This morning, Farmer H took The Pony out for his first driving lesson.
Granted, it was on the Gator, not in a car. But still, he's got to start somewhere. Farmer H hollered down the basement stairs for The Pony to get some shoes on. "I'll drive the Gator over here and meet you out front." Like he was a valet pulling up in a limo stocked with Grey Poupon.
The dogs got all excited. They follow Farmer H to the ends of our rural compound. To other houses with other dogs. The start of the Gator engine means a big ol' butt-sniffin' party might be on the horizon. Farmer H parked and came back into the Mansion. He grabbed four paper towels and started out. "What's the matter? Afraid you might pee on yourself with fear?"
"No. The seat is wet from the rain. I'm drying it off for him."
I saw them go slowly up the driveway, and held my breath. Would The Pony be commanded to turn right and head up the gravel road? Or left and around the field to the BARn? Left it was. They came back through the front yard, dog tails whipping willy-nilly as the furry ambassadors trotted ahead. Trotted. Not ran. Because The Pony was cautious. He picked up speed the second time around.
When he came in, he was not surly as I expected. He had a little glow. A little confidence. "I'm just glad I didn't run into the side of the BARn."
"You went faster the second time up the driveway. The dogs were running."
"Yeah. I was afraid I was going to run over one of them. But they're fine."
We might just get him ready for his license over the summer. I told the #1 son that he would have to take The Pony out and teach him how to drive. "Uh uh. I'm not old enough. You have to be 21. And besides, I'm not old enough to drink. I'd really need a drink if I was teaching The Pony how to drive."
Pardon us if we appear apprehensive.