So until something else traumatic happens to me, a la yesterday, I shall give you a bit of backstory into my life and just why I have turned into the slightly awkward, boisterous, and at times inappropriate human being that I am.  I was raised by two stellar individuals: my father – a basketball playing, fly fishing, Miller lite drinking surgeon who resembled a young Chevy Chasechevy chase

and my mother – a petite cheerleader, who was at times a little flirty, a little loud, but maintained her looks in only a way that I can hope to, all whilst resembling a cross breed between Madonna circa 1984 (its in the hair)


and a Meryl Streep in her Mama Mia phase



(it’s in the way she holds that wine glass).  My childhood was pretty idyllic on paper.  I was raised as one of three children on a dead end street, where the crime rate was at about the “My Child Accidentally Urinated on your Petunia’s” level.  We were surrounded by pets; cats, dogs, rabbits, hermit crabs, tadpoles, ponies (good lord, now I know why I have so much debt due to my bills from Hallway Feeds, thanks mom and dad).  Which brings me to one of my most defining memories: my first pony.

Let me start this story by saying that father Chevy did not like horses.  Not only did he not like horses, but we learned later on in life that he ABHORRED horses, but my mother MerylMadonna was a raised a good ol’ member of the local hunt club. Madonna Horse Riding

So she persuaded him, reluctantly, to let her buy us kids a pony! It started off glamorously, as all little girls dream of: Christmas Morning, Santa leaves you a note under the tree to venture out over the hills and through the woods to Cochranton, PA and you will find this:



We were ecstatic!  A REAL Shetland Pony!!!! Named Shana!  Images of cuteness ran through my mind: Shana galloping over pasture fences, Shana rearing up in elegance, Shana lovingly hugging me with her neck, Shana running up to me adoringly when I called to her! Ribbons! Trophies! Money! Prestige!





What occurred next I will try to explain.  Instead of galloping fences, I got this.



Instead of winning trophies, I got this.



Our love affair was brief.  It ended abruptly one day at the ripe young age of five when my mother suggested that we go on a trail ride together.  We tacked Shana up, she gave me a leg up, and off we went to explore my grandparents farm.  Birds chirped, rabbits sang to me, field mice made me a gown with glass slippers, oh, wait, sorry, my name is NOT Cinderella, when suddenly a large, fire breathing half zombie/half dragon, life sucking demon came running at us out of nowhere!!!!!!!!!!!



What came next I will never be able to explain:  I VAULTED from Shana’s back and was knocked unconscious, my mother fled in fear, and Shana turned to me, sprouted a unicorn horn, and reared up in bravery to protect me from the fanged monster!



I will let you hypothesize what truly happened next before she was loaded onto a stock trailer and sent down the street to some amish kids to torture, but in the meantime, I shall leave you with my true inner voices picture of what my ideal Shetland should be. Thank you, and good night.



2 Comments on “The Pony From Hell.

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