On Saturday afternoon, I looked out the living room window and noticed Buddy and Biscuit were outside their enclosure:
I figured the owners had at last taken pity on them and allowed them a grassy treat, but when I went outside to say hello I realised the horses had broken down the fence in a daring escape bid:
Mick attempted to corral them using that mutant carrot as a lure. Unfortunately, this backfired, with Wiz bolting off and leading the others into the main street.
At this point I had visions of poor little Biscuit being mown down by a phalanx of bikies, so I raced after them and found them in an empty lot across the road, happily gorging themselves.
I spent the next several minutes looking like a complete idiot trying to coax them back, using that strangely high-pitched, insistently friendly voice usually reserved for recalcitrant infants.
"Biscuit! Wiz! Time to come home! I'll give you an apple!!"
I even managed to get a hold of Buddy at one point, but trying to move him was like trying to budge a small vehicle.
Their owners eventually came to rescue them without any drama but the upshot of this incident was that the horses got to spend all Sunday in the paddock behind us stuffing their faces while the fence was being fixed.
At the risk of anthropomorphising again, I can't help but think Biscuit knew exactly what they were doing:
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