A friend tagged me in a local equestrian network’s regular ad posting.

Hm. Interesting. I clicked through.

This feels like looking at a younger version of Confetti. Seriously trippy.

I emailed, told myself I’d wait a week, and made it not quite two days before calling. Since we already had a vacation planned up north coming soon, maybe we could see her on Sunday before heading home? Indeed, that would be fine. Bless my partner for being totally okay with derailing vacation to look at a pony. In his sporty little car. Oops.

We went. We looked. I remembered that normal horses don’t do trot-outs. She was a little lazy in the 100 degree heat. Me too, pony, me too.

Came home (dodging new California fire by off-roading in said sports car – woops! Poor car had a rough day) texted pony mentor, eventually got a chance to chat with her in person and confirm I’d asked all the questions she had.

Halter broke? Check. Picks up feet? Check. Straight legs, good feet? Check. Very Haflingery attitude? BIG check. Also, a ton of hair. Don’t buy a horse for their looks, but a pretty face is always a plus.

Contemplated. Talked to folks. Contemplated more.