Spotted pony angst
I have typed and re-typed the classified ad for the local paper approximately one hundred twenty times.
ADORABLE POA GELDING. 12.5 hands. 25 years old young. The quintessential Super babysitter for your little one. Mountain goat. Proven trail and mountain pony. Bombproof. To pre-approved home contingent upon the completion of a thorough FBI background check. To good home only.
Blah blah blah.
At one point, my long story about the little horse I love draft advertisement is approximately 20 lines long and, according to the online classified ad tool, an estimated $200+ to run.
I nearly give up.
How in the world can I say what I want to say in 5 lines for $35 dollars? I remind myself that J. and C. have both outgrown Thor, and the old fellow needs a job. He’s got at least one more kid in him, another summer in the mountains. But it’s more than that.
When we brought the blue-eyed, spotted pony home a few years ago, Dennis and I both laughed about how we’d finally in our forties gotten that pony we’d dreamed about as kids. I’ve told my poor husband this story about a million times and no doubt will tell it to him again—as a third grader, I would pedal my pink banana-seat bicycle for miles from our housing development to a POA breeder’s farm. I’d park myself by the fence and hope to catch a glimpse of the spotted ponies. And prayed to God that I could have just one.
So maybe this has a little to do with the fact that I brought a POA home. And now I’m trying to find him another one. I finally craft an ad that works and doesn’t cost too much. It runs this Friday.
This is going to be painful harder than I thought.
