Argy-Bargy at the Barbie
Ned was a horse with a
mind that was methodical.
He could fix cars and
trucks and anything mechanical.
His bookshelves were
filled with lots of Haines manuals
And everyone agreed he
was the brightest of animals.
But today he wasn’t
thinking of engines or bearings
Or fuel pumps or wheel
nuts or radiators or fairings.
Today he was feeling
happy and hearty
Because today was the day
of his birthday party.
A guest of honour was
invited to his celebration,
To join in the fun on this
joyous occasion,
He would be arriving in a
well-oiled machine
That had one previous
owner – a mouse called Maureen.
The tables were set and
the barbecue lit
And a chair was
positioned where his guest of honour would sit.
Two horses arrived and
ordered drinks at the bar –
Uncle Dobbin and Jack
(who knew nothing about cars).
Aunty Doris came next,
followed by a donkey called Piers,
Who went straight to the
bar and ordered two beers.
More horses and donkeys
arrived on the scene
Before the arrival of
that elegant machine.
“He’s here!” shouted Ned.
“He has a lovely deportment.
He was once, I can tell
you, a Member of Parliament.
He’s charming and wise
and the very opposite of foul.
He the venerable, Right
honourable Mr Owl!
Welcome, Mr Owl, to my
birthday party
You’re looking so dapper
and awfully hearty.
My friends would all like
to say how do you do
While I go off and tend
to the barbecue.”
The barbecue was in the
barn next to some sacks of dried pasta
(Which everyone told him
was inviting disaster).
Although Ned was an
expert with cars and their complications
He was hopeless when it came to Health and
Safety Regulations.
Owl was made welcome and
the party was swinging –
A disco was blaring and
there was dancing and singing.
The food was served up on
plates made of steel
And everyone agreed it
was a wonderful meal.
Songs were sung and
strong beer was flowing
And Owl’s flat face was
positively glowing.
But then Dobbin did
something he should never have done –
He started to talk about
Carl Gustav Jung.
Now there are four things
that should never be mixed, I fear –
And they’re horses and
donkeys and psychoanalysts and beer!
At parties like this, one
should really avoid
Any mention of Jung or
his arch-rival Freud.
Dobbin quoted something
from Jung’s Symbols of Transformation
And the donkeys all
looked at him with incredulation.
“Freud was useless,” he
sneered, “and his Theories of Sexuality
Alienated him from
contemporary psychiatry.
A donkey was enraged by
this remark. “It seems
You obviously haven’t
read his Interpretation of Dreams –
Freud was a genius,” he
cried, looking perplexed,
“Without him we’d have no
Oedipus complex!”
“Jung was much better
than Freud!” Dobbin said with vexation.
“That man had a serious mother fixation!
And there was something I
saw last night on cable
About a donkey who had
feelings for his Great Aunty Mabel!”
“That’s it!” yelled the
donkey. “Let’s dispense with this pleasantry!
Carl Gustav Jung was not
the father of modern psychiatry!
You’re going to regret
making that ill-informed slight,
So put up your hooves and
let’s have a fight!”
The horses and donkeys
all charged at each other –
Even Ned’s parents joined
in and his aged grandmother.
But not one of them knew
this would end up so dire
When the barbecue was
knocked over and the pasta caught fire.
The pasta burned quickly
and set fire to the hay
And soon the whole barn
was blazing away.
The air filled with smoke
in a very short time,
And Owl asked politely,
“Has anyone phoned 9-9-9?”
Soon the wailing of
sirens was heard from afar
And PC Bear arrived in
his Panda car.
The fire engine came next
and drove into the inferno
“Those firemen,” remarked
Owl, “must be awfully gung-ho.”
The blaze was put out
quickly by the fire engine’s crew
And PC Bear said, “That
was terribly brave of you.”
“Not really,” said the
fire chief. “I feel a right berk –
The engine didn’t stop
because the brakes wouldn’t work!”
Even after the arrival of
the emergency services
The horses and donkeys
were still arguing their differences.
They were shouting and
yelling at the top of their voices
About who was the best at
psychoanalysis.
“Quiet!” yelled the PC.
“Who caused all this bother?”
And the horses and
donkeys all accused one another.
“This won’t do,” said the
bear, “and I have a notion
That something serious
has caused this commotion.”
Owl spoke up and said,
“The cause of this clobbering
Was a simple remark made
by Ned’s Uncle Dobbin.
He said something about
Freud that annoyed all the donkeys
And just after that it
all went a bit wonky.”
“That’s typical of
donkeys,” said Bear, “they vote with their fists
Whenever the subject gets
round to psychoanalysts.
As for Freud and Jung –
well, I suppose they’re just fine –
But if you want my
opinion – I prefer Wittgenstein.”
Dobbin snorted, “You ignorant
officer –
Wittgenstein was an
Austrian philosopher!
He got everything wrong
when he wrote Tractatus Logico
And had to start again
and have a second go!”
The fire chief stepped up
and said, “I heard your conversation
And I have someone else
for your consideration.
I don’t understand how
Freud and Jung caused all this tussle
Because neither are
better than Bertrand Russell.
Then all eyes turned to
Owl, who was perched on a rock,
And Ned said, “I think
only you can break this deadlock.
You are wise and noble
and possess great intelligence –
Please tell us, who is
the best, in your experience.”
Owl thought about this
for quite a long time
As he ummed and aahhed
over his lager and lime.
Then he finally spoke,
his noble voice trill,
“There is only one book
that will fit this bill.”
“Within its pages are
emotion and philosophy,
And it also contains
wisdom and psychiatry.”
“What is it?” asked Ned.
“It sounds really super!”
“It’s Riders,” said Owl, “by that nice Jilly
Cooper.”
Everyone gasped and
nodded in reverence
At Owl’s intelligent and
brilliant inference.
They were all busy
memorising the name of the book
When they heard the
screeching tyres of a very large truck.
“That’s him!” cried the
driver. “That’s the rapscallion
Who ran over my foot
outside the Red Lion!”
It was Gnu that cried out
from that lumbering truck
That was loaded to
capacity with his fine smelling muck.
PC Bear arrested Owl and
read him his rights.
“It’s prison for you,” he
said, “and for quite a few nights.”
He led him away, past the
smouldering fire
And threw him into the
back of the Black Mariah.
“Good riddance!” growled
Gnu. “Now justice is served –
And, you know, he would
have missed me if only he’d swerved.
Now that he’s cuffed and
looking so pale,
Just get out of here and
chuck him in jail!”
Ned watched sadly as Owl
went off to prison,
And Dobbin said kindly,
“You should have done your revision.
I could see he was a
wrong ‘un, but it was really subliminal,
But I clocked him
straight off as an inveterate criminal.”
The horses and donkeys
nodded their heads
And asked Gnu to join in
their celebrations instead.
Gnu grumpily turned down
their polite invitation
And offended them all
with a short dissertation –
“I wouldn’t stay here if
I was completely unconscious,
Because you are – like
this verse – really pretentious.
I’ve got better things to
do than interact with your sort,
Like delivering this
truck load of muck to The Court!”
He started the engine and
gave the equines a look
From the cab of the
vehicle that was carrying his muck.
He didn’t give a hoot
that his statement was rash –
All that concerned him
was getting some cash.
For Mr Gnu had a business
to run,
On his truck he delivered
manure by the ton.
He delivered to farms, to
gardens and the like,
And when his truck wasn’t
working he delivered by bike.
The End . . . or is it?
