When we moved to Arkansas from Texas, and moved out onto our farm, my parents got us a Shetland pony. Get them a pony they said. It’ll be fun, they said. The kids will love it they said. Uh-huh. We named him Poncho. He was the most unrideable horse ever. Every time one of us got on him, he took off down the road to our neighbor’s house (the Byrds) and to their luscious garden. There is nothing like sitting on a horse that is eating someone’s garden up while being shooed away by an angry little old lady! She had to do this several times. Other times we rode Poncho, he would take us under the clothesline and try to scrape us off there. Sometimes he would just stop under the lines and eat a little while you lay atop him wondering how to get him to do what you want. The last time I rode him, he bucked me off in the back yard as soon as I got on him, and I landed on some bricks. I was crying and hollering and Dad came out of the house and got on Poncho! His feet were almost dragging the ground. He rode him around the yard (as if to teach him a lesson). I was skeptical that Poncho had learned his lesson. You couldn’t get me back on him. I have since been asked if our parents loved us when I’ve told other people that we had a Shetland pony. Apparently, it is widely known that they are mean spirited. LOL Pretty sure my parents knew this. They probably thought that we were meaner.