by cheri sabraw
My name is Sunny. I may be a blond, but I am not stupid. In fact, if truth be told, I’m intuitive and understand everything humans say to me and around me. I speak English with a Welsh accent. Of course, the humans—especially my owner Rachel—do not understand my language but that is to be expected; I accept their limitations as part of my lot in this life—a life, by the way, that I love.
I am petite, standing at 13.5 hands and weighing in at a fit and compact 800 pounds. My mother, Gwendolyn, was a Welsh Pony; my father, Buddy, a Missouri Fox Trotter. This unusual cross-breeding, I’ve learned—not directly, mind you—but through barn gossip, makes me the sturdy and vigorous horse I’ve grown to know and love (me) and treats Rachel to one of the most comfortable rides known in the equestrian world, called, not surprisingly, a fox trot. More on that later.
As a palomino filly ten years ago, I was as nimble (and cute) as Tinker Bell. The other yearlings in the pasture, all Arabians, were full of themselves, but, I admit, stunning as they raced like desert wraiths through the clover, tails up like wands, strong necks arched like a Roman Aquaduct, and nostrils flared, well, just to impress each other.
I might have been sold into prestige, perhaps to parents of a child who wanted an able-bodied but small show-jumper—had it not been for my eye. Oh, I can see just fine; in fact, I’ve been known to spot a snake off the side of the trail before anyone else. My vision has never been in question but the left side of my face never fails to initiate a human snicker or an equine nicker. You see, I have one blue eye and one brown eye.
I’ve shared enough with you for one night. Please forgive me for my rambling: the Omolene 500 which Rachel put in my feedbag tonight is so potent that my mind and flanks are as warm as her high-country fire—why she thought it necessary to blanket me, I do not know.