It’s snowing again in Tennessee. I want to know: when did the South get moved to Canada? We’ve had to cancel so many hunts due to snow and ice down here, and I am most seriously displeased. Even when the hunts are not canceled, Gretchen can’t drive the horse trailer out of our driveway due to the ice. I’m bored, cold and over all this winter weather! I miss the hounds! I miss the huntsman with the birth defect of being over tall! I miss all the elephants-in-disguise who are secretly jealous of my perfectness!
When it snows or gets really cold Gretchen puts this stupid purple, puffy blanket and neck hood on me that looks like I’m wearing a Snuggie. It’s so humiliating. She won’t bring me any peppermint tea, hot mint chocolate, nor will she bring me any fresh oat and cranberry scones! [Gretchen’s Note: Oh, for the love of Pete will you stop whining! I have too brought your tea out to you many times, you hate chocolate, and you and the yearling ate all the scones!]
I’ve got to figure out how to get back into that warm house. I know for a fact that I can fit through the door, and that the leather couch is a perfect bed for me. However, that woman who insists on keeping me out in the freezing cold won’t let me in. She’s already scared the dog half to death to never let me in again. So now I’m trying to figure out how to get the house cat to open the door for me. But just how does one get a cat to do what you want? Flattery? Cat nip? Tuna?
[Gretchen’s Note: Listen buddy, you and the dog left a huge mess in the house last time you snuck in. Beer bottles everywhere, pizza boxes and candy wrappers all over the place. There was even a strange halter I’ve never seen before under the couch – just who did that belong too? You put molasses all over the ceiling fan and then must have hit “high” since the sticky stuff was slung all over the living room! It looked like the movie Hangover was reenacted in my house! You are banned from the house for life, Ziggy Sheen. Banned for life.]
Gretchen and I will have killed each other if this weather doesn’t break soon. Not that I long for spring, since spring means the end of hunt season. But all this white stuff and bitter cold needs to go somewhere else! So here is my plan – I officially hereby call a hit out on Old Man Winter (aka Jack Frost, Mr. Freeze, Mr. Snow Miser, Father Winter and any other completely undeserved cutesy name for the SOB). However, I am only a 12.1 hand pony so I do need help.
So thaw out your freezer-burnt brains and respond to the E-Covertside (in comments below) to plan how we rub out ‘Ol Frosty. Send battle plans, weapon mock-ups, laser blueprints for enlarging the sun, bribe money for Mother Nature, anything! I want to get back to hunting!! The Man is just old, and well, he’s outlived his welcome. Time to sleep with the fishes, Jackie.
Ziggy Pelham, the cold and bored Tennessee Valley Amazing Hunt Horse