I don't mean to be a hater. I am just not one of those horse people. I never liked Black Beauty or any of those other horsey books/movies. I never wanted a pony for my birthday, and I barely tolerated the horseback "breakfast rides" during our family reunions (I was there for the breakfast).
So while I should be putting the final things in my pack for our trip to Grayson Highlands (tiny containers of peanut butter! toilet paper, long sleeved shirt, and Dr. Bronners), I am here instead. (Still highly motivated by meals, I have to be practical. It is much easier to eat hummus and crackers while blogging than while pouring liquid soap into a tiny bottle.)
The last time I went to Grayson Highlands, it was just my dad and I. We were nearly back to the car, when suddenly a very horny man pony (is it still a "stallion" if it's a pony?) came rushing toward us, chasing a somewhat less enthusiastic lady pony. My Dad, who is a quick thinker in emergencies, dove (and yes, I mean dove) to take cover behind a tree (and by tree, I mean sappling). Since I am apparently not such a quick thinker, I just stood there, and the wild ponies rushed by me, so close that I think I got pony tail caught in my teeth. Actually, the pony tail was probably mine, since I had hair then, and the real effect of the ponies' passing was a huge rush of wind as they went by (and obviously, subsequent pony-related trauma). Then I think the ponies ran into the bushes and mated, which also happened to be a little traumatic.
So if I'm more excited about the 30% chance of rain and the possibility of getting poison ivy than I am about seeing the wild ponies, surely you can understand.