They have started installing the Vodka Catwalk - I expect a red carpet at the very least. Mum says I may have to make do with grey instead.
The gateways to our fields are muddy and I am expected to get the Vodka ankles dirty as I delicately trip in and out on a daily basis. This is just not on - especially as poor little Ferguson who does not have giraffe donkey long legs almost flounders in the mud - I am sure one of these days we are going to have to dig him out.
Mum also lost her wellies in it last week and there was a lot of cursing about the fact that she had to take her foot out of the wellie, walk out through the mud barefoot, having managed to eventually pull the offending wellie out of the mud without going as she says a over t. Not sure what that means but maybe someone out there can translate. Something to do with bottoms and bristols she tells me.
The cat walk project has meant that we have had to move to the bottom field. The main gate to this is used by Rosie the cob and it is very very muddy, even worse than our field gate. So we have had to use the bottom gate, which isn't really for foor legged people like us - it is a people gate and you have to go over a bridge and through this little gate. To get there you have to come down the hill via the garden.
So far so good you might think but no not quite.
On Friday, mum told dad to go down and shut the gate at the entrance to the house, so that if for any reason any of us clever donkeys managed to get loose while walking in the garden. Reasonable precaution given what happened next. She then got all our headcollars on and started leading us out of the barn and down the yard, the gate of which was open.
To her horror, she saw that daft daddy had let a lorry carrying stones for the tracks through the bottom gate and it was coming up the hill towards us. He also hadn't shut the bottom gate. Mum was screaming at the driver to stop, but being a lorry driver he paid not the slightest bit of attention and kept coming straight at us. As he came past us, all three of us panicked and tried to run away.
Poor mum held on as long as she could but eventually the inevitable happened and she got pulled over and dragged down the roadway, still holding onto our ropes. Of course three donkeys are stronger than one person being towed down a hill on her bottom so she had to let go.
I'm afraid to admit that I stood on her and kicked her on the head and also knocked off her specs so she couldn't see anything......she says she knows it was me as she spotted my hairy ankles.
The three of us then set of at a gallop down the hill towards the open gate. Mum, still winded, blinded and looking for her specs, is screaming something they call abuse at dad to get the b gate closed - which he just manages to do before we run out of it and along the lane, which leads to the main road......
He manages to shoo us into the field and then he and mum have what I think is called a discussion, while continuing to search for her specs. I understand it was full and frank.
The specs are eventually found, slightly bent......mum says she needed a new pair anyway and having them at an angle does nothing for her view of the world.
I feel very sorry and contrite as mum has a hoof shaped bruise on boob 1, a large bruise on her midrift which she says is colouring up nicely and is very swollen. She also has multiple bruises on her arms and legs where I trotted on her - I expect I did a nice piaffe just to make sure!
She has forgiven me and says the blame lies elsewhere. Maybe she is saying this just to be kind....
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