22 views
Lost Horse: The Story of My Pony
My pony in the photo. It was taken about March this year.
Well, technically she wasn't my first horse. I had a white pony named Milky when I was between the ages of 6-8. She died because my dad shot her. He did it because she was blind in one eye and the crows ate her socket out. It's gruesome and completely horrify-
ing, I know.
I don't remember her more than maybe a little bit. I only know because I saw photos of me riding her and my dad told me the history ... terrible and tragic.
I remember riding her very few times. Probably not more than 10 times in the years I had her, though I now regret it. We had two other horses - a gray adult mare named Star and her black foal. I don't even recall his name.😏
But this story isn't about Milky or them. It's about the first horse I had events with worth talking about, smiling about, being proud about and remembering. Her name was Cheeky.
When I was barely 16 years old, we first got her. She was a dwarf or semi dwarf pony, about 11 hands at the shoulder, yet my 16th birthday present. I remember feeling unhappy that my dad's friend arranged her to be bought to our sheep farm - for free - (because of her being so small.) I was and am quite short. But did they really think I couldn't ride an almost normal sized horse at age 16?
She arrived a few months late and with a moderate hoof injury. She had blue eyes, a gray and black coat, and a black mane. She was quite or very fat and about 4 inches lower than my 5'2 height, except when she raised her head.
The first day she arrived, I gave her a syrup and butter sandwich to calm down her nerves. I used to feed Milky that. That and the fact that she had green teeth was about the only thing I remember about her.
Cheeky was fairly docile at the beginning, as far as I remember. She just showed an over abundance of cheekiness right from the start - she wouldn't go to her new little camp on our farm - at all, for say, the first 20 minutes.🤣😂🤣
Apparently, that was why her name was Cheeky! Her previous owners gave it to her. Me and my dad and older brother, Dries, had to chase her - by foot - to make her go into the camp.
She just hated being petted or carressed on her face, and very oddly and even sadly to me, never looked me directly in the eyes when I stood very close to her. Her eyes were powder blind-like blue.
The first few times I rode her, she didn't really want to move much. A pat on the behind got her to canter off in a bolting manner, but I was so scared when she did that that I probably accidentally halted her - she usually or always stopped about 10-15 seconds later.
At...
Well, technically she wasn't my first horse. I had a white pony named Milky when I was between the ages of 6-8. She died because my dad shot her. He did it because she was blind in one eye and the crows ate her socket out. It's gruesome and completely horrify-
ing, I know.
I don't remember her more than maybe a little bit. I only know because I saw photos of me riding her and my dad told me the history ... terrible and tragic.
I remember riding her very few times. Probably not more than 10 times in the years I had her, though I now regret it. We had two other horses - a gray adult mare named Star and her black foal. I don't even recall his name.😏
But this story isn't about Milky or them. It's about the first horse I had events with worth talking about, smiling about, being proud about and remembering. Her name was Cheeky.
When I was barely 16 years old, we first got her. She was a dwarf or semi dwarf pony, about 11 hands at the shoulder, yet my 16th birthday present. I remember feeling unhappy that my dad's friend arranged her to be bought to our sheep farm - for free - (because of her being so small.) I was and am quite short. But did they really think I couldn't ride an almost normal sized horse at age 16?
She arrived a few months late and with a moderate hoof injury. She had blue eyes, a gray and black coat, and a black mane. She was quite or very fat and about 4 inches lower than my 5'2 height, except when she raised her head.
The first day she arrived, I gave her a syrup and butter sandwich to calm down her nerves. I used to feed Milky that. That and the fact that she had green teeth was about the only thing I remember about her.
Cheeky was fairly docile at the beginning, as far as I remember. She just showed an over abundance of cheekiness right from the start - she wouldn't go to her new little camp on our farm - at all, for say, the first 20 minutes.🤣😂🤣
Apparently, that was why her name was Cheeky! Her previous owners gave it to her. Me and my dad and older brother, Dries, had to chase her - by foot - to make her go into the camp.
She just hated being petted or carressed on her face, and very oddly and even sadly to me, never looked me directly in the eyes when I stood very close to her. Her eyes were powder blind-like blue.
The first few times I rode her, she didn't really want to move much. A pat on the behind got her to canter off in a bolting manner, but I was so scared when she did that that I probably accidentally halted her - she usually or always stopped about 10-15 seconds later.
At...
