By Giles D Hobbs
All rights reserved
When the hooves strike and splinter your front door with a crash, your body will freeze.
The familiar clip-clop, out of place on your stairs, will seem less benign than you remember. Then near silence, hooves muffled by carpet as you wait, unsure if you’re dreaming, terrified, until the large equine head finally peers around your bedroom door.
“What did I ever do to you?” A stupid question. Will you really expect an answer? No, because you will know well before it rears it’s hooves above your head, you will know that this horse is in no mood for talking.