Don, That pony belonged to my Uncle in western Kansas, and I was 15 at the time. That seems like an eon ago. My uncle ran about 100 head of herefords, grew wheat, combined his wheat, and then went custom cutting from the panhandle of Texas to norther Nebraska. I spent 4 summers with him as, supposedly, a hired hand, but all I ever got was the promise of the calf due from a heifer, and the damned thing was born a runt.
That pony was basically black and white, but there were a few small spots of brown in his flanks. We worked cattle together, and he was a good horse, but a bit playful at times. Going back to the barn, he would get into a gentle gallop, but when he felt his oats, he would fish tail on me, to see if I could stay in the saddle. Fortunately, I first rode a pony at 5 years old, and knew the ropes. |
