The mice in my feed room are becoming more and more tame! So much so that at feed times they sit in a row on top of a straw bale and watch me make up the feeds. One was so bold as to approach a bin while my back was turned the other day! The others just sit up and beg. They have conquered divide and rule so that when the dog gives chase they split up and move rapidly in all directions much to poor Gems frustration! As irritating as they are, chewing rugs and eating into bags of feed, I cannot bring myself to kill the little blighters! Occasionally one will commit suicide in the water bucket and I feel a little sad that he has swum around until exhausted and drowned. The only time they really get to me is when they find their way into a feed bin and I, not concentrating, reach in with the scoop fetching out mini mouse as well as feed. Mini then makes a jump for it and scares me half to death! I am not actually scared of mice, but their bigger cousins leave me cold. Any sign of a rat and I can be heard calling the dog in a high pitched voice. Last year I managed to bring home a mouse in my handbag of all things! I had set it down outside the stable whilst doing something at the last minute, which is when he must have hopped in. On arriving home the handbag was in the sitting room and I was on the phone in the hall when the mouse popped its head around the corner and we eye balled each other in disbelief. I live in a first floor flat and so wondered how the hell a mouse had got in? Anyway, he ran into the kitchen and under the washing machine. The dog was oblivious, even when at night I could hear tap dancing in the kitchen. Gem snored her head off despite me digging her in the ribs and whispering, 'mouse'. Having put down a bag of warfarin I waited each day to discover a dead creature, but no the tap dancing continued. After a whole bag of poison had been demolished as well as cheese, chocolate and apple, I decided the best thing to do was name him Roland and feed him anyway, since he was obviously a super mouse having survived warfarin. I bought a humane trap but he managed to elude it always managing to take the tasty bait. Then one morning I was getting something out from under the sink and I saw that the trap was closed. I opened the end never dreaming there would be anything, and there he was, Roland, staring at me with big brown eyes and inquisitive whiskers twitching. Quickly shutting the little door, I whisked him down stairs and out to the garden to set him free. Two workman were outside the front door looking at me as if I was bonkers as I squealed ,'I've caught a mouse!' It was only when I set him free that I realised I was still in my underwear! Quick exit one ecentric woman who lives alone with dog and mouse!!
Have you seen that there is a dressage show in Rio? HP Minderhoud, Edward Gal. Isobel Werth and Patrik Kittel have travelled horses over there to compete. Judging by the photos of sandy beaches and deep blue pools they are going to have a bit of a break too. The stables and surroundings look stunning! Had I known I would have concentrated harder at finding a rich husband years ago, then I could have gone to watch. Spare a thought for our own guru, gold medalist Carl Hester who is suffering man flu at present. Chicken soup and chocolate much appreciated if you feel like sending some. Whilst his horses take a 6 week break he and Charlotte are working on the next potential medal winners. Perhaps they should have gone to Rio to sunbathe on the golden sands and take a break?
Horses are hard work but life without them is unthinkable.
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