My furbaby, Summer of 1971. I named the foal H.M.S. Salt because he loved salt, licking our hand clean. And he was like a little ship in the night. I should've named him Holiday, as he was probably born on Memorial Day weekend. Gusty brought him home, after having disappeared for over a month. I thought I had lost her for good. I was devastated. Her sister, Little One, who never quite got a proper name. At first we called her Dusty, but then name didn’t stick, everyone always referred to her as the little one. She was inconsolate with grief. She was a follower. Then she was an auntie pony.
I had no inkling that Gusty the Hussy had found Flash, a little silver dapple stud pony who lived down the road at the Hendrickson place, the year before... let alone, managed to get into his corral. Or vice versa. They were always escaping. Corrals? We don't need no stinkin' corrals. I spent many a moonlit night chasing my ponies up and down Arroyo Road.
I bought them from Bear Valley Stables for $25 each, as a surprise Christmas gift for my brother Guy (who didn't want them). Little One was supposed to be Guy’s pony but by then he had moved onto bicycles.
I had tied a long string to a big Christmas card under the Christmas tree, that led out of the house to the basement to where they were munching hay. He looked pained and said that he didn’t want them, and handed the card back to me. I was crushed. I thought I was doing a good thing. It took me forever to save up for them. The price was $50 for one pony, or $25 each if I took both. A bargain. Two for one. Besides, they were so little, and so attached to each other.
I blame the passage of time for the epic gift fail. When he said he wanted a pony for his birthday, it was in deep summer. It took me forever to save up for them. The price was $50 for one pony, or $25 each if I took both. A bargain. Two for one. Besides, they were so little, and so attached to each other. I don’t know if they were twins, or if Gusty was a year older, or if they had different mothers—but they were definitely orphaned sisters.
8I was always at a loss as to what color to call my soot-faced ponies, they were not palominos, no cream or dilution gene—or the usual light-skinned/eyed colors; not chestnuts, no red in their coats, but they were closer to pale liver chestnuts with silver dapple gene (flaxen manes & tails, a completely different gene than palomino); they were not duns (no black points, mane, tail); and they were far too dark skinned/eyed for dusty, or chocolate palominos; note the dorsal stripe on the baby, who will turn dark like his mother. They were winter, or seasonal palominos, but their gray brown summer coats had pale dapples, their hooves striped, so silver dapple gene it is. A common Shetland color, as it turns out.
My veterinarian, Dr. Daniels bought my ponies for his little girls and they lived not far from where I bought them, at Bear Valley Stables. Little One grew up and was renamed Musty. Finally she got a real name. Kim Daniels said that they rode her in the Point Reyes parade. They turned out to be real beauties. They gave so much joy to other little girls who rode them too (last photo).
This was expanded revised 2020, 2021, when the last two photos magically appeared on Facebook, gifts giving me closure to a story of loss and grief that never quite healed itself.
Other horsey bits
Becky Dart: Born to Run
Becky Dart: Born to Run
Kiger mustangs carry rare Iberian Sorraia mtDNA
The jockey's baton
B/G Sandwich Shops plate, or the tale of Ralph Moody
Eating the Wind
Helgar the Horrible
B/G Sandwich Shops plate, or the tale of Ralph Moody
Eating the Wind
Helgar the Horrible
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