pony (n.) – 1650s, powny, from Late Latin pullanus
There were eight of us on that fine summer’s morn, all in search of a nosebag in which to dip a hungry muzzle.
Pullanuses aside, the pony is a noble beast, exhibiting distinctive characteristics that are the envy of many a mere mortal. With all mankind’s imperfections, evolution continues, constantly striving to improve, to hone, to excel. However, as we have all been taught since childhood, for the pony evolution is but a distant memory, recalled by these noble equines with wry amusement at the thought of ever needing its heavy-handed interferences. Can we ever hope to attain such figuratively lofty heights?
Unlikely, I say. Yet in resigning ourselves to perpetual struggle, we can rest assured that in the entirety of our meagre lifetimes we may hope to master one, or for those exceedingly blessed, two of the attributes to which the pony exhorts us to aspire.
That font of all knowledge, Googlus Wikipedius describes the physique and temperament of the pony in glowing terms indeed:
“a stocky body, dense bone, round shape and well-sprung ribs”
Surely of those in our midst, only the bearded Scotsman could claim such anatomical perfection.
“properly trained ponies are appropriate mounts for children who are learning to ride. Larger ponies can be ridden by adults, as ponies are usually strong for their size”
My gaze turns to the one recently with child. I foresee many a pony ride in the near future.
“Their heads and eyes also exhibit juvenile characteristics”
Only the ever-youthful one could hope to pull this off.
“During the Industrial Revolution, a significant number were used as pit ponies, hauling loads of coal in the mines.”
Replace ‘coal’ with ‘children’, and ‘mines’ with ‘town’, and we have another among us that that in the not-so-distant past excelled at this particular talent.
“generally considered intelligent and friendly, though sometimes they also are described as stubborn or cunning”
Bouquets and Hyacinth buckets in a single breath. I hesitate to nominate…however I can say that getting the better of a wascally whippet requires much cerebral dexterity and mental fortitude!
“People who are unfamiliar with horses may confuse an adult pony with a young, immature horse”
I wouldn’t rush to claim this one, but I know one who would!
As they say, it’s not the destination but the journey that matters. And with this in mind, each of us continues on our own personal voyage of self-improvement, pony perfection ever unattainable, yet wonderfully fulfilling in its pursuit.
Writing about ponies is so much more fun than writing about food, so just like a pony I’ll keep it short in stature and sweet in nature!
Room for a Pony, 338 Elizabeth Street (look for the old servo opposite The Republic Bar)
Breakfast (all day) and lunch, Mon-Fri 7am-4pm, Sat-Sun 8am-4pm.
The menu is eclectic to say the least! Primal/paleo-inspired, but don’t let that put you off; there’s something here for everyone, from the traditionalist to the avant-garde.
Bloody good. ’nuff said!
Metrocasual, postmodern perfection on a plate.
Where else in North Hobart are you going to be able to soak up the sun while sipping on a freshly squeezed fruit juice, watching the world pass you by?
A great place to enjoy quality food amongst friends. The large table out front was perfect for our group of eight, with mutterings from the the ever-youthful one regarding wet bums and too much sun greeted with well-earned scorn and a suggestion that she only had herself to blame for keeping us all waiting!
Go there, you’ll love it!
Facebook: Room for a Pony