Pony Petting


David’s parents live in Franklin, NC. It is a small town and they live about eight miles outside of town. Next door to them live three ponies. Well, next door are their neighbors who have three ponies but there is no need to split hairs here.

These ponies like to be pet and I like to pet ponies. I have a fondness for them. My cousin had a pony that she rode and showed when we were young. His name was Roanie. We called him Roanie the blue pony. As he was a blue roan, he was aptly named.

So, apart from the time where I slapped him on his rump (kids do dumb things sometimes) and he returned the favor with a sold connection to my right shoulder with his right hind hoof, I have very fond memories of ponies!

It was a fine day when we stopped to pet the ponies though. A nice solid white fence to protect me from any stray horse limbs that might come my way.

I scratched ears and ruffled manes.

The only danger was to my Coach bag.

Perhaps this one sensed the origins of the bag’s name and sought to meat out justice to the “coach” for his ancestors that may have had to pull it up and down a cobble stone street somewhere in history.

Once they had their fill of our affections, they ambled away. It was a fine day indeed though for petting the ponies.

Have you seen any farm animals in your travels this year?


About Southern Adventuress

Transplant from California now living in Charleston, South Carolina after getting married in September 2010 to a Southerner. Join me as I reinvent my house on a strict budget, navigate the streets of my city; meet the challenges of pet ownership; and delve into education after institutional learning.

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