Well. I asked Farmer H for a picture of the new pony he traded two goats for, and he professed that he did not currently have possession of the pony, but would bring it home on Tuesday. And probably pay off his hamburger tab like Wimpy as well.
According, to Farmer H, the pony is 36 inches tall, five years old, red, and a little stud. Actually, the last bit of information was not forthcoming without interrogation.
"He's a boy."
"Is he fixed?"
"No. He's not fixed."
"Great. He's going to be a handful. No wonder that guy wants to get rid of him. He might bite. And kick. You can't tell what a little stud pony is going to do. He's going to be hard-headed."
"I'll fix him."
"You'll have to get the vet."
"No. I'll band him."
"He's NOT a baby goat. I don't think you can do that to a five-year-old horse or pony."
"Sure I can. I did it to the goats."
"He's NOT a goat! How about we band YOU?"
"But I don't WANT to be banded!"
"You think HE does?"
"No. But I can do it."
Farmer H. Animal Medicine Woman. Now with more bees in his bonnet.