“Oh for heaven’s sake,” snorted the Hunter. “Has it really taken this long for those humans to realise?”
The others looked up in surprise; the Hunter wasn’t usually so cranky.
“You OK, hun?” asked the Riding Horse, prompting the Show Pony to giggle, even though she was being serious.
“Some genius has announced — hold the front page! — that horses can communicate,” said the Hunter, nodding at the television at the far end of the block.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” asked the Cob.
“I mean with humans, you dunce,” cried the Hunter, obviously getting cross.
“You don’t have to rude,” sulked the Cob. “Of course we communicate with humans. They know when we want our food — though they’re jolly slow about bringing it — when we want to go in the field, when we want to come in…”
The Working Hunter Pony kicked his stable door. “Your point of view falls down right there, because I want to go out NOW.”
“You always want to go out, you’re hyperactive,” rebuked the Hack. “I think you must have worms. Or fleas.”
The Working Hunter Pony was outraged. “I do NOT have fleas and I was wormed six weeks ago, like the rest of you,” he snapped.
“Don’t let her get to you,” advised the Riding Horse quietly, “she’s only upset because she didn’t qualify for HOYS this year.”
“I am NOT,” said the Hack, who had extremely good hearing. “I’ve been to HOYS hundreds of times and couldn’t care less.”
The Working Hunter Pony’s human, Sarah, walked into the block, saying: “Oi, you lot, what’s with all the noise!”
She rubbed the Riding Horse’s nose as she walked past and said to the WHP: “Look at you, I bet you’re itching to go out, aren’t you, sweetie?”
The WHP caught the Hack’s eye and winked.