The Pony doesn't ask for much. He's usually goes along with whatever torture I devise to fill his day. So much that it's hard to figure out what to feed him. I asked what he wanted for supper tonight, and he said, "Anything," because he's an agreeable sort, if less-than-honest to spare my feelings.
"Come on. You know you won't eat ANYTHING! You only eat about four foods. What's the worst thing I make that you never want to eat?"
"Um...chili. Not that yours isn't good! You probably make really good chili. I just don't like chili, so I won't try it."
"Do you know what grandma made that I never wanted to eat, but I like it now? Vegetable soup. Do you know what it reminded me of?"
"NO! Vomit! It didn't remind me of vomit."
"NO! What kind of person says that? It reminded me of a big pot of garbage. I don't think it helped matters that she used to collect actual garbage in a big cup on the kitchen counter, and then go out and dump it every evening over by the creek. Did you ever notice her to do that? Or had she stopped?"
"Yeah. She did it."
Oh, well. We can't all toss it off the back porch as we go along.