Pippin was our oldest and most experienced pony
when he left us on April 13, 2005. He is fondly remembered
by many children to whom he brought joy and laughter
in his 15 years of service. We will always love you,
and you will never be forgotten.
Pippin's Story
15 years ago, when I was just starting the pony ride business, I started noticing that the smaller of my two new ponies was getting rather round around the middle. Sometime in January of 1991, I saw her stomach move and realized that she wasn't just fat. This also made me realize that in order to honor my upcoming 2-pony bookings, I HAD to have another pony to take her place during her "downtime". I consulted a good horsey friend who suggested we try visiting a nearby auction. In early February, we hitched up my little 2-horse trailer and made the trip to Rock Hill, SC, to a place I'd never been and to witness something I'd never seen: a horse auction.
I had high hopes that I would have many ponies to choose from, but alas, there was only one pony to be found this particular evening; a smallish bay gelding that was very nervous and had no clue what was happening to him. I decided to have a look at him anyway before the auction started, and if he wasn't worth the effort, I'd just go home and come back another day. I almost did go home because the poor pony was trembling he was so scared and I certainly didn't need a freaked out spooky pony for kids to ride! I checked him out all over, and even though it was obvious he was frightened, he never made a single attempt to move away from me, no defensive postures, not even a pinned ear. He just watched my every move with those wide dark eyes, and I imagine it took every fiber of control he possessed not to panic and try to get away.
When they brought him into the ring, he was even closer to terror, but he tried his best to please the people shooing him back and forth across the auction pen. A small teenage boy hopped on his back, grabbed a handful of mane and "rode" him for a few circuits. The boy kicked his sides in an attempt to get a trot out of him, but instead, to my amazement, the pony broke into the cutest little rack I've ever seen. The boy riding him kicked harder, obviously thinking that the pony was trying to avoid a trot, but he seemed happy with the canter he got out of him instead.
My friend leaned over and yelled into my ear, "Buy that pony!!"
So I did.
It was exciting to participate in the bidding. I had a limited amount of cash (intentionally), but I needn't have worried. There was only one other bidder, who turned out to be the "meat man", and apparently a 400 lb pony wasn't worth much as dog food. My last bid was for $135.00, and before I realized what had happened, I was the new owner of that frazzled little black and brown heap of nerves.
Once all the paperwork was done and money exchanged, my friend and I went to collect my "prize". We had little trouble replacing his auction halter with one of my own, and he rushed me out of the barn as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. I couldn't say I blamed him! It was long past dark at this point, and to his credit, when presented with a choice between the dimly lit parking lot and the black maw of my little trailer, the pony surprisingly stepped immediately into the void. My friend and I exchanged shocked glances, then shrugged and climbed into my van for the trip back to her place.
At the time, no coggins papers were required at that particular auction, so he would spend his first week or two in an isolated stall at my friend's barn, at least until he was vet checked and his tests came back. It was close to midnight when we arrived at her house, but neither of us was in any particular rush, so we sat and chatted for a while before getting to the business of moving the pony from the trailer to the barn. Well, the pony, whom I'd already named "Pippin", had ideas of his own. Since we did not appear immediately to let him out of the trailer, he decided to attempt an exit through the little window in front of the feed bin. My friend and I rushed back to see what all the ruckus was about when the banging and crashing started the trailer rocking back and forth. We found Pippin with both front feet up in the feed bin, no doubt trying to open the front window so he could kindly ask us to LET HIM OUT OF THE FREAKIN' TRAILER.
That was when I got my first twinge of doubt. I thought, My goodness, what have I gotten myself into? This pony is psycho!
I don't remember exactly how we extricated him from the feed bin, but eventually he found himself in a large comfy stall. Less than a month later he worked his first pony party with us, and he was very good at pony rides, if a bit eager (he had no clue how to walk forward without pulling your arm out if it's socket). There were obviously a few kinks to be worked out, one of which was his apparent deathly fear of moving water. The first time I tried to give him a bath, I thought his eyes were going to pop out. If a single drop landed on any part of his body, he would flinch and try to squirm away from it. I eventually had to begin his "bath" using a paper dixie cup. I had to fill it with water and then slowly pour it onto a hoof, which was immediately snatched away. After about 15 or 20 repetitions of that, he finally conceded that perhaps water really wouldn't dissolve the skin from his bones, and he left his foot in place. I think it was fully a year before the water hose lost its ability to strike terror in Pippin's heart, but he got there, just as he overcame many threats to his sanity over the next several years.
My first attempt at harness training him was a complete, utter disaster. It took him less than 10 minutes to decide that the harness was trying to eat him and proceed to trash it in his panic. I decided that perhaps he wasn't cut out to drive. Two years later, the pregnant pony who started all this, and who was also my cart pony, got struck in the throat by a rattlesnake. She lived for three days before the vet finally had to put her down, which is another story, but it left me with no cart pony. I approached Pippin again and asked if he would kindly try not to trash my harness while we learned to drive this time. Not only did he NOT trash my harness, he acted as if he had been pulling a cart his entire life (a whole 7 years by then). I was astonished. I was convinced that Sunny (the mare) had taken Pippin aside sometime during her last three days of life and said, "OK buddy, I know you don't like the idea, but I'm outta here soon, so it's up to you now. Don't let Mom down." And he didn't. That very day he was hitched to the cart and pulling like a pro. He never looked back.
But that was my boy. His initial reaction to new things was always a bit alarmist, but as long as "Mom" was around, he never let much of anything bother him too much. Eventually he taught himself to stick to my side like glue during pony rides. The lead rope became a mere token, giving the illusion that I was "leading" him with it. The reality was that I could have done cartwheels and he would faithfully try to follow. With most other walkers, he was the "arm stretcher", but not with Mom.
Pippin also taught us about gratuities. According to Pippin, it is considered polite to offer the attending pony a treat. It started with a stolen peppermint candy, and proceeded to very impressive demonstrations of lip dexterity in the form of drinking sodas or juice from bottles, cans, cups or whatever else was offered, with emphasis on not letting any go to waste. Once, before I could intervene, a birthday child offered Pippin a hot dog, which he carefully took, shook the dog out onto the ground, and happily ate the bun, mustard and all.
Pippin was a favorite of party children for 15 years. He is featured in countless birthday photos and videos, all uncredited (he was very modest). He'll be fondly remembered for a long, long time.
I'll miss you, my very best pony.
