To understand how I came to be a horse thief, we have to start at the beginning of the story. When I was wee, my father acquired a sleigh. He went to a local pony owner and asked if he could rent the pony to pull the sleigh. The guy said, “No, but I’ll give it to you.” My dad was all, “Really, I just want to rent it. I’ll pay you.” But the guy insisted. “No, but I’ll give it to you.” This went on for a while until we ended up with our very own pony.
I know that non-Wisconsinites have this idea that WI is covered in farmland and it’s all about cows and things. Not so in the north half of WI. It’s thick old fat forest up there. Any farms you’ll find are small and were cleared by strong backs of spunky farmers who plucked out each tree one by one, ripping the roots out of the ground with stump removers.
We did not live in such a place. We lived in the woods. Lots and lots and lots of woods.
So this pony became a woods pony and we let it roam free in the wilderness.
My mother hated the pony.
The pony hated my mother.
The pony’s name was Sundae and when my mom walked down the long driveway to get the mail Sundae would sniff her out.
And charge away, nipping at her.
For some reason, the pony loved my dad.
When my dad went skiing down the trails through the forest, Sundae would trot after him like a ginormous puppy.
This sounds cute and probably was, but big old clodhopper pony hooves completely ruin ski trails.
So the pony went to a nearby farm that had room for one more.
I wasn’t even in Kindergarten yet. I did NOT get to enjoy the pony, not one little bit.
There’s a picture of me on Sundae but that is about it.
This didn’t bother me until I turned about ten, read too many Misty of Chincoteague books and the like, and realized that what I was really missing in my life…
Was a pony.
But I’d even have settled for a horse.
Stay tuned for Part II of My Life As a Horse Thief (in which horses might actually be stolen).