Hi, humans. It’s me, Fia. Yes, I’m a Shetland pony. For those of you not in the know, we’re the real deal when it comes to equines. Small but mighty, built for survival, and blessed by the Great Pony Spirit herself. Back in the day, horses were a lot more like us. Then you humans came along, decided to make them bigger and dumber, and now we’re stuck with these walking hay vacuums you call “improvements.” Congrats on breeding yourself a herd of oversized lawn ornaments.
Shetlands are the blueprint: tough, stout, and majestic in our own gritty way. While horses prance around like runway models with zero survival skills. You think Ms. Buttons’ diva demeanor or Three Socks’ alpha complex mean anything out in the wild? Please. A cactus would outwit them both, especially in Ms Button’s case.
Life in This Equine Asylum
There’s Three Socks, oh, this guy. The self-proclaimed leader of the herd, strutting around like he’s the second coming of Secretariat. Newsflash: I’ve seen him spook at a butterfly. He calls himself “alpha,” but honestly? He’s beta-testing his next injury on a daily basis.
Case in point: the Rancher had a lady over with one of those yappy little Chihuahuas. Normally, I’d have a little solidarity for a fellow small creature, but this thing was different—shrill, hyper, and impossible to ignore. I couldn’t resist. I convinced Three Socks that it was some kind of predator and that it was his duty as “herd leader” to protect us. You should’ve seen him. Practically shaking in his horseshoes, but he charged full speed like a clumsy freight train on wobbly tracks. The Chihuahua bolted, of course, and I won’t lie—I feel a tiny bit bad. But hey, hawks gotta eat too, right?
What can I say about Ms Buttons? Now here’s a horse who belongs on an episode of Lifestyles of the Prissy and Oblivious. She’s got this whole “minimalist rustic chic” shtick going on, but guess what? A barn is a barn, Buttons, not a French villa. The other day, she called the barn entrance her “foyer.” I almost choked on my hay. She’s obsessed with appearances, but no amount of grooming can hide the fact she’s just as stuck here and as dirty as the rest of us.
The Rancher’s not the worst human I’ve met. He feeds us and mostly leaves me alone, which is exactly how I like it. Watching him handle Three Socks is pure entertainment, though. Imagine a guy who thinks he’s a cowboy trying to outsmart the horse equivalent of a brick wall.
My Happy Place
When I need some me time, I head to the far side of the property—specifically, the field with the dead animal bones. Is it creepy? Yeah, that’s the point. Horses won’t come near it, which means peace and quiet for me. The added bonus? Freaking out Ms. Buttons by casually mentioning “ancient Shetland rituals” whenever she asks why I hang out there.
TV After Dark
We do have a TV which Buttons and Three Socks are constantly fighting over it during the day. Buttons wants to watch reality shows about humans arguing over clothes or food or whatever. Three Socks just wants to see something blowup make a stupid joke. Honestly, their taste in entertainment explains a lot about their personalities.
I wait to watch it after dark, when the good stuff is on—horror movies, psychological thrillers, the kind of shows that really get your heart pumping. Humans are so strange. You spend all day avoiding danger, then spend your nights making up the most bizarre ways to scare yourselves. I don’t get it, but I can’t look away.
Go Away
That’s it for now. Stay tuned for more pearls of pony wisdom. And remember, don’t mess with the little ones—we bite.