Stormy's Story: Hello! My name is Stormy, and I am a registered Hackney pony. OK, my REAL name--my hoity-toity show name--is "Heartland's Mr. Neat." ANYONE (except maybe Peggy, but she wouldn't consider it) ever even THINKING of addressing me by the afore-mentioned "show name" will need to consider how they might look with a hoofprint or two tattoed to their heiney. No, I am not a "show pony." I am a retired show pony. I got into a bit of...trouble; there were a few incidents involving running away, dumping carts, screaming people...I exaggerate. I was a teeny bit naughty as a three year old (what can one expect from a colt?). I hated the rubberbands on the legs to make my trot look "snappier." I HATED the driving whip; and I DESPISED the harness and cart. The weighted horse (OK--pony) shoes just added insult to injury, though I have to admit I did enjoy the two inches of extra height they gave me. By the way, did you know a heavily shod hoof can kick significantly harder than a bare one? I do, and so do a few of my previous handlers! Life didn't start out bad for me; actually, I was the darling of the farm where I was born and raised, and I lived the good life for the first three years. It was when "training time" came around that things started going downhill fast. My perfectly justified behavior caused a few high strung humans to get themselves all worked up and talking about "gelding." The next thing you know--faster than you can say "snip"--out came Dr. Castrado the vet, and off came...well, I'm not going to go into the gory details, but what happened next was NOT justified! Adding insult to injury, as soon as I was healed from my...procedure, I was loaded onto a trailer and shipped off to AUCTION! Not a fun place, let me tell you; frightened mares calling for their fillies and colts, old broken down fellows heading to what the humans sensitively refer to as the "kill" pen; (subtle, those humans, eh?) The kill pen has a smell of despair and impending death every horse recognizes, and to end ones days being whipped, yelled at and starved is many a horse's reward for years of indentured servitude. But I digress... Such was not my fate--I'm a young beautiful pony, not an old, worn out, unwanted horse. I knew I wasn't going to be dog food, or a steak on some French human's plate (yep; they eat us). What I didn't know was I was going into another "show" home--arrrggghh!--but that is exactly where I went. For me it was out of the show cart and right back into another one, minus two parts of my anatomy I was very fond of! And most insulting?--I went for a mere three hundred human bucks! During my early "good days," when I was cooperative with my training, my humans were once offered five G's for me and turned it down! I'll bet they were kicking themselves after I'd kicked a few of them! At my new home, I made sure I lived down to my price tag. To make this long story more concise, and also to spare delicate readers from some of the messy details, I'll just say I "misbehaved" again. A lot. After only one attempt hitching me up to the expensive but very breakable show cart my new people decided perhaps I wasn't a show pony after all. Not long after Peggy showed up, looking for a pony for her daughter Stephanie, whose 13th birthday was coming up. Well, that was the excuse, anyway; Peggy really wanted me for herself, and to keep that hot babe Fancy company out in the back forty (feet that is, not acres...unfortunately!)

At first I didn't trust her; and I made sure I stayed well out of reach. Strangely, she never chased me; she just paid attention to the other ponies; so much so, in fact, that it started to get to me. Everytime I started to get a bit bold and approach her, she'd turn and walk away from me. This had a disturbing effect on me; it made me actually WANT her to pay attention to me! But she just kept pretending she didn't see me, and I finally figured I'd have to show her a little bit of the old show pony. I started tearing around, snapping those knees, and what do you think she did?--turned and walked right out of the pen! I've never felt so rejected in my life. But a short while later she was back, with a lead rope, and believe it or not I was so relieved when she walked up to me with it that I just stood there like an obedience trained dog! Unbeknownst to me, I'd been sold again, but this time NOT to a show home. To tell you the truth, all I've had to do since Peggy bought me is be cute and eat. Not a bad life, eh? And I hear she got a real bargain, paying way less for me than I'm really worth, so it's onlu fair she doesn't expect much of me. I live in the back yard with two other guys, Flash and Phil. They're both colts, and I'm sort of like step dad to both of them, since I've been rather...close...with both their moms in the past. Not in that  sense--I've had the "procedure!" But I'm not dead, and the ladies still call me a Casanova! Actually the ladies have moved two properties away, to the neighbor's property that Peggy rents. Now the girls can hang out over there and do mare stuff, unpestered by their adolescent colts, while we guys male bond in Peggy's back yard without having to worry about being nagged. If you'd like to meet us sometime, be sure to mention it to Peggy so she can introduce us; I'm the sleek, handsome brown and black one with the lovable face. I'd say just stop by, but Peggy now has a big hungry looking dog that spends a lot of time in the yard. He doesn't speak very good English, but when I asked him if he was going to try to eat us he said no, he preferred people!

The little human, one of the "little women," and me!

Hard at work, doing what I do best.