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The name on his papers is "Reflection
of Tea Time" — but that's an awfully fancy handle.
We call him Jack.
Out at the farm where we keep him, there's a pony princess
who calls him "big man on campus." She thinks
his mane and tail are to die for.
To see him at full trot — tail flagged, feet rising
and falling like pistons — well, he makes quite an
impression.
At his previous stable, he'd made himself the talk of the
barn by leaping out of a five-foot round pen from a standstill.
Nobody took this to presage a career of brilliance on the
hunt field — he just liked the look of the grass
over yonder.
Not that he's a rogue entirely. There's sometimes a touching
earnestness in his manner, an eagerness to please. On the
end of a lunge line, he may snap smartly to a halt or execute
a particularly snazzy change of gaits and then look at
you as if to ask, "Did you see me? Wasn't I fine?"
Or perhaps he's just making sure I know how much he deserves
that carrot when our session is through. |
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