Guest Post by C.S. McDonald
It was a lovely spring day. I was minding my own business. I wasn’t bothering anyone. My husband, Bill, had left earlier in the morning with the horse trailer to haul a cow for his father that he’d purchased. I busied myself in one of my many flower gardens, planting lemon drops around the fountain while my Cocker Spaniel, Harvey, chased after butterflies. All was right with the world.
I heard the familiar sound of my husband’s truck bumping along the road and up our very long driveway. The horse trailer clanged and the tires ground against the gravel. I waved at him and returned to my work. I heard the ramp of the horse trailer squeal as Bill lowered it, and the trailer doors creak open. The Thoroughbreds in the paddock galloped toward the gate, whinnying.
Hmmm…What did Bill drag home this time?
I peeled my garden gloves from my hands and then Harvey and I made our way toward the barn just in time to witness Bill lead a cruddy pot-bellied little pony off the trailer. His mane was long and shaggy. His tail was bushy and his lower lip hung down away from his upper. He was scowling. But worse—he was a pony.
True confession: I don’t like ponies. They tend to be stubborn ornery conniving little beings that take great pleasure in running off or bucking off children on a whim. C’mon, everyone has a story of how they were taken for a wild ride and then brutally deposited in a mud puddle by a pony.
Evil..they are just plain evil. And yet here one stood in my driveway—scowling at me.
I narrowed my eyes, cocked my head, and asked my husband, “What’s he doing here?”
Bill smiled. “This is George. Kiersten needs a pony for horse camp, so I picked him up.”
There are a billion ponies on this earth and he “picks up” this little troll?
Bill could see that I was not impressed. The right side of his mouth kicked up. “I’m gonna put him in the paddock with the horses. He’ll be fine. You’ll see, Kiersten will love him.”
I had no doubts that Kiersten, our granddaughter, wouldn’t instantly take to him. I was worried what George would do to Kiersten.
Evil—ponies are just plain evil.
Bill proceeded to lead George through the gate into the paddock with three very anxious Thoroughbreds.
George went right to work—bullying the horses who were much bigger that he was. He chased them, nipped at them, kicked at them, and let them know that he was king of not only the paddock but the shade of the apple tree that was located dead center of the area. He had immediately claimed his domain.
George was the boss.
Well, Bill was right. Kiersten loved George. We bathed him, and bathed him, and bathed him. He never came clean—he looked just as cruddy after his bathes as he did when we began.
This is temporary, I told myself. After horse camp, George can go back to where he came from. I found solace in these thoughts.
George was at our farm for two weeks before horse camp. Kiersten rode him in the indoor arena and the outdoor arena—he would plant his feet and refuse to budge, but I was quicker than he was—I gave her a crop.
Yes, the little guy was stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid—as most ponies aren’t—they are shrewd—evil.
Finally after much anticipation and preparation, the week of horse camp came. Kiersten couldn’t wait. George had no idea what he was in for, and I was filled with apprehension. Would Kiersten get dumped off George’s back at horse camp? Would I be making a trip to the emergency room? I dreaded the week that lay before me.
But, you know what? I was wrong. Dead wrong.
It turned out that George was the one who needed taking care of. It was a hot week and Kiersten decided that she was going to participate in every activity they offered. Walk/trot, egg and spoon, poles, down and back races, and even barrel racing. George simply couldn’t keep up. I found myself sitting in the stall with an over-heated pony, caring for him, nursing him, and genuinely feeling sorry for him. I scolded Kiersten for over-working him and he was not to be taken out of the stall the next day other than to clean his stall and for short walks. I was worried.
During the first few days of the camp something had happened. Could it be that this cruddy scowling stubborn evil pony had grown on me?
The week went by quickly. George won quite a few awards! I know, right? We loaded him in the trailer and took him back to our farm. Bill opened the gate, and George stormed into the paddock, nipping, bucking, scowling, and reclaiming his place at the boss.
I shook my head. To think I was worr—
Wait a minute…
I want straight to my office. I turned on my computer. I typed…GEORGE THE BOSS.
I usually write novels—murder suspense and romantic suspense novels, but I was inspired by a cruddy scowling little pony named George, and now he’s got his first book:
GEORGE THE BOSS.
Do I still think that ponies are evil? Yep. But George is a special little…evil pony.
About the Author
C.S. McDonald was born and raised in the Pittsburgh, Pa area. For 26 years she was a professional choreographer; she taught ballet, jazz and tap. Most recently she has retired to write murder-suspense novels (which can be found here). Now she has added Children’s books to entertain her four grandchildren.
She resides with her husband and Cocker Spaniel, Allister on there Thoroughbred farm. George the Pony is based on real pony named George, who lives among the Thoroughbreds.