Not me...
...but three wonderful members of that amazingly cunning species known as the Pony.

Pony A:

I used to work in a riding school which had a competition yard attached, and there was one girl who, having started off in the riding school, ended up working on the competition yard, where she swiftly became a tad cocky. Now Pony A was a decrepit old bird who couldn't eat solid food and kicked like the devil, but was a good beginners pony and we loved her anyway. Competition yard brat had to do a day on the riding school yard, and by then thought she knew it all.

Grooming Pony A, stood directly behind her to do her tail - you tend to learn three paces onto the yard *never* to do this.

Pony A, smooth as you like, lamps her neatly on the shin, leaving a hoof-shaped bruise.

Pony A got polos in her dinner, which I may or may not have had something to do with :)

*************************

Pony B:

Pretty much a younger version of Pony A, ie tolerated all kinds of abuse from child beginners. Trotting merrily round the indoor arena, carrying a child that had thus far spent 40 minutes screaming in her ear, Pony B drops left shoulder, deposits screaming child on the ground, and trots happily to the back of the ride. Child was never seen again.

Pony B swiftly recieved a polo from the instructor of the lesson, no less.

*********************

Pony C: My favourite.

First day in a new job at another riding school, and it took me all of five minutes to realise that my new manager was a bitch on a power-trip.

Heard a lot about Pony C (let's call him Henry for the sake of b3ta-style anonymity) throughout the morning, and there came a point where all the ponies were in except Henry, who has a reputation for being quite the little shit. Cue me being handed a tiny headcollar (Shetland size) and the words "You can get Henry".

Henry was at the bottom of the pony field (good 1/3 mile walk), and matters were distinctly unhelped by turning round halfway down to see my new manager watching expectantly.

Came across a fat hairy pony at the bottom who, admittedly, looked every inch the little shit. Had I been wearing my glasses, I was later informed I would have seen a sickeningly smug grin on said manager's face...



...which I imagine disappeared rather swiftly as Henry walked back to the gate with me (without a headcollar), went through the gate quietly and steadfastly refused all provocation to play me up. This was made all the more satisfying by the fact that, for the whole of the four months I worked there, he took great delight in playing my manager up (especially in kids lessons), then being sweetness and light the minute I showed up - never met any pony since with such an evil sense of humour.



I maintain to this day that ponies are of superior intelligence - especially those three. Complete legends the lot of them!

Length? I wouldn't know.
(BrokenMatchstick is harbouring a dangerous amount of phosphorus., Fri 27 Apr 2007, 14:58, Reply)