The World's Smallest Horse

I had just finished “Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children” and then started Alice Hoffman’s “Museum of Extraordinary Things” so maybe that’s what brought the memory on but I remember going to see “The World’s Smallest Horse” with my dad and crying. 

It was summertime and they were having Sidewalk Days downtown. This meant sales for my mom and my sister but it meant rides and a carnival atmosphere for me! My sister had taken me downtown while she did some shopping. We did our usual stop, Caris Red Lion for the world’s BEST Coney dogs, a must whenever hitting downtown Bay City. 

We did the Ferris Wheel and walked around looking for bargains. Then I saw it, a sign to see “The World’s Smallest Horse.” Now I already owned a very VERY short Shetland/Welsh pony. I had been around horses all my life, drawn to them by some unseen force. As usual, because I was a good girl, I didn’t tug or pull, just stared with an aching curiosity. My sister looked over to where I was staring and simply said, “NO WAY.” There was no discussion. While she enjoyed animals, she didn’t have my bug for anything furry or fluffy and certainly was never bitten by the horse bug. 

Later that evening I quietly mentioned it to my dad. We discussed how small this horse could be since my pony was pretty short. This was the days before miniature horses and the extreme backyard breeding that brings us Teacup poodles and Walkaloosas. I didn’t ask and we did not make any plans to go see the horse. The week was winding down when my dad asked me, as usual, if I wanted to go for a bike ride. This bike ride was not on a bicycle but his motorcycle. At the time he drove this bottom of the line bike that my mom had gotten him from Sears. It was black and a VERY basic looking motorcycle for 1970 something. 

When I was very small, I sat in the front. On the gas tank were two large caps; one for the gas and one for the oil. I used to hold on to those as we rode. I was big enough now to ride on the back. I would put my arms around my dad, which was one of my favorite places in the world to be, and hold on. When I got cold, I would put my hands in his pockets. If I was lucky, I would find a Snickers bar or some Wrigley’s gum stashed away in one of those pockets. Tonight it was summertime and he didn’t have a coat on. 

It was a short ride to downtown. I had no idea where he was heading. Downtown with dad usually meant a trip to Mill End, one of his favorite local haunts or through Wenonah Park or Vet’s Park to be near the river and watch the boats. We usually drove to water, either up north or just down to the river nearby. I know that is where I get my addiction to the water was from my dad. 

He pulled up and parked very near the area where the horse was kept. He wasn’t outside. It was a small, single wide white trailer, covered with a HUGE banner, “World’s Smallest Horse” and a line of people going down the wooden porch and onto the street. Dad took my hand and headed us over. I didn’t ask, he didn’t say anything; we just joined the line, holding hands. At last we were through the door. It was warm and muggy in that trailer. It smelled of straw, hay and horse, some of my favorite smells. There he was a very small dapple pony. He was very small, not much bigger than a very large black lab but much fatter. He looked like Pooky, the nasty pony mare from down the road. Pooky had run me into more fences than I could count. She was a typically fat naughty pony but I sure had fun the hours we spent riding her. 

He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t moving towards the people, he was just standing and staring. He was in a small fenced area on a huge pile of straw. He looked so bored. You couldn’t touch him. Just stare at him. There had to be over 20 people piled in talking about him, making noises to get his attention. Still he just stared. He looked so very sad. 

He rocked back a bit and then I noticed his feet. He had the worst case of what I always called Elf feet, that I had ever scene. He must not have ever had his tiny hooves trimmed. They were so overgrown that they curled up and he literally could rock on them. If you don’t know anything about horses, you have no idea how painful this condition is. He tried shifting his weight and adjusted his balance. I couldn’t help myself, I started to cry. I was quiet about it but the tears fell. Dad looked down at me. He felt it too. He tried talking to the man about buying the horse but the man was all about his money maker and wouldn’t hear any reasonable offers. My dad, who taught himself how to trim hooves and kept my ponies trimmed up, tried explaining to the man about the pony’s hooves. The man didn’t care. He asked my dad to stop talking about it because other people were starting to listen to my dad. 

We left, went back to the bike and rode for a while. We never ever spoke of it again. Our hearts had been broken and we knew there was nothing we could do about it. The only thing we could do was ride, in the warm summer night.So we did

http://blogs.esouthernoregon.com/southern-oregon-pets/2008/05/01/dapples-the-party-pony/

(The pony in this blog is the same color as the 'World's Smallest horse" I saw. However, as bad as his feet are, the small horse I saw actually had worse feet and was much shorter, much fatter & miserable. Heartbreaking)