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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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