Every Kid Should Have a Pony

By: Sharon K. Shubert

(Previously published by Pottsboro Press and by The Denison Herald)

My first experience with ponies was not a very positive one. It's a wonder I ever continued to ride now that I reflect back on it.

I was six years old at the time and had never been around horses, much less ON one. My dad brought a little gray Shetland pony home and hollered for my twin sister, brother and I to come take a look at it. We watched him put a bridle, saddle blanket and saddle on it. The Shetland just stood there staring at us, his long mane hanging in his eyes.

When dad asked us if we wanted to ride, of course we all three wanted to; it's just that no-one wanted to go first. Now, I don't remember who ended up riding first, but I sure do remember MY ride!

Our yard was full of pear trees and oh those pear trees were loaded down with juicy, ripe pears! Those pear trees were also full of defensive, stingy bees who didn't want to share those pears!

My dad put me on the pony and showed me how to pull the reins to the right or left when I wanted to turn him. He instructed me on all the dos and don'ts of Shetland pony riding, except one thing. He didn't think to tell me what to do if the pony heads for the pear trees and won't listen to reason, shouting or crying!

I gently nudged the Shetland in the side with heel of my bare foot, looking around at my grandpa, dad, sister and brother, then my grandmother and mom who stepped outside to watch. I was actually riding!

My dad walked along beside us a round or two around the yard, holding onto the bridle. He wanted to make sure I felt comfortable and secure. The moment he let go, I no longer felt comfortable and secure! The pony turned from the direction I had him headed in, and ran for the pear trees, while I ducked down to keep from getting knocked off by the low-hanging branches. As soon as he stuck his nose up in the tree to nibble on his pick-of-the-crop, a bee stung him right on the nose and WE WENT FOR A RIDE!!!

I was screaming and crying hysterically while the pony bucked and ran. Meanwhile my grandpa and dad were chasing after us, trying to corner the pony so they could get me off. They did rescue me after what seemed like an eternity to a six-year-old, and I swore as I sobbed in my mother's arms that I'd never get on a horse again!

I did. It took me awhile, but I managed to put my fears behind me, swallow my pride and ride again.

We owned several ponies and horses over the years. My sister and I loved to sing and for some reason I now forget, we decided to serenade them. We'd climb up into the bed of my dad's truck and start singing at the top of my lungs. All of the horses would come up from the pasture and just stand there listening! They would listen for as long as we'd sing. They did expect a reward of oats or some other such goody for being our audience and they'd nudge us and sniff our pockets until we revealed their treats.

Dad's favorite horse of all times turned out to be an Appaloosa he called Nancy. She was the apple of his eye and would follow him around the yard and barn like a puppy. He'd talk to her softly the whole time he'd be working, mending fences or whatever and she'd stay with him, watching. Nancy turned up sick one day; a problem with her legs and I remember dad rubbing a salve-like ointment all down her legs each evening. He eventually sold her because of her health. We all cried and cried when the new owner came and loaded her upin the trailer and drove away.

Every kid should have a pony, at least once in their lifetime....makes memories....builds character....defines responsibilities....and so much more.

HOME