Titch: Oh. It's you.
Me: That's not much of a welcome after two weeks!
Titch: Any carrots?
Me: I wonder why I bother. I would have come last week, but the ground was frozen. On the one day when it wasn't, they phoned to say you were behaving so badly that it would be better not to. They said it took two of them to lead you up to the field.
Titch: (Brightening) Oh yeah. That was fun.
Me: That's not what I heard.
Titch: Well, they're wimps.
Me: You mean the same wimps who feed you, and look after you, and spoil you?
Titch: Yes. Well. I'm a thoroughbred, and my grandfather -
Me: I think we've all heard quite enough about your grandfather. He was a sucess; you are not. End of.
So off we set, down the road to the dairy. Horses love going to the dairy, not for any fondness for cows (Titch loathes cows) but because it's a short ride, usually for convalescent horses or bad weather conditions. At the moment, the ground is too risky to go anywhere else.
Titch (leaping about and snorting): OMG! What's that?
Me: That is some very small dogs in a locked car.
Titch: I don't like the sound of them.
Me: They're barking. That's what dogs do. They bark. You don't mind it when hounds bark!
Titch: That's different. Besides, hounds don't bark, they bay.
Titch can be such a snob sometimes. Anyway, we dance and snort our way to the dairy and back, and when we return to the yard, a nice family with three small children admire Titch and say how beautiful he is. Titch bridles (no pun intended) and sniffs them gently and is at his most endearing. Then he thumps me in the ribs with his very hard head.
Me: What was that for!?
Titch: Just to show you I'm not going soft. Because of those foals.
Me: Children. Human beings don't not have foals. They have children.
Titch: Children then. (Sighs). Got any more carrots?