A/N: Just a little story of my little horse having fun, being himself. It's not very long, so just enjoy
Two brown and black tailed rear ends of two horses were what the horse trainer, and barn owner, Wendy encountered when she walked outside. Her short blonde hair was barely combed but suitable, dressed in comfortable work clothes that were nothing special. It was the dull hours of morning, just after she had fed, with the sky clouded and a dreary grey. The two horses had apparently escaped from their stalls, and were standing in between the two rows of stalls, the breezeway, lipping up pieces of their breakfast that had fallen out of the wheel barrel earlier that morning. Both bay horses were adorned in their "jammies" which were stretchable pieces of nylon made to fit over their face, neck and shoulders and chest, over all earning them a rather clownish look.
The two were partners in crime, both bays and off the same breed of horse, the only difference between them other then physically mare and gelding, therefore ending them with different objectives. The taller of the two, the mare was wearing a respective pair of green pajamas with many holes in it, her "battle scars", was slowly making her way down the breezeway, and showing off. The shorter bay gelding, by the name of Houdini (commonly called Houdini Weenie) was in the more eye catching pair of horse pajamas. Black, with fluorescent yellow and red fire balls as it's pattern. He ate calmly, only seeing it fit to move when there was no longer a substantial pile of grass left, and the horses in the immediate area were left to stare at where there had once been food that could have been theirs.
Naturally, Wendy would try to capture the more rambunctious and easily frightened of the two, the mare, Foxxy, who was young and more mobile. She rushed forward, halter which she had obtained off one of another horse's stall in her hands. She surprisingly had an easy time moving over to the mare, looping the lead rope around her neck. Once Foxxy was placed into her stall, to look odd in her tattered green pajamas, but safe and comfortable none-the-less, next was Houdini. Now this particular gelding is a horse any sensible horse person would think would just stand there, and allow anyone to walk up to him and easily take him back to his stall. After all, he was just sweet, sound Houdini who never been the cause of any serious accident, had never reared or try to throw a rider, and always stood calmly for any ground work done to him.
But that morning, Houdini was a good pet gone bad.
Wendy approached the rather old gelding, placid and filled with relief the always troublesome Foxxy was in her stall, she didn't expect good old Houdini to do anything. The bay adorned in his fire balls watched with only one ear perked forward as she came closer, a back hoof daintily cocked in a I'm-an-Arabian-worship-me kind of way. He stood in a careless grace, his nylon masked face held high, though in a relaxed position, almost as though he expected to be bowed down to. And apparently, he was quite dissatisfied with his body language not being read correctly.
So, in answer to this unforgivable act of misreading him, he took off, down the breeze way, making all the dormant horses in their stalls throw their head up in surprise as fluorescent fire balls sped past them. Out of the barn, and around into the driveway just behind it, he ran. It made poor Wendy watch in a horror as a horse she didn't own, but was responsible for ran in a full board gallop, fire balls distinguishing him quite clearly.
This would be lovely when she called the neighbors and the people living near by "Please look for a horse wearing black pajamas with bright fire balls." Surely she wasn't known enough around the small, rural grouping of homes. That must have been what Houdini thought, to act so uncharacteristic. It wasn't enough that everyone within three miles could hear the obnoxious bray of the mule, Jenny; when it came time to feed. And fire ball pony's happy hour would be something she'd never live down.
Luckily, Houdini came back into the breeze way, stopping to sniff and bite at two horses whose heads had struck out from their stalls in interest. One of the horses was C Barr, by far the best show horse in the barn, and who relatively annoyed Houdini. Little do people know, horses do get jealous, especially little Houdini. C Barr was a bay Arabian, much like himself, but that gelding was far to calm and submissive to be very relative to Houdini. Though he had to make sure the big beast knew who's boss. And according to this little Arabian, Houdini is boss. Now to a gelding such as Houdini, it is very essential to forget that he is a gelding and can't reproduce. As far as he was concerned, he was a stallion, a mighty beast with every internal function working. A stallion who had to make sure that all knew his one rule.
Rule number one: Houdini is number one.
As Wendy rushed forward, Houdini's halter which she had managed to unclip from his stall clutched tightly in her hands. The gelding looked over at her with a casual flick of his tail, almost as if say "Come and get me." He'd had his fun, right? How very wrong, it was only the beginning of his devious plan. Once Wendy had come closer, and relief start to creep towards her with Houdini standing still as she approached. She started letting that nervous, stiff tension start slipping away. It was just like Houdini to ruin that moment. If a horse could smirk it would have certainly been right before he took off, at a full board gallop once again. Wendy felt her breath hitch, and the tension return. Well, this was turning out to be a fine morning. Catching Houdini in a dead run is no easy task, since the fireballs had been purchased for a very good reason: he is one fast pony.
He went back the route he had taken earlier, ending up on the other end of the breeze way, now sniffing and biting at a much older horse. This horse was on the brink of death at twenty two years, and showed it with grey and white hairs springing from his tan fur on his nose and on his stomach, along with long wiry white strands in his tail and mane. Yet still he was so darned annoying when it came to not allowing Houdini be the king. Now while Houdini was busily reaching into the other gelding's stall, threatening to take out a chunk of the old horse's flesh, a panicked Wendy came running down the breeze way, trying to be as professional as possible when finally throwing the lead rope around Houdini's neck, then clipping the halter on for security. Houdini just looked at the middle aged trainer, and a dull look at that, his ears back, thought not enough to signify anger, just pure annoyance. Wendy sighed in relief and partially triumph, the thought of why Houdini was named Houdini coming to her as she led him to his stall. He gave an exasperated snort, allowing himself to be lead back into his stall, watching as the gate was locked securely. Darn, and he hadn't even gone for the real food yet.
And so ended the reign of the escaping fire ball pony. Dang happy hour is really over rated.
That's it for now, though if you want me continue with little episodes like this, feel free to tell me so, since I just love telling of my little gelding's idiotic moments.