Well, after an uneventful few days except for the addition of 2 more lambs to the flock Mummie has had to hot foot it up to the long field to check on Tooty. He is a very sinewy 44 year old pony and Mummie keeps expecting the worst because he looks like a toast rack and has no teeth left. Today the steeplechasers came for a run in the long field. This is a very good field because they have to run up hill for quite a way and it gets them fit. Tooty has been in the field, which has plenty of grass, in an effort to put some weight on (problem we would all like to have but highly unlikely in a labrador - ever). Apparently the trainer has told Mummie to enter Tooty in The Grand National because he has never seen an old thing travel at such high speed. He got in amongst the big horses and tried to give them a run for their money. Mummie is quite embarassed because she told the trainer that he would have no problems with the pony but also secretly pleased that her is not quite as close to deaths door as she had imagined. I don't want him to snuff it just yet as I am able to avail myself of a large portion of his feed.

Mummie is also walking with a limp because she tripped over me again yesterday whilst trying to catch the postman. She is bloody thick. I am not exactly too small to see. I have been bad mouthed to anyone who will give her the time of day and had the blame for the demise of two perfectly good pairs of trousers in a week. I am also bearing the brunt of her humiliation at crying in pain in front of the postman. She should be cross, not humiliated as he didn't even have the manners to help her to her feet (probalbly in a state of shock at the language she was using) and I ought to have warned him off but quite frankly, I am black and blue and I am surely more seriously injured than her stupid knee so she can fight her own bloody battles.

This is Tooty the wonder pony. Mummie has just gone to check that todays exertions have not brought on a heart attack.