Aunt Ann's Pony Life Ch. 08

"And now," the PA boomed, "something you'll not see anywhere else, the Pink Pony's Clydesboys will demonstrate how to park a wagon."

I couldn't help but laugh as the Dalmatian sitting up on the seat of the big wagon with the driver barked as the wagon started moving.

The Clydesboys, and I couldn't help but laugh at that name, moved the wagon through the gate, not touching either side in spite of limited clearance, and then made a circuit of the track. As they made their slow way, not having trouble with the load but moving slowly as if on parade, two handlers drove pink Jeeps onto the track and parked them a few yards apart.

The Jeeps were in place well before the wagon came abreast of them and stopped at a soft "whoa" from the driver accompanied by a light jerk on the reins.

The driver called, "Right," blew her whistle two quick blasts, and the team started sidestepping, the drawbar moving and turning the front wheels.

The driver called, "Back," blew four quick blasts, and the team started backing, the Horse's asses pressing against the crossbar behind them.

The driver called, "STOP," with a quick blast on the whistle, and the team stopped, immediately.

"Left," with three whistles and the team sidestepped.

"Back," and the wagon was parked.

We all applauded, hell, I stood. That was the damndest thing I had ever seen.

The final heat of the Sulkies was taken, surprising me not at all, by Midnight. She was clearly the class of the field.

I assumed that was the end of the show for the day, but I was wrong.

"And the finale," the PA announced, "the mixed chariots."

I watched as four chariots, bigger than the sulkies I had watched race earlier, pulled onto the track. The drivers stood in the basket of the two-wheeled wagons.

I felt Aunt Ann's hand take mine, her fingers entwining with mine, squeezing almost painfully.

It took a second to register what I was seeing.

Each chariot had a mixed team pulling it, a female Pony and what I was coming to think of as a male Stallion. The Ponies were in tack similar to that used to pull the sulkies only this was heavier. The Stallions, I couldn't help but notice, were all fully erect. The chariots were something straight out of Ben Hur, one in black, one in white, one in red, and one seeming to be chrome although I thought polished aluminum.

Aunt Ann's hand was squeezing, painfully now, and when I turned and looked at her her nose was running and she was drooling a little making me wonder how long it took to fully metabolize the Pony Milk.

I squeezed her hand back and she hissed a soft intake of breath.

"This is what you wanted me to see, isn't it," I asked.

"Yessss," she said, the sibilant hissing a little.

"And this is what you want?" I asked.

"David, only if you want it," she said.

Well, you can fill in the rest of that conversation. I understood what she wanted but I wasn't ready to simply say "yes."

I was aware, as you sometimes are, of background noise and heard the PA announce, "And they're off," in the same voice I had heard on the few times I watched horseracing, mostly the Kentucky Derby and the other "Triple Crown" races. I was aware of the announcer calling the race. I was aware of the final, "And the winner is."

None of it mattered.

I knew my life was changing.

I liked it.