PHASE #1 First Impressions

“HONEY: EX KIDS PONY.  BEGINNER RIDER FRIENDLY.  IN ARID CLIMATES ONLY. FREE TO GOOD HOME.”

That was the title of the ad that caught Oliver’s eye. It was so simple yet so mysterious at the same time: What do you mean by arid climates only? He thought. 

Oliver had participated in the annual loshenka makeover challenge the year before and had attempted a few times before that. Working with Funeral Derangements (or Fawn for short)  had seemed to boost his confidence in his training skills. He decided to give it another shot this time around- after all, how bad could a lesson pony be?

There Oliver sat, in his rustbox of a truck, on the small gravel path outside of a little lesson barn in eastern Florida. It was humid and hot out, and the air weighed him down like a hydraulic press. The man from the ad insisted Oliver come ASAP to pick the mare up in order to dodge the upcoming storm forecasted for tomorrow. Fair enough, loading a horse in the rain doesn't sound like a good time anyway.

 As he waited for the owner, something odd caught his eye. On the side of the barn, there was a vaguely horse-sized hole in the wall opening into one of the stalls. Wooden boards were splintered and scattered all over the dirt like fallen leaves. Surely this wasn’t for renovations. He pondered. 

While he was lost in contemplation, an old man in a stained button-up and faded jeans had hobbled over to the truck and knocked on the window. 

Slightly startled, Oliver rolled down the window in response.

“Are you Oliver?” 

“Sure am” Oliver responded dryly. 

“Alright, she’s in ‘ere”

The old man didn’t seem like much of a talker, skipping the formalities of an introduction and instead limping his way to the old wooden barn.  This didn't bother Oliver, though; he was bad at small talk.

Oliver clambered out of his car and skittered behind the man. He hadn’t noticed before, but under his old jeans, there was the unmistakable bulky outline of a cast wrapped around his left leg. 

Inside, there was only one occupied stall. The rest of the horses were out enjoying their freedom before tomorrow's deluge rolled in. Peering into the empty stalls, Oliver noticed that they were well-padded and comfortably large, a fine place for a stall rest. Each had two pristine water buckets, a hay bag stuffed with fragrant orchard, and a window looking into the fields.

As they walked down the aisle, they finally passed the stall that had interested him upon his arrival. He slowed down to catch a better look. As imagined, the damage was just as bad inside as it was outside. There were hoof-shaped holes in the innermost wall of the stall that hadn't breached the outside veneer, and the shavings had a worn path going around the stall, as if something had been pacing nervously. In addition to this, the floor and shavings just beside the massive hole had been soaked by rain. It was then that he realized why this horse was a part of this year’s makeover program. 

Oliver caught up to the old fellow, although he didn’t have to try very hard on account of the broken leg. He stopped when he finally reached the mare’s stall.

She was around 15 hands, small for a typical loshenka. She was a rich chocolate color, with sparse white on her flank and the base of her tail. She was rabicano, if Oliver was remembering correctly. He was never that into horse genetics; it hardly mattered to him. A good horse never came in a bad color.

The old man stepped aside to allow Oliver to inspect the horse. She was laughably docile, munching on her hay and completely ignoring Oliver’s close inspection. 

 Her soft, silky tail was obviously brushed before he had arrived, and her plush coat was near spotless. The mares hooves were neatly trimmed and polished until they shone your reflection. There wasn’t a single flaw in her appearance or attitude, as far as he was concerned. 

 Oliver had wondered why such an exceptional (and free!) makeover horse had been groomed so lovingly- it's not like the old man had to sell him on anything. It was then that he got his answer. He exited the stall, closing the door behind him, when he heard a pitter-patter running down the walkway. 

“Grandpa Earl!” A little girl gripping a sparkly pink brush and a plush loshenka came running down the aisle. “Don’t let him take Honey!” she squealed. 

Her cowgirl boots blinked pink and purple lights as she scampered towards her grandfather, meeting him and hugging his (unbroken) leg. She couldn’t have been older than seven. Her face was puffy and tear-stained, and it was obvious that she had been crying all morning. This must have been her pony, thought Oliver. 

The man scooped up the little girl and held her up. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie. She just won’t be happy here.” He said with a sigh. 

As he placed the little girl down, the old man must have noticed Oliver’s quizzical look, because the seemingly quiet man began to elaborate.

“Well, my name is Earl, and this ‘ere is my granddaughter Janine, and that there is- er.. I mean, was her pony.”

The little girl sobbed in response. “Her name is Honey!” she cried.

“Honey and Janine’s parents used to live out in Nevada,” He continued, unbothered by Janine’s interruption. “But they moved down here to Florida to help me with the farm..” He paused and looked down at the little girl, then at the horse. Honey seemed to perk up at the appearance of her kid. She had left her hay bag and was now peeking through the bars of the stall.

“Now, Honey is the perfect little thing. She really is. We’d love to keep her, but, well, she doesn't seem to do well with all the storms we get down here… and I’m worried she’s gonna hurt my grandbaby. We’ve tried to work on it before, but..”

Looking down at Earl’s leg, everything clicked. Oliver gave Earl a slow nod of understanding. He didn’t have to hear any more. 

Now, usually, the annual makeover was a chance to rehabilitate a problem horse and show off your training skills in the ring, but Oliver had a better idea. 

Oliver crouched down to Janine’s level

“Cool boots… You think they make them in my size?” He said warmly

“Thanks..” The girl said glumly. His attempt at a joke didn't seem to cheer her up. 

“Well.. with your grandpa’s permission, I’d like to take Honey, help her get over her fear, and bring her back here to you.” 

That seemed to have done the trick.

“Really?!” She exclaimed cheerily. 

“Really. As long as Grandpa Earl is okay with it.”

Oliver looked up at the man, and was met with a grateful smile and a nod

“That's alright with me. Thank yo,u sir.” 

The little girl then put Honey in a neon rainbow halter and helped lead the easygoing pony out to Oliver’s trailer. It was going to be a long drive, but it would all be worth it.