The Toughest LIttle Pony on the Planet --- Who is Bobbie No Socks

January 31, 2010

Bobbie No Socks, a tiny mix of Welsh and Standard Bred in pony body, we first met fifteen years ago through an ad in the paper when my daughter was a wee little equestrian extraordinaire in kindergarten. We had no money then and for that matter while we qualify for bigger credit lines now, still don't have money (yes, we're like every other human on the planet with horses). I saw Bobbie and I thought no freaking' way am I spending $800 of my good hard earned money on this tiny pony. I certainly never thought I'd put my daughter on this walking dust tornado.

He had chipped hooves, thick burdocks in his tail and mane and when my wife patted him on his broad back, a choking dust cloud circled his body like a swarm of angry bees. I barely touched his fat round butt and he bolted forward in terror, likely from years of being trained as a trotter on the track. He nipped me on arm with such force that I swear I saw my dead grandfather at the end of long tunnel. However, my wife saw something in him. It could have been the twinkle in his eye, it could have been that he had good strong teeth or it just could have been some secret equestrian intuition. We broke the bank and bought him, with a credit card check.

If this pony were human, he'd have been Micky, Rocky's tough as nails trainer. The stable where we first boarded him wasn't the ideal snooty English Stable. In, fact it was more of a western barn with a huge turnout pasture with 20 quarter horses, a bunch of mules and 10 Texas Long horses mixed in one endless field. Other than field mice, Bobbie was the smallest mammal in the huge turn out pasture.

Yes, he was but a speck in the pasture, but within an hour and a couple of quick territorial battles of gnashing teeth, blood oozing wounds and kicking hind hooves, "Bobbie the Tiniest" was the the "supreme pasture emperor". He was the baddest thing that pasture had ever seen. Somehow he'd bring huge geldings in line, herding them from their mare's. He'd stare down Long Horn bulls and make 'em look like baby lamb's crying for their mama's. He somehow began herding the cattle and other horses into their appropriate places in realm of his pasture-dom. He had that pasture whipped into shape like he was an army drill Sargent, Jillian on "The Biggest Loser" or my 1st grade Sunday school teacher (she was meanest person I've every known).

Over the years, that mean little pony bit us countless times, threw a couple trainers into the dirt, forced my neighbor to have her hand re-attached in a grueling eight hour surgery and somehow became more loved in my family than I am. He gives great presents at Christmas (I love the tie he bought for my birthday). However, ultimately, this mean little pony became, the cheapest horse we ever bought (by far), my daughter's first walk trot pony (he even won a class or two) and became one of my best friends. We now have five horses, including him. However, he will always be the king of the pasture and Czar of our hearts!

My Wife is Sleeping

January 24, 2009

It's 6:57 pm and my wife's sleeping. No, that' not terribly unusual. She works her butt off all day long. She's run's 10 mile races and has run in a marathon. She swims laps 3 days a week. She snow boards, has para sailed and has showed at the national horse show at Madison Square Garden. She takes care of five horses, two kids, a turtle, a poodle, a puggle and lets not forget the neurotic insomniac husband. She needs the sleep and she needs it bad.

I love her with all my heart. But, here we sit together, but alone. We're in the same room, but a conscienceness away. Yes, I could take out the trash, check the horses, re-shingle the roof, pick at my tonsil stones or solve world peace. Yet, today peace and tonsil stones will have to wait.

No, what I've decided to do is start a blog. Seems like a good time to start one... nothing really going on the world, except killer earthquakes, rabid terrorists on the prowl, a government that can't get along with itself and Tiger Woods in a run for his life from the nine iron of doom.

Oh ... she's awake now. I need to check the horses.