I am a horse that wants my own way.
I have a beautiful smooth white coat— well, as smooth as it gets— with patches of black that splatter across it like ink splotching a white page.
My long mane drapes down my neck like a blanket that reaches down to the ground.
When I'm bored, I use my long sweeping tail to swipe the faces of those equestrians I don't like.
Which is such fun!
Especially when they go "eewwww!" and pick my tail hair out of their mouths while I peel my lips back and grin my big teeth at them.
I have big round eyes that glitter and glow in the sun, which are peeled for any dangers like— AAAAHHH! MY SHADOW!
My nostrils flare when I'm agitated.
My hooves rake across the ground when I'm unhappy about how long it is taking for my rider to untack me.
My ears flick forward at any whisper, any flicker of talk about me.
And when someone drags me out into the ring to go ride, I'm like "nah I aint in to that!"
But still, I end up in the ring.
So I'm trudging along trying to ignore the tight feeling of the girth digging into my sides and stomach and the heavy weight of the rider on top of me.
But when I feel the rider pressing their calves into my sides, urging me into a trot or canter, I'm like NOPE!
So I spook.
I gallop fast, my hooves digging into the packed dirt of the ring, the ground flying under me.
I hear the rider yelling, feel the tight tug on the reins pulling the accursed bit in my mouth.
Then I leap up, kicking out, my hooves splitting the air.
And that's enough.
The rider falls off.
I hear:
"AAAAAHHHH!"
THUNK!
Then I'm off, dashing toward the exit, speeding through the aisles of the barn, passing the other horses in their stalls.
They all look at me in awe and I think:
Yes, I'm aware I'm rare.
THE END.
