Feeling horse

Gee I'm smart. Back when I first got offered oodles of money to go billykart racing, I sold the whole idea to Sharon and the kids as a chance to spend time together as a family. The kids would be inspired watching their dad actually participate in something rather than watching him watching other people participating in stuff on the telly.

Indeed, once or twice, the family did get to come and stand in the pits at Phillip Island and try not to get run over by sports cars, while watching feral superkart people behave like idiots. So my next move was to commandeer the nice new company van only for races which mean I could sell the trailer. I sold this idea to Sharon by suggesting it would be one less thing to clutter up the driveway. Of course, that the van barely fits two other people failed to come up.

But, for the next race, it's back to the future; we're all going up on a (drumroll) FAMILY HOLIDAY to Sydney, beginning with a day of billykart racing at Wakefield Park/ Goulburn. Which means I need a trailer. Fortunately, the one I had was sold to a mate, who is lending it back to me, now with LED lights and a jockey wheel. What a great scam.

Now get this- apparently, when you buy a horse, even if it has rego papers, top-end breeding and pedigree, it can still get sick! Fancy that. I'm still not really sure about it so I'm going to check the contract again, but I'm sure the lady said our cute little Opal could never get sick.

I first noticed it when we were lunging her and she would bolt off, run around the yard, jump over stuff and buzz past us really close like Maverick and that other less important character in Top Gun. A couple of times she even had a nip at my nice jumper. Oh well, I thought, that'll learn me for wearing my Sunday best out in the paddock.

But our agistment lady said it wasn't right, so I rang the vet. After saying hello (which cost me $300) he suggested that our sweet, demure little girly pony Opal was suffering from an increased testosterone problem and was behaving like a stallion.

This was confirmed at the next visit, when we found Opal sitting back watching telly, sinking beer and chips, burping, scratching herself, leering at the other ponies and swearing at me every time I tried to talk about how it made me feel.

So it was off to another vet for an ultrasound, which meant towing a horse float. As mentioned earlier, when it comes to towing trailers I like to think I've been around the block once or thrice. But towing one laden with a 500 kilo animal who acts like it's just downed three kegs of Red Bull is unchartered territory. In the end, our big-bottomed friend towed well. What's more, my oil-burning Captiva drove no differently with 1-tonne of trailer full of hyperactive animal hanging off the back, than it does on it's own. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Moving on; we arrived at the home of our charming equestri-vet Emma, who pumped Opal full of enough sedatives to relax a gang of Hell's Angels. I'd always known that horses sleep standing up but never really accepted it, until now. Opal's eyes glazed over, her bottom lip hung like mine did when I got some fillings last week, her spindly little legs wobbled but by golly, she stayed upright.

And all this with Emma's arm, holding an ultrasound scanner, plunged right the way up her big horsey bottom. This was the ideal time to ask Naomi if she really wanted to be a vet.

Well folks the news is good and bad. Good because the enlarged ovarian tumour we thought she had doesn't seem to be there. Bad because now, we have no idea what's making her act like a bloke. Ideas, anyone?