To the horse auction
They made a decision. Yesterday, Butters went to the horse auction.
They spent all afternoon with brushes, combs and hoof picks, cleaning and primping and making her presentable for her moments in the spotlight. Just before Papa arrived with the trailer, I tied red ribbons in her mane and tail. We wrote up a little biography for the auctioneer to read: “A pretty little pony for Christmas …” And she was!
My blonde girl took her into the ring and the bidding began. The folks who sold her to us six years ago were there, too. They spoke up and shared her merits with the crowd — it helped and we’re extremely grateful. Then the auctioneer asked if the pony can be ridden bareback … so she got a leg up from an Amish boy and hopped atop the pony’s bare back. Around and around the ring she rode with nothing but a lead rope — heels down, back straight, smiling.
And then it hit me. A wave of sadness. It wasn’t caused by the pony going to a new home, but rather that the time for ponies and little girls learning to ride has passed us by. I now have big girls who ride and saddle and groom on their own. Girls who purchased one horse by pooling their hard-earned funds and who now, in the wisdom of youth, determined to sell their pony to boost the fund for a second horse.
By the looks of things, Butters went to another good home and we’re grateful for that. We said our goodbyes, I saw a few tears quickly wiped away, and then we loaded up the family for a Frosty on the way home. The girls are already scouring Farm & Dairy and looking for new prospects online.
And I’m not missing that silly, stubborn pony.
No. That can’t be it.