The new arrivals name was the very imaginative "Prince". He was either three or four years old and a fiery little guy. While Polly would tolerate two, three or four kids on her back, Prince thought one was enough and at times, to many. He could buck! He was an athletic little cuss and all he needed to start his antics was a touch of heels in the flanks. I loved him.

Local kids were always around and all wanted to ride Prince. I got smart and told the first kid the pony would bite his legs if he sat forward near his withers. He believed me and slid back onto Prince's rump. "Turn out the lights, the party's over." It wasn't the flight that hurt, it was the quick stop on his back that changed everyone's mind about riding the pony.

We went to a parade in Rosedale and another kid had his pony too. We led the parade! Near the end of the parade Prince, showman that he was, reared up on his hind legs and walked a few steps. All the kids thought that was great and just knew I had to be some kin to Buffalo Bill or Gene Autry to ride like that. Truth was, if I hadn't caught a handful of mane just as Prince reared, I would have been off the back end.

I decided one day that Prince could pull my wagon. Jim Shepard and I took the pony, the breast strap and the wagon up to the top of the cemetery hill where there was a dirt road and some space. There we hitched up. Jim got in the wagon, I got on the pony. Surprise he pulled it with no problem. Hot dog! Now I have another pony I can hitch.

We went down to the road in front of the cemetery garage and carefully rehitched the pony. In fastening the traces, I moved the wagon and it rattled. The pony jumped, Jim let go and down the road he went, headed for home. One trace was fastened, one loose. I mean he was legging it. That wagon was all over the road, hitting only the high spots.

Well as Prince rounded the corner and headed for the barn, a wheel came off and flew and rolled clear down to the church some 100 yards, but the remainder of the wagon and the pony went the other way.

When Prince turned into the barn, the wagon hooked on the fence and just busted that breast strap all to pieces.

Dad and Al Clements were standing by the milk house and saw the whole thing. Al laughed ti1 he cried, he even had to sit down and Dad just doubled up. Al had a lot of ponies himself and really enjoyed the show.

Frankly I was scared, I thought I'd catch it for breaking the breast strap and wagon but when I finally got to the barn and saw those two still laughing I knew it was alright. Even years later, Al, would mention the incident and immediately break up at, the recollection. I never tried to hitch Prince again. We later sold him to Dave Kashmatch in Renton.

Then there was Tiny. She was a Hackney pony who Jimmy Yure had in training for show. She was a bay with black mane and tail and all of two years old. I first saw her at Yure's barn on the way back from a farm sale, Dad and Kike O'Block and I had attended. She had huge feet, I mean they were as big as Queen's in front. The back feet were trimmed but her front feet had been allowed to grow long. This was all intentional. With those long hooves and a leather pad and smooth shoes, she couldn't gallop but god could she trot. She almost hit herself in the chin and in the belly at high speed.