Mom named me Trinity because I am her third horse, but most of the time she calls me by my nickname, The Meenster – as in Mini-Monster. She doesn’t think I’m a bad monster; but when I’m bored, I get into trouble. Like the time we had to stay in our stalls for two whole days because it wouldn’t stop raining. Booorrrring! When I discovered that I could reach the latch on Platinum’s door, I unhooked it with my teeth. I knew I was in trouble when he slid his door open and left the barn. Uh, oh.
I belong to the breed of horses called Morgans. All of us can trace our ancestry back to one very special horse named, Figure, who was born in Vermont in 1789. He was owned by a schoolteacher named, Justin Morgan, which is how we got our name. My great-great-great-great, well, I don’t really know how many “greats”, grandfather was the fastest, strongest and bravest horse around. He excelled at everything he tried to do: pulling a wagon, dragging a tree stump out of a field – even winning races. He loved having a job and always tried to do his best. He had amazing genes, because even though he lived over 200 years ago, all of his descendants resemble him and we’re just as talented. We have strong, thick necks and hold our heads up high. You can tell we’re proud of ourselves.
Because of our bravery, good health and tough hooves, we were used by the cavalry during the Civil War. In fact, two famous generals rode Morgan horses. Rienzi was owned by Philip Sheridan who was a union general and the Confederate general, “Stonewall” Jackson, owned a Morgan named, Little Sorrel.
You might think a horse this special must have been really big. Surprise! He wasn’t. Most Morgans are small compared to other horses. (Technically, I’m a pony, but don’t tell anyone. They think I’m a horse.) Remember: you don’t have to be the biggest to be the best! You can be smart, athletic or artistic no matter what size you are and you’ll always be a winner as long as you try your hardest to succeed.
I’m very handsome – I’m not bragging; I’m just repeating what I hear. I have shiny black fur, with just a hint of dark gold on my sides. My mane is black and so is my tail, which is thick and so long it touches the ground. I have dark brown eyes, like most horses, and long black lashes. A horse with my coloring is called a bay.
A Halloween Horse Show
Lots of horse owners compete in shows to test their riding skills and their horse’s abilities. My brothers are afraid to go to shows or ride in the trailer. Not me. It’s exciting to see new places, new people and new horses. It’s better than staying home and being bored!
One day Mom took me to a Halloween horse show. Just for fun, the riders and their horses were supposed to wear costumes. It’s a little tricky finding a costume that will fit a horse and still allow him to do his job. How could I trot and canter if I was dressed up like a mummy?
Mom decided to make a devil costume for me – probably because she didn’t think I’d make a very believable angel. She attached sparkly red horns to my bridle and clipped a red devil tail on top of my own. She put gold glitter on my hooves and painted flames on my saddle pad. At least my costume didn’t make me look dumb. One horse was forced to wear a silly hat and a giant polka dot bow tie around his neck. I could tell he was embarrassed. I didn’t make fun of him, because I knew he already felt bad enough.
You might be wondering what a “bridle” is. It’s made of leather and fits around my head and face and holds the “bit” in my mouth. A “bit” is made of metal or hard rubber. It doesn’t hurt. In fact, I kind of like to chew on it. When my rider moves the reins, it moves the bit, which tells me what she wants me to do: like stop or turn or tuck my chin and arch my neck, which makes me look pretty fancy.
I’ve been to other shows too. I didn’t have to wear a costume, but I did get the full beauty treatment. Many English show horses have very short manes which are braided and then twisted into tiny knots. Since I’m a Morgan, I’m allowed to keep my long luxurious locks, but I still have to look neat. Mom braids the end of my mane into a French braid. I must admit I look pretty snappy. Even Mom has to dress up in breeches, boots, a show shirt and a jacket. I thought she looked nice until she put on a hairnet! I didn’t want to tell her that it wasn’t her best look, because I love her and didn’t want her to feel bad. Luckily after she put her helmet on, nobody could see it.
Cherokee was the next horse to move into the NEIGH-borhood. He’ll tell you a story about himself soon. I think you’ll like him. He’s old and very tired, but he doesn’t have a mean bone in his little shaggy old body.