That time when I bought the pony from hell
When I was a little girl, I loved horses. In fact, I was so lucky that my family lived on an acreage and we owned horses. We started with just one Arabian, named Princess. A beautiful light chestnut mare with some conformation flaws, but she was a kind and sweet mare. My sisters and I all have fond memories of riding Princess.
As the years went by, my parents bought more horses. Another Arabian mare and some Arabian/Thoroughbred crosses. But every birthday and every Christmas, me and my sisters all wished for the same thing: A horse of our own. We loved the ones we had, but there’s something special about having a horse that belongs to you. So one day my little sister and I hatched up a plan on how to get a bit closer to that dream.
We decided to save up our money together and buy a horse. Over a few months, we managed to come up with a whopping $800. How we ever managed to find anything even ridable for $800 is beyond me, but low and behold, we found what seemed to be a very nice little pony. Her name was Cookie.
A red roan, 13 hh pony with a neck so thick you’d wonder if she had a little bit of a draft horse in her somewhere.
My sister, Becky, was the first to get on and ride her. We were at this lady’s farm and she had two ponies for sale. The other one was just a miniature gelding, too small for riding. He could maybe pull a little cart or something like most minis are bred for. Becky got on Cookie and went for a few rounds in a shabby little broken-down outdoor arena. It went very well, and Becky promptly fell in love. Cookie did everything Becky asked. It seemed like quite a deal to get such a nice pony for only $800.
Until I got on.
It was a series of unfortunate events after I got in the saddle. I started going around the arena with her. Things were going well, when suddenly the little gray gelding got loose from his pen and broke his way into the arena.
He came barreling in with guns blasting. Bucking and kicking and running around like the tasmanian devil. It took about 3 seconds for Cookie to dump me like a hot potato and join him in his revelery. The owner got him under control and back out of the arena, but the damage was done. I was not a confident rider when I was young. Even though I did try to get back on, Cookie didn’t want a rider anymore and she dumped me just as quickly as the first time.
So we told the owner we’d think about it and left. Becky was head-over-heels in love with the version of Cookie that had so nicely trotted around the arena for her. She was young and sound, with lots of years of riding left in her. A steal for $800 considering she had the potential to ride so nicely. Becky wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I’m a softy at heart. It only took a couple days of her begging me to buy Cookie and I gave in.
I’ll never regret buying Cookie. She turned out to be a great little pony. Especially once we got her home and our big sister got on her for a couple rides and taught Cookie some manners. We were nervous about putting her in with our herd of horses. She was only 13 hh, and our 15 hh and 16 hh horses towered over her in height. We were afraid that maybe she would get picked on and pushed around by the horses. And being so much shorter, we also wondered if she would be able to keep up with the horses on our trail rides.
When we put her into the pasture with our horses, we watched to see the reactions. Cookie’s tough personality wasn’t a bluff and she didn’t seem to notice or care that she was half the size of the other horses. Ears flattened, head raised, she quickly told everyone else to get out of her way, and she meant it. If one of the horses didn’t move out of her path, she would spin around and kick them with a double barrel until they moved. Within minutes, she was the boss of the whole herd. Cookie was large and in charge, and nobody dared to challenge her.
And did she struggle on trail rides? Nope!
The big horses would trot along and Cookie was right beside them, or in front for every mile we ever rode. Her short little legs moved like a blur and she never seemed to run out of energy. She never fell behind. That plucky little pony was like the energizer bunny. She just kept going and going. Unless she saw a deer path in the woods. Then she would stiffen that big pony neck of hers and veer off like a dart faster than you could say, “Cookie!”
She always liked turning around and going home. So anytime she saw a trail leading in the direction of home, she took it. More than once, we found ourselves getting whipped by tree branches while Cookie made a mad dash down uncleared paths used only by wildlife. She kept us on our toes.
One time, she tried her mad dash trick on me not far from our house. Becky and I were having fun going up and down a little hill near our driveway. I took Cookie up the hill and she saw a little path going back to the barn. Boom! She darted down the path, full speed ahead. But the trees were thick. She went between two trees just wide enough for her, but not me. She squeezed through like a buttered rabbit, but my legs hit the trees and I came off.
Luckily, I had the sense to hold onto one of the reins. She only got a few more feet before she hit the end of the rein and stopped. Becky came running around the driveway looking for me. With only my ego bruised, I held up the rein and shouted to her, “I’m okay!” I wasn’t as afraid of Cookie anymore and I just got back on and we kept riding.
That $800 we spent on Cookie was maybe some of the best money I’ve ever spent. Not only because of the life lessons she taught us, but because it also turned out that she was pregnant! When we brought her home, we thought she looked a little chubby, and a few months later we found out why. She gave birth to a beautiful little dappled gray filly. It was a buy-one, get one free deal.
We named her Oreo, and Becky and I struck a deal. We traded our ownership and she got to keep Cookie and I took Oreo. Who happened to be nothing like her mother and was the sweetest, most mild-mannered little pony you ever did meet. She didn’t grow big enough to ride, but I enjoyed teaching her how to lead. We eventually sold her a few years later to a stable down the road from our farm, where she did pony rides for small children.
As we got older and didn’t need a pony anymore, Cookie found a new home as well. She went to live on another nearby acreage with the nicest family you could imagine, where a young boy rode her. All reports we heard from them is that she was the kindest and nicest pony every time he rode her. I don’t know what kind of magic happened, but it seemed like a perfect home for Cookie.
Now I hear people joke about riding “the pony from hell” when they were younger, and I always think of Cookie and laugh. Yes, she was my pony from hell, but she taught me so much and I love her for it.
