A Dog Named Pony

About two months ago, I got a little crazier. “Wait, is that possible” you ask? Why yes. It turns out it actually is. Was. Whatever.  I accidentally acquired a fourth dog. Yes, fourth. I didn’t wake up one day and think, “OMG, TODAY IS THE DAY I AM GONNA SEAL MY FATE AS THE CRAZY DOG LADY!”  It was totally accidental, but the best kind of accident ever.

That day in November, Felicia was supposed to haul Ollie for me over to Tempus Eventing to begin his torture training. But, it turned out that little Miss Muffin the rescue pony wasn’t doing so well. As I was pulling up to the barn, I got a text from Felicia saying that she couldn’t haul that day, as the vet was coming out for Muffin baby.

As I saw that message and was about to turn into the driveway to the barn, I saw something else. A puppy. A very large puppy. A big, dirty, skinny white puppy who was quite obviously in horrible shape, and who appeared to have been dumped. He was just wandering on the road, and a gaggle of Felicia’s dogs had gone out to meet him (she has 13. THIRTEEN. Because she has a heart bigger than anyone I know).

So one of her dogs, Lucy, was talking to this puppy, as if saying, “Hey, come on back with me. I know where there is a great all-you-can-eat buffet of food and poop, and if you’re not too stinky and can hold your shit, you can go inside and not have to live in the barn. You dig it?”

I probably was ovulating or something, as I instinctively jumped out of the car, quickly went over to the poor dear and scooped him up and into my back seat. I had no plan other than to scoop him and OH MY GOD, POOR BABY, LEMME GET YOU A SAMMICH.

So I pulled into the barn, and Felicia and I put him in her little kennel area for the moment. I thought perhaps I’d take him to get checked out at the vet, and find a home for him.

Poor baby was so itchy and uncomfortable. We left him there while Muffin was tended to, and something unexpected happened. I won’t go into it all, but Muffin did not make it. It was gut-wrenchingly sad and heartbreaking. Many tears were shed all around.

As we sat there devastated, we looked over at this puppy. It occurred to us that some force was at work here. One rescue animal – straight off the kill lot – did not make it, despite Felicia’s very best efforts at trying to get her healthy. One animal went out of our lives, and in the very same moment, another animal in desperate need came in. He was like a little beacon of hope. A sign to not give up, and to remember that rescues – of all kinds of fur – are worth it. That so long as there are animals in need, we couldn’t give in to the sadness we just experienced.

I knew right then that this dog was mine. My husband just didn’t know it yet.

And his name is now Pony Boy. A tribute both to Muffin and to the place he was found. And the fact that, you know, he’s gonna grow to be the size of a small pony.

The vet estimated him to be about 5.5-6 months old, and a Great Pyrenees. Maybe even a purebred. And it turned out that he had sarcoptic mange. You know, the contagious kind. Hoooo boy. He did not have a microchip, and scans of area lost pet listings did not have him listed. I was very certain that, given his condition and health, that he was dumped because someone didn’t want to deal with the mange. It would be difficult to find a shelter in the county that would rehab this guy. He needed me. Or someone equally as crazy.

Pony's first vet visit.
Pony’s first vet visit.

So he spent the next month quarantined upstairs, and our other dogs were put on Revolution just in case so they wouldn’t catch it. I wore surgical gloves and took showers after every interaction with him. It turns out that I am REALLY good at being OCD. I’m sure you’re shocked.

And as he healed – and he started to heal quickly – His personality blossomed. As he felt better and learned to trust, he started to exude the silliest sweetness imaginable. He has such a gentle but cheeky silliness about him.

One week.
One week.


And right around the time that Pony Boy got the all-clear to be introduced to our other dogs, my saint of a husband realized that this dog was going nowhere, and he “officially” became part of the family. After a brief questionable introduction with our dog Reno, very quickly afterwards, Pones was accepted by the other three dogs as the brother they never knew they were missing. Like peas and carrots.

Reno the pittie mix took on the role of playmate, and Taz took on the role of nanny/puppy behavior enforcer. And Sheba just watched on creepily like the little serial killer mix she is.

I cannot handle that level of derp.



And as time went on, he grew sillier and sillier. And derpier and derpier. Seriously, the derp is strong with this one. It came to my attention that I had essentially rescued Ollie in Great Pyrenees puppy form. Both cheeky but with hearts of gold. Hungry. Giant breeds. AND DERPY AS HELL. Seriously, they might be the same animal.


I MEAN, REALLY. They’re even the same color.

And as this giant puppy grows exponentially, so does the size of my heart. I’ve so quickly fallen in love with him, and everywhere I take him, others do as well. There is such a gentle sweetness about him that I can’t quite lay a finger on. I don’t know if it’s just how his little soul was formed, or he realizes he was rescued and that he’s finally being taken care of. It’s almost like he’s grateful.

But I’m the truly grateful one. Stay gold, Pony Boy.