HIC SUNT EQUII

As the wife is in Foreign Parts I am free to rise early and golf at Duns. Duns Golf Club is no Royal County Down (PBUI) but it is a challenging wee course made more so by the heavy dew which soaks the grass for those inrepid golfers who set out, like Huttonian, whilst even the early sparrow has not yet urinated, never mind farted. It was murky (as in haar) in Hutton but blazing hot in Duns-and I mean hot by Lunnon standards. Playing by myself I was winning easily until I hit a beautiful drive at the 2nd and found that the fairway had moved to the right in mid swing and my ball sailed to the left, over a fence into a field, lush with dewy grass and full of horses. I don't really like equine quadruped. They are big, with dirty teeth and remind me (very slightly) of camels which are bigger and have even dirtier teeth. Anyhow I was determined to find my newish ball. Someone told me that the best way to deal with horses is to look the nearest one in the eye and show no sign of fear. They respect the masterful approach. This is a hard tactic to follow when looking for golf balls in long grass but I did my best. There were several nearest horses and they all seemed slowly to advance, tails still and ears back (a bad sign say the cognoscenti) I slowly retreated looking as many stallions in the eye as possible and searching desperately with my feet for the £1.50 Titliest 4. The horses advanced and I was just about to cut and run when I felt something hard and round under my feet-I scooped it up, put it in my pocket and got over the stile without troubling the step with the nearest near horse a metre behind and closing.

Back on the safety of the fairway I pulled the ball out of my pocket, sneering at the nearest and now corralled beast. Placing it for the next shot I found that my find was not my ball; it was not anyone's ball and certainly not a £1.50 Titleist 4. It was a round bit of very ancient horse manure presumably passed by a very ancient horse after two much organic oats. It was still quite smelly despite being sun dried and the tang remained in my nostrils, my throat and my pocket until I finished my round. Enjoying a post round cup of coffee I got some strange looks in the club house perhaps due to another bit of softer shiny horse dropping I had failed to spot on my left heel.

I should report that in my anger I threw the offending round object at the nearest horse. It missed but gave it such a fright that a golf ball it was thoughtfullyly chewing fell ou of its mouth.
Was it mine? I didn't look and I am not sure that I care.  ¶ 8:02 PM