Slighty rude Irishman joke, (Only slightly!)

Flint

An Irishman, wishing to become a Priest, went to see the Bishop who said, "You must answer 3 questions on the Bible".
"1st - Who was born in a stable?"
"Red Rum." he replied
"2nd - What do you think of Damascus ?"
"It kills 99% of all germs." he replied.
"3rd - What happened when the disciples went to Mount Olive?"
"That’s easy!" he said,  "Popeye kicked the shit out of them!"

Flint's Ode to a bucket

Flint

Where would one be without a bucket?
A truly marvelous thing
The sound of a rattling bucket makes one's heart skip joyfully and SING!

In this wet and miserable weather
that's surrounding me today
I'd sooner be inside with my bucket and a sizable portion of hay.

I'm slightly obsessed with my bucket.
In fact any bucket will do
I like dipping my nose in a bucket
to find something lovely to chew.

In my endeavors to find a full bucket
I will break through any fence.
the temptation of a bucket is a temptation
I can simply not resist.

It often results in a problem,
but a clever pony knows
that a problem solving solution is a bucket
for my ever inquisitive nose! 

Not in the best of pony health

Sunny days

I'm a pie-bald pony

and I'm not my usual sunny self.

I've been suffering you see;

not in the best of pie-bald pony health.

I keep getting pink eye

and I had a bit of a chill

I blame the damp conditions

I'm sure that's making me ill.

My arthritis in my hock is making me sad

and the vet bills are rising and driving “Him” mad.

Two-legs is fussing: doing her best

keeping me out of the wet and letting me rest.

Now if I could find some sunshine

even a deep pile of snow.

Either would do me for a bit of a roll.

You can't roll in mud and the puddles won't do.

I want to roll in the sun shine

How about you?

Nothing at all to do with Flint

These are the new pups: Mabel (top dog) and her sister, Jessie

The Beginning of No-Grass (ie: Winter)

      I'm a pie-bald pony

I'm sure you'll not forget

that I can write short stories 

and use the internet!

Happy Halloween!

I'm not altogether sure where I should put myself:  My head's down and eyes apologetic.  I've broken through that darned fence again and I'm in the most awful trouble.  Two-legs has threatened to bring me inside if I cannot keep myself from getting into mischief.  I don't want to be brought in yet.

My stable is a fine place during no-grass, but at this time of year I'd be missing out on the last of the grass.  Frost covered grass is so sweet on Autumn mornings.  The hay-ring is there, but I'm not alone in thinking that the grass is nicer and I like to indulge.

These cold frosty mornings and bright sun-shinny days are the last celebratory feasts before the onset of the *no-grass famine. Don't get me wrong.  Hayledge and the such keep me content enough (especially with the odd carrot or apple thrown in) but grass is my fodder of choice and my feasting is not yet over.  Better keep myself out of mischief then!

You have your no-grass celebrations too....Halloween!  Starting where all the best parties are to be found (in Ireland!) some 2,000 years a go with  the Celts; the 31st of October was considered the end of the year.  With the on-set of winter and fear of starvation the Celts believed that in order to better their chances of survival a celebration would ward off death.  A feast would be held to honour both their god and their dead. Samhain was the god of the dead and the darkness and to keep his favour a large celebration would be held once the autumn harvest was collected.  During this time the Celts also believed that the dead would wander the land taking unsuspecting souls to Samhain's realm, so to keep them at bay scary "heads" usually made of turnips would stand guard to keep the household safe.


* No-grass is the Flints name for Winter.

Aisling Valentine's Getting Married

Benny, Aisling and me

I'm a pie-bald pony, which means I'm black and white.
I'm the only pony who can read and write.
Here's a photo of my friend Aisling
who's named after a saint
Valintine is her surname
and she loves me without constraint.

Aisling's ridden me quite often
without much success
I give her a fools' pardon
as she falls off me with some finesse!

I'm being a little bit cheeky
and I must apologise.
It's in my nature to be a bit naughty
and overly dramatise!

I know Aisling and her daughter, but not that poor Ian bloke.

He better like spending money and get used to being broke.
They are two special ladies who I rather like,
although Aisling's not much of a rider
and better on a bike!

Aisling

I'm a pie-bald pony and I have news for you.
Aisling's getting married and Ian's to say, "I do".
The crowd will be cheering when the deed is done;
and they will be off to have a life that's lovey
and maybe make another one!

Brave Dartmoor Mare

I felt that you should see this,
though there'll be a tear in your eye.
This is about a brave Dartmoor pony

Vets confirmed that she would have been aware of her failing health

who saved her foal before she died.

I wonder what she taught her before she had to leave;
which plants were good to eat, and which ones to avoid?

Having led her to the owner did she whisper in her ear
"My child this is a place of safety and you have nothing to fear."  


This mare led her newborn foal across Dartmoor to her owners' farm. Vets believe that she was aware of her failing health and fought illness and exhaustion to lead her foal to the care of  Lorraine Chambers.  Now the orphaned foal is being hand-reared by neighbour Charlotte Faulkner of the Dartmoor Hill Pony Association, who said yesterday that it was a remarkable story and the foal is alive today because of the instincts of her mother.

“Both mare and foal would have been out there on the moor for the whole summer and would have been brought off the moor in the annual round-up in October,” she said. “She must have known what would have happened to her foal if she had died so she brought her in.”