Running To The Comfort Of His Mum

I have often made chicken stock from bones – usually when preparing a curry – but never as tasty as Becky’s.

This morning I followed her suggestions.

After lunch Jackie and I took a forest drive before visiting the Milford pharmacy to collect medication.

Along Tiptoe Road a group of ponies and foals slept, lolled, suckled or grazed among the buttercups and daisies.

Others we saw sought shade from the excessive heat in the usual places like Burley Lawn

and Forest Road, where we had plenty of time to peruse the back of Pests, Birds, and Bugs van, as it crawled along. The first witticism was having the company’s Limited in full therefore offering a pun; the next was the number plate; and finally one of the pests in the list.

We eventually realised that the vehicle had been following a foal up the road

lined with the exposed roots normally found along such ancient hedgerows.

The little chap had wandered into the woodland where her own offspring was attached to a grey who wasn’t interested in him. Thudding hooves behind me

and a piercing neighing brought the stray running to the comfort of his Mum.

The pair soon left this spot to join others

clustered in dappling shade.

It would have been a waste to have used this morning’s stock on a curry, so Becky made one of her flavoursome chicken risotto’s with it. There was a side of green beans. The cook drank Zesty, Jackie drank Hoegaarden, Ian drank Peroni, and I drank more of the Shiraz.