It was not unusual for Dad and Kike to attend farm sales, nor was it unusual for them to have a couple shooters on such occasions. This day was no exception.
We arrived at Yure's place and I saw the prettiest little mare I'd ever seen in the back stall, all blanketed and sassy. Yep she was for sale but the price was $125.00....Wow! That was a damned high price in 1942 for a plaything. (Still is, come to think of it.) "Can we try her". "Sure" So without saddle and only a broken bit, I mounted to Jimmy's concern about my abilities, Kike said "that kid can ride any thing with hair on it". (Shows the extent to which Four Roses had taken over!)
While Dad and I were removing the blanket and putting on the bridle, Kike paid Yure $125.00. Nothing was said to Dad or me.
Outside the barn I mounted and with the most god-awful, acceleration I had ever witnessed, Tiny headed for the other end of I the field. I had no saddle and the pony couldn't gallop. She went like a bat outta hell with a hard spine twisting, high stepping trot that I thought would drive my hips to my shoulder blades. Her mane was roached "clipped" to you city kids, so there was no help to stay in the middle of her, other than my two tightly clasped legs around her ribs.
We were stopped by the fence and when I turned her around she stood and holding her tail high and her nose northward, she snorted. She felt good and no doubt most happy to be out of the barn. With that initial burst of energy expended she calmed down and more handily went back to the barn.
Dad knew good horseflesh and he wanted this little beauty, not really as much as I did, but then I had learned to keep quiet when Dad was horse trading. He didn't know Kike had already paid Yure for the pony so for the next ten minutes or so Jimmy Yure and Kike O'Block had fun with Dad however, the price remained at $125.00. Title transferred.
I was ecstatic. What an animal that Tiny was. Super. I'm sure I slept some that night but it didn't seem like it. We were to pick the pony up the next day and because the racks weren't on the truck, I was going to ride her home, some nine miles. Great. It was Sunday and for the first time in years, Mom didn't insist I go to Sunday School.
The only saddle I had then was an old McCellon saddle. For you , nonhackers, that's an army saddle, with the open middle of the seat and rings all over it. Its murder. Comfortable to neither man nor beast. It was designed just before the Civil War and used by both sides. I think that's why the majority of men in the war were in the infantry.
So, saddled and bridled and full of excitement, Tiny and I headed for home. I eased into her stride in a mile or two and we both relaxed. With a different saddle I could have really enjoyed it but finally we arrived home. All right:
We had no earthly use for a show horse and riding a black parent leather buggy around a show ring pulled by a high stepping Hackney pony just wasn't gonna happen. Tiny's hooves were clipped. Off with the leather pad, off with the weighted shoes and her hooves assumed a normal look. She had trouble walking on the flat of her foot for a few days since the long hooves made her walk on her heels. She learned quickly and with those slender delicate legs and powerful hips, she could move. She had a good disposition and reacted to the rider. Mary Isherwood, rode her by the hour at age six or seven in the barnyard and Tiny just walked. Let me get on her and I had all the horse I needed. Loved her!
