With Allen, it was blatantly obvious when he was cussing me out. People that barely knew us could see it and could practically hear it. As with most things, Allen was over the top. He swore like a sailor all the way around the ring when we were having an off day. There's nothing like having an eighteen year old campaigner inform you that you're doing it wrong.
One more time, b***, just one more time putting me into that f***ing line without giving me a decent d*** approach and you're doing it yourself. I will send you a** first right into that *** d*** flower box, you hear me? Now grab on to something, little girl, and I'll show you how it's actually f***ing done.
I loved that horse.
Fiona is slightly more delicate. She's a bit more of a well raised young lady. She doesn't swear wildly all around the ring. She mumbles quietly to herself. It's subtle, but occasionally punctuated by outbursts.
I am not in the mood to go round today. There is no problem with the way I carry my back, you should worry about how you carry your back. Don't poke me in the ribs, I don't want to bend left. Stop poking. I said stop it. I'm warning you . . . Okay, b***, now you've done it! You want lift? I'll give you f***ing lift! Maybe this isn't so bad. I can pick my back up, for now, anyway. But no, I'm not suppling to the left, you can forget it. I want my sugar cubes. Can we go fast yet?
Is this a thoroughbred thing? Or is this just my influence on my horses?