pony

I__ looked around my room at the ribbons and sashes and rosettes hanging from the walls, at the photos of my ponies clearing the highest fences with me crouched in the saddle, a look of utter determination on my face. I__ made myself look hard at the pictures, at my legs swinging backwards over the fences, at my body lying low over my pony__ neck, my hands grasping at the reins as I turned them in mid-air. At the way that Teddy__ eyes were bulging as I pulled him around a tight turn, at the way the veins popped out on Buck__ lathered neck, at Springbok__ open mouth, dripping with foam. I__ looked hard at them all, and I hadn__ liked what I__ seen.

Your pony, he said as he stomped toward me. "I'm the farrier who is here to fix your pony.""I thought you were a Hells Angel," I said."I used to be," he replied. "But fighting all the time and being really drunk and nasty got boring. So now I just take care of animals.