A Hunting we will go?
So there I was, in the horsebox, on my way for another game of chase the bunny. We were not allowed to chase foxes anymore because the dogs kept eating them before we could catch them. (Although I cannot for the life of me fathom why on earth we would want to catch a fox.) The toffs would all be there, all done up in their pinks, with the usual crowd of baying dogs all getting under our feet.
But when we pulled up and I came out of the horse box, no dogs! Great I thought. There were hoards of hunt protesters making a hell of a racket; at least I thought they were protesters although they did appear to be rather too well dressed. The toffs were all sporting different colours and silly hats too. Funny, I thought, funny.
Next thing we all start chasing something; heaven knows what, mind. I couldn’t have been paying attention, probably clocking all the fillies lined up with me. I was so busy eyeing up the talent that I failed to notice that their riders were in fancy dress today. Odd, I thought, odd.
Anyhow, as they were all running I decided to join them. Hell, where ever we were I had no idea but the farmer who owned this place had not made much of a job on his hedges and ditches. Some of the hedges were massive; a few of the other horses came a heck of a purler. Hardly surprising!
Still couldn’t see what on earth we were chasing but whatever it was, it was going at one hell of a lick.
Well, the protesters must have been pretty cross about something as they were all shouting and yelling like mad; must have been hundreds of them. Perhaps we were chasing a real fox again. I began hoping that whatever it was would go to earth soon as I was getting knackered.
There must have been some flies on my rear end because my rider kept swatting them with his flyswat thingy. He was beginning to really annoy me with his constant whacking on my backside so I thought I’d put a spurt on and unseat the fellow.
Next thing he is pulling me up, patting my neck, protesters all over me, people taking my photo and wrapping me in some fancy blanket.
Only turns out that I’ve just won something called The Grand National!
Jo Jones © 2014
THE HAY WRITERS 