And then there were two

Well, I was hoping by now we’d have a cast iron moving date sorted, but there is still a bit of dithering going on. I’ll keep you posted…

In the meantime how about I entertain you with the story of how I came to own a second pony? The astute amongst you possibly already having noticed the previous reference to grass for ponies (multiple) rather than pony (singular).

Now, you will recall where we left off. I needed to buy more land than I’d at first thought because I had, in rather precipitous sort of a way, bought myself a horse. The plan from there on in then was as follows.

1. Buy land,
2. Move to land,
3. Increase herd by one large and docile horse suitable for use by tall non-equestrian types (such as the Very Forbearing Husband).

It was a sound plan, and I was sticking to it — until my friend The Horsewoman rang with an equine emergency. The closure of a riding school meant finding new homes for 14 horses. One of them was a miniature Exmoor pony by the name of Bonnie.

Bonnie, an unsuitable mount for anyone over 4 foot tall, and only intermittently docile

Bonnie is barrel shaped, nine hands high on her tippy-toes, and carries herself with the demeanor of a 17.2 thoroughbred princess. I’ve seen her double-barrel horses twice her size when they ill-advisedly came between her and the salt lick. Bonnie, she got swag*!

I approached the Very Forbearing Husband. He looked at the pony. He assessed the swag factor. He said “A miniature pony with attitude is exactly what we need around here. What a shame there aren’t two of them needing a home.”

Well, I’m pretty sure it went something like that. The man is a saint.

* definition: sexy with a bit of gangster.