More Verbal Sparring With The Pony

Same Stuff, Different Day.

Sunday morning (and by that I mean 1:05 p.m.) I stood at the piano bench in the hall outside The Pony's room, putting on my socks in preparation for my trip to town. I called through the closed door to see if he wanted me to bring him something for lunch.

His reply was a bit terse. "I don't want to ask you to bring me anything. But if you insist, I would eat some pretzels from Dairy Queen."

"I don't know why you have to take that tone with me! Why you have to be so disgusted and depressed."

"I AM TRYING TO WATCH A SHOW!"

"Oh. Okay. Because I can see through the wall and know that."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! You try to be nice to someone, and that's the thanks you get!

Later that evening, I was slicing onion, tomato, and pickle for Farmer H to dress up his chicken sandwich supper. The Pony stood at the cutting block, putting a mixture of mayo and ketchup on his bun.

"That's a lot of mayo! But isn't it about to expire anyway?"

"Oh! It already expired!"

"When?"

"July 4th."

"Stop! Don't throw that away! It's good through the end of the month. Today's only the 5th!"

"It's not as much when I spread it out on the bun."

"I don't care how much you eat. I'm just thinking about it dripping as you lift it to your mouth. Over my CARPET!"

"Shush!"

As Farmer H and The Pony were strapping on the old feedbag, I sat on the short couch to converse. The Pony was at his regular dinner seat, on the floor, with his legs under the coffee table, leaning back against the long couch. He lifted his half-eaten sandwich to his mouth, and I saw two drops drip down between his body and the coffee table.

"Uh huh!"

"WHAT?"

"I saw that!"

"Huh! And how many food stains do you have on YOUR shirt?"

"It's a shirt. Not a carpet!"

The Pony reached down and swiped the mayo/ketchup off his leg. Twice. And licked his finger. Happy coincidence for him, another psychic premonition for me.