Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
In case you happened to miss it, a week ago today was Siblings Day.
I dug out a childhood photo of my brothers and me on our pony, Peanuts, in honor of the occasion, and it took me on a bumpy trip down memory lane.
My brothers and I don’t agree on everything, but we are unanimous on this: If you want to abuse your children, get them a pony.
I was too young to remember exactly how Peanuts came into our life.
I do know we were not his first family, because by the time he arrived in our world, he had already perfected his ability to make sure small and unsuspecting riders had very little time to settle into the saddle before being brushed off, knocked off, tipped off, or dumped off.
If you grew up with a tender and loving pony who was your best childhood friend, well, I am happy for you, but I cannot relate.
Peanuts was a conniving character cleverly disguised as an adorable fuzzy black and white Shetland pony.
He fooled plenty of people at first glance, but he could have you on the ground before you even had a chance to scream, “Peanuts! Noooo!”
Peanuts and I were partners in what was one of the most boneheaded moments of my childhood — although to be fair, it was entirely my fault.
We had Peanuts in the yard, all saddled up, and I’d just finished a ride (or more likely freshly fallen off of him). I decided to go into the house for a cold drink but needed to tie him up first.
Keep in mind that our yard was filled with fixed objects —fence posts, trees, porch poles, porch railings … and a tetherball pole.
If you’re too young to remember tetherball, every school playground used to have one. It was a game designed to enable big strong quick kids to knock the daylights out of their smaller slower classmates (not unlike the pony/child relationship at our house).
It features a vertical pole maybe 8 to 10 feet tall with a volleyball attached to a piece of rope and “tethered” at the top of the pole.
Somehow my young brain thought it would be a good idea to tie Peanuts to this ball before I went into the house.
Not the pole, mind you -- not the piece of pipe that was set in a chunk of concrete. No, my brilliant thinking (which may have been addled because of time spent with Peanuts) was to loop the reins around the rope from which the ball dangled.
Peanuts stood calmly as I left, giving me enough time to reach the house because I remember with startling clarity watching what happened next from inside our screen door.
As Peanuts moved, so did the ball, which was dangling at about eye level for him.
He panicked and tried to escape. The ball stayed with him.
As I watched in horror — and in what seemed like slow motion — Peanuts dug in his adorable little pony hooves and pulled that pipe all the way to one side until it broke off.
I don’t remember what happened after that, but I do know at some point an adult must have intervened and captured the pony, cut him loose from the ball and the pole, and chastised me for my stupidity.
I do know that I have never forgotten the lesson Peanuts taught me that day: Never tie your pony to a tetherball.
And if your kids or grandkids beg for a pony, well, you’ve been warned.
Betty Williamson is still leery of ponies and tetherballs.
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