Spencer Is Adorable

I know these sheep that I have to live with are as dim as anything - well Spencer is at least.

Betty is bright, Mark is pretty switched on, Frank is noisy and bleats in a deep baratone, Noona and Sonix sort of don't communicate with me very much, but Spencer doesn't think he is a sheep and is always trying to get into our stables and mum says he probably wants to come into the house.

This is him looking at his most appealing. Mum says that many folks would consider he would be more appealing with mint sauce, but then I am prejudiced, I prefer him just as he is.

Rosie is getting better

It has been a long haul but the old trout's leg is looking much better.

She really did hurt herself badly on New Year's eve - so I can almost forgive her for spoiling my party and planned entertainment. I hope the pipe band got another gig when I had to suddenly cancel.

She is still on walkway rest which means she can't come out into the field, but is confined to a small bit of path, so she can't run around and open up the wound.

If you are squeamish look away now. For a horse that almost faints at the sight of a needle, she has been very brave, having her sore bits bathed and bandaged every day.

Yet Again, Vodka Donkey is in disgrace

I am lucky I got my dinner tonight, mum says if she had known what a stupid, unthinking donkey I was going to be today, she would not have filled my manger this morning.

I was already on the naughty step as it was. Some of you may know my fetish for undressing other donkeys robbing them of their nice warm rugs. Mainly my target has been little Ferguson, who is very long suffering and doesn't complain very much when I tug his rugs over his head, blinding and trussing him in the process. He even puts up with me jumping on him (despite me being twice as big as him) and is very very tolerant.

Till now, Aimee has avoided my attentions as she turns around and boots me if I get a bit too exuberant and boisterous.

However, yesterday, mum found Aimee trussed and bound in the field - with her rug pulled up over her head, so she couldn't see. And over her front, so she couldn't walk. I know it's a bit late for Xmas but she was a bit like a trussed turkey.

Without the benefit of a jury trial, I was convicted of this henious crime on the basis of my previous bad character and previous form, which is very unfair, as I believe that I am innocent until proven guilty. This seems to be an infringement of my donkey rights, and I will be in touch with the appropriate lawyer in the morning. Mum says get used to it, there is no such thing as justice these days.

Today though I got into even more trouble so much so that mum has said that transportation back to the fat farm may be an option. This is the ultimate special rendition and there is no way I am going back on that lorry and heading off to Italy.

She doesn't know how I did it, and to be honest I'm a bit vague on the sequence of events that led to my latest offence and downfall, but mum found me with my front leg down between Aimee's back legs, so that we were joined together by the straps on her rug - which I must say in my defence was still on her back and where it should be. Now is it my responsibility that rug designers put these stupid straps just where a playful donkey's leg might slip.....Mum says Aimee wouldn't need the blooming straps on her rug if I left it alone....I have to concede that there is an element of truth in that.

But there we were, like siamese twins, joined by the tail strap on the rug, and stuck there. Aimee tried to move forward, dragging me with her, but my weight pulled the rug backwards, so she couldn't move any more, as it was so tight with both of us trying to wear it.

Mum scolded me, after disentangling us, and told me that's how tragic accidents like broken legs happen, and this leads to dead donkeys.

I am chastened, but next time I will not be stupid enough to get caught. I have a cunning plan.

My New Year Party is Ruined

I had it all planned, the pink champagne fountain, canapes, a few special guests such as the Scottish stumpies. The invitations had gone out and my New Year party was going to be the talk of the county.

I was just coming in to get into my glad rags when it all went pear shaped. Or Rosie shaped.

She just had to do it to mess things up!

Mum had come to bring us in for an early evening supper before we got down to the serious Hogmanay celebrations. Line the stomach and all that before we taste some malts later on. Rosie was standing there, one leg dangling - naturally blocking the way so NONE of us could get in, talk about being inconsiderate, if you are going to break you leg in the field could you do it without any inconvenience to your field mates.

Mum in a panic runs down the hill - leaving us all standing (well all of us except Rosie)- shouting at dad to ring vet and tell him to bring a gun (remember Rosie is needle phobic of course). Comes back, tries to get Rosie to move, but she can't, I have, at this moment a tiny soupcon of sympathy for the old trout, as she is wincing in pain and almost in tears. She just cannot put her leg down and stand on it. It doesn't look good I have to say.

In the end, we clever donkeys manage to squeeze past her and come in for our supper! After all, if the silly trout is going to be shot, I'm not going to miss my dinner for that - i saw enough death at the death camp in France, so excuse me if I am not as upset as all that.

Molly is eventually brought in, but dad doesn't take her rug off, as she is in a complete tizz without Rosie and charging at the door, so the best thing is to get her in and just close it. Molly refuses to eat her dinner, box walks and turns her stable into a sauna. Which was very good hearted of her as it is sub zero up here. Molly can usually be relied upon to do the right thing and have some community spirit.

Mum has by now taken three more of Rosie's rugs down to her - as the old biddy was going into shock and was so cold - and also her dinner so that if she is going to be shot, she at least has something to eat first. Very considerate I think. They were gone for such a long time, it is so cold out there, I am worried for mum as she wasn't wearing her proper outdoor clothes! Just a skimpy blouse under her jacket.

She manages to drag Rosie up the walkway to about 50 yards from the barn, so at least she isn't in the dark and the lights can illuminate her. I hear her begging Rosie to try to walk, as if she is to be saved she has to get to the stables or it is useless. I can hear her crying and pleading with Rosie but Rosie can't move, she just can't take another step, she is swaying and unsteady and very worried.

Finally the vet arrives, declares that Rosie is a big Jessie and it doesn't look like a fracture. With a bit of encouragement and shoving Rosie finally comes into the barn, still very very scared and sore. The vet clips her leg, dresses a very very deep wound, and leaves me to the ruins of my party.

Rosie is very sore, very worried, she grunts a lot, won't eat. Molly is by now dripping with sweat, and eyes popping out of her head, mum spends the next two hours trying to get her dry and not quite so warm.

I start ringing my guests - party cancelled.

Lights are out by 11pm - I think of what might have been! I am booking up for a cruise next year.