Dolby Days Genealogy

MY PAINT PONY
Told by Kenneth Martin - Written by Jodean McGuffin Martin

My older brother Gilbert was a trader. One day he traded for a little Shetland Pony. His children, Jack and Juanita, were too young to ride her. He asked Dad if we would like to ride her until he needed her. Dad told him to turn her in the pasture. I was six and Cortis was eight years old. I knew she belonged to Gilbert but it never occured to me that he would want her back. I fell in love with my Paint Pony. I didn't understand that one of these days, Jack and Juanita were going to grow up and they would want their pony. I never thought she would not be my pony for the rest of my life.

The day she came to live at our house was the happiest day in my childhood. I never thought that I would ever have a pony. We began to hunt a good name for her and we thought "Beauty� described her. Her body was mostly black with white splotches, white feet and tail. A real "Beauty"!!!!!! I loved her with all my heart. It would have been nice if she had felt the same about me. She had been out in the horse world long enough to learn a few trick about how to handle kids. She made up her mind, from the first day, that I was a little squirt and she was going to deal me all the misery that she could---and I'm sure she loved every minute of it.

Her heart must have been made out of stone for she certainly didn't want to be friends with anyone who crawled upon her back. She had an idea that horses weren't for riding, not for long anyway and especially if they were only six years old. We had a little saddle that just fit a six-year-old. I can't remember whether Gilbert brought the little saddle or Dad bought it, but we had a saddle that just fit her small body. We thought that saddle was the prettiest in the wild, wild west. I had never seen a small one before and I thought it had been made just for Beauty and me. It made me a real cowboy and I wanted to live all the adventures of a real cowboy. When I crawled astraddle Old Beauty, I was the wildest cowboy that you could find. I'd strap on my six guns and get my cowboy hat and Beauty and I were on our way to the OK Corral. The Carral was over at Perryman's and it was the fence around their barn. Cortis and I would go over and play real cowboy and Indians with Tom and Ted Perryman.

Beauty was a typical Shetland pony. She was stubborn as a mule and she would not do anything she didn't want to do. I'd seen her balk and we couldn't get her to move a muscle for thirty minutes. We would beat her with the reins unmercifully. Then, all of a sudden, she would get enough of our mistreatment and off she would go in a dead run for the house. We were flopping and yelling and holding on for dear life. We learned, real fast, what she was going to do next and tried to get ready for her shenanigins. She was smart enough to know that if she hit every post, tree, fence and clothesline on the way to the house, that some of them was going to drag me off.

You can stand just so much of that kind of punishment before you give up and fall off. When she took a notion to run, there was nothing that was going to stop her until she had unloaded her rider. She would get rid of me and go where she wanted to go and that was exactly what she did. I would bridle her and start to the mailbox that was a half-mile south of our house. If she didn't want to go all the way she just refused and began to rear up and slide me off. I knew what was going to happen next and held on for dear life, but I always ended up on the ground------again. She would whirl around, with me lying there on the ground, and away she would go back to the house in a dead run. I would get up muttering, crying and spitting dirt, brush off my clothes, and walk to the mailbox, mad as an old wet hen. When I got back to the house, she would be standing there, with the saddle empty, just munching on any grass she could find in the yard. She dumped me off her back so many times, but I always got up and climbed right back on her as soon as I could catch her.

I can remember coming home from school and I couldn't hardly wait until I could change my clothes, grab something to eat, and go bridle Beauty. Even in the coldest days of winter, I can remember riding her to the south side of the house, where we were out of the wind, and I would sit there until mother called me to come inside for supper. It was so cold I couldn't ride, so I would just sit. Lots of times I would sit there an hour or more, just sitting, dreaming about what a great cowboy I was. I know it sounds like we spent most of our time getting up off the ground. There were times when she behaved very well, and let us have a good ride. I never thought of the pitching, balking, and rearing up as unmanageable. I thought I was in control, but Beauty knew better. She was definitely in control of every ride that we took.

The years passed and Gilbert decided his kids were old enough for a pony and came to get her. I can still feel the pain in my heart. I thought I would die of sadness. It was one of the worst times in my childhood when I had to give up Beauty. I cried enough tears to start a river. I didn't think that I could live without Beauty. I begged Dad to tell Gilbert he couldn't have her but of course he reminded me that she wasn't ours, Gilbert had a right to let his children enjoy the horse at their house. It never did make any sense to me but Gilbert put Beauty in a trailer and took her home. I thought that was the meanest thing that could ever happen to me. It took a long time for me to get over my broken heart.

Finally my broken heart mended and when I thought of Beauty it was always with joy and love. She had brought me so much enjoyment that I didn't mind the times she pitched me off. I can tell this story today and still feel the excitement of a six year old boy when he saw that beautiful little Shetland Pony. I truly loved her and I believe that she loved me, even though she didn't act like it----- sometimes.

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