She’s brought me into sketch she says, but I’ve explained that this is not possible, as I can’t use a pencil, on account of not possessing any hands. My mouth is pretty useful for picking the bolt and lifting the barrow, but I would run the risk of accidently eating a pencil if it found its way in to my mouth. Apparently I’ve got the wrong end of the stick. It’s herself that’s to make a sketch of me. Fair enough! Provide me with a hay-net and I shall pose away!The finished work is not much to look at, for I don’t know who this is she thinks she’s drawing, but it doesn’t resemble me in any way. I am not that round! I may not be 17 2, or a TB, but I am still a fine example of physical perfection in equine form. Sure don't all my four legs reach the ground?! My blessed mother has told me from the day I was born that I am a fine example of physical perfection, and everyone knows that mother knows best!
I have a good mind to make short work of that picture. I don't suppose it will upset my tummy too much.
I have a good mind to make short work of that picture. I don't suppose it will upset my tummy too much.
No comments:
Post a Comment