Stupid Horse

We're learned that  my mother's horse tore a tendon in one of its front legs when it fell through a fence the other week and is going to be out of the game for the rest of the season. A race horse that can't race: ah well.

My mother is either being very philosophical about it or (which I think more likely)  doesn't actually care that much. My theory is she likes the idea of being a racehorse owner and everything else is secondary. Even when it's running this horse has very little hope of winning anything- not even one of the bottom of the heap races at Plumpton which is all its ever likely to be entered for. But it's a bona fide race horse, it's hers, and it gives her a foothold in that world and that's enough.

Mice

There's a mouse that lives in the garage. I got up close and personal with it when I was clearing out junk the other day. We've seen it (or a close relative) feeding from the bird table and climbing up the creeper on the garage wall to a hole in the eaves.

There's another mouse that cohabits with the rabbits. I see it as a plump little streak of grey.

And there's a third mouse that has discovered the seed I tip onto the path from the other bird table. If it has its nest- as I think it must- in the bed of heathers beside the path then what I've been doing is delivering food to its front door.