weather to measure the passage of the seasons. Another thing that has been confusing is how to measure perceived status amongst the horses. With a few retirements and some youngsters coming in, I suddenly felt I was elevated to old hand. I mean, a few had been here longer than me, like Godot, Clondaw Robin, Flemen’s Tipple, Birdman Bob and Privatearing, but from being the cub reporter of Shovelstrode, I had suddenly felt that I was one of those that new horses would look to as a provider of guidance as to how things are done. “What is it about the hills of Woldingham?” they might ask. Or “Why is there a sausage dog ambling about as if he owns the place?” Even “Who should I tell if there is a fox stalking the chickens?” We horses have an instinctive understanding of many things, but these local rules and regulations are not amongst them.
Suddenly things changed. Firstly we had the return of Honest Oscar and her foal. And they took over the whole barn. THE WHOLE BARN. Even if they are not that important, getting all that space makes them seem important, and it sets a bad precedent with the youths. Then Finnegan’s Garden came back as well. He was actually quite pleased to see that not too much had changed whilst he had been away and after he had completed his inspection, he went off to continue digging a giant hole next to the loose school. Human beings might not understand it, but moving from sixth most senior resident down to eighth is a big upheaval for a horse. I did stage a hunger strike, but after ten minutes the hay looked really tempting, so I gave up on it and decided to simply commit my sense of injustice to the internet. That, I understand, is a very fashionable response.
Question time, this month it comes from Mr R Murdoch of New York. He asks my opinion on whether the bunyip is a real animal. For those unfamiliar with the bunyip, it is an angry evil spirit that lives in water, and has been described in a whole range of forms from having some similarities with a seal to being almost totally unlike a seal, and the bunyip rather puts the wind up the aboriginal population of Australia as it is supposed to eat just about anything that moves, people included. Alas, I am going to say that the bunyip is a “no” for existence these days, because if it was once a real creature, the voracious appetite means that the population would have finished themselves off when pigging out on cane toads, whose toxins would easily be a match for a mere evil spirit. So farewell, bunyip, I hardly knew thee. A sobering thought for to end this month’s blog.