Have ya ever put your head down to take drink of cool water from a creek and caught the startlin sight of a real handsome horse starin straight back at ya? Unless you’re a special kinda horse, you knew it was you. Or at least ya knew it wasn’t you exactly, but it also wasn’t another bonafide real horse, no matter how much maybe ya arched your neck at it, or tried to nuzzle it, or strike it with your hoof. That’s just creek-water-you. It ain’t like a horse could ever see himself in a flake of hay, or at the bottom of a grain bucket.
So it ain’t normal to meet another you that ain’t you anywhere but down inside some creek water. That’s when I knew I was finally losin my very last shred of horse sense after livin on the County Island for such a long stretch. ‘Cause I was out for a short, peaceful, lazy kinda trail ride when I spied a bonafide tiny mirage of familiarity out there in the desert brush.
Ya see, I saw myself.
Only shrunken down. By a lot.
It was “me,” if I may use my ironical pointed horse ears.
And I did indeed point my ears. And so did mini me.
And then I set my ears back a bit. And so did he.
There was no need for neither posturin nor strikin.
That’s when I knew me and mini me was gonna be alright. We’re copacetic, which means I’m cool with him, and he’s cool with me.
And he’s real, alright.
He stands about Shetland size, like the ranch boss’ kids’ li’l cowpoke pony back at the ranch. And full of boss pony attitude but in a real friendly and no-nonsense way. I’d be more than content to be a County Island co-boss horse with such an upstandin li’l fella.
I asked if he was meant to have a job, as he lives with a bunch of full-size reputable Quarter Horses that got part-time cow jobs. Not a real cow job like I used to have. I mean stupid but fun County Island cow games. But he said as far as he knows, his job’s to be the pony pet. I congratulated him on gettin that gig, ‘cause it’s real solid gig to get.
Now me and mini me say our howdys whenever I get rode past his pen. And he tells me how he likes to startle some of the more looky horses in these parts who think he’s me only chopped off at the knees. And we chuckle under our breath together, and that’s that. As long as nobody gets hurt, it’s good to have a li’l fun now and again. It’s one of the best parts of bein a mostly retired pet pleasure horse, or his tiny pony pet compadre, livin the good life on the County Island.