With breeding season done with and winter defiantly upon us, I feel a tad restless and somewhat bored with my beloved home. In the short time I have been here I have bonded with the indifferent land and feel closer to it than I do with any of my brothers. This is no surprise though; the Lagoon seems to be filled with woebegone souls who cling to the past as if there mourning will stop it from leaving. They keep to themselves for the most part, which in theory is perfect but on the odd occasion like today when I am in need of some entertainment, a companion of any kind would be appreciated.

I trudge slowly through the swampy grounds with my handsome feathered legs gathering mud and debris and with eyes set on the horizon where they spy the golden hide of a stranger. I am in no way familiar with every single occupant of the Lagoon but the strangers cologne is one that I do not recognize. My grey rump begins to bounce as I jog carelessly through the marsh, tripping slightly on the long grass that has become entangled with its neighbours.


”Oi mate, hold up” I call towards him as I navigate closer. The stallion stands as tall as me, his tan frame housing muscles much like my own but he is not as wide in the face or shoulders nor does his legs end in so many feathers. ”You got business here bud, or just enjoying the scenery?” I question him as I pull my impressive grey body alongside him and reach out my soft nose in greeting.

FRIESIAN MUTT | SIXTEEN TWO HANDS | TWELVE YEARS