A Personal Journey

It really began in May 1998, with the purchase of a little Welsh yearling colt, rescued from near-death starvation.  He was so scrawny even after a month of good feed and care from his rescuers; I could almost lift him off the ground in my arms.  He was not real pretty, not even slightly.  He was cow-hocked, narrow, and still awfully thin, with lots of leftover winter coat and viral warts on his nose.  But there was something in his eyes.  A kindness, a gentleness difficult to describe.  It was almost as if he were grateful to have a second chance.  He was a peaceful little soul.

So I did what any sensible horsewoman would do--I bought him "for the kids."  And what a treasure I got!  He grew into a fat, lovely, wonderful 12.5 hand stallion.  Not a blemish on him.  His disposition was so good; I could not bring myself to geld him.  So, I began a search for a Welsh mare for him, reasoning with my husband that the offspring would fetch a fair price for their looks and disposition.  He thought this was a good idea.  A horse who could actually make a little money, rather than turning it into manure, was his kind of animal.

In an equine newsletter in April of 1999, I found an ad for a little Welsh mare.  I contacted the owner in Michigan.  We corresponded about the mare for a few weeks, and then I decided to buy her after seeing her photo.  She would be great for Blue Moon, I thought.  Both were pretty blue-greys.  They'd produce wonderfully pretty grey babies that would surely be a big hit as children's ponies...

When Jazzmin finally arrived in early July, I didn't pay much attention to the "extra" information in a note attached to her health papers, such as letterhead.  I checked over vaccinations, worming, trimmings, etc., finding that everything was very much in order.  It was weeks before I noticed the Personal Ponies web address at the bottom of that note.

When I did notice, curiosity got the best of me, and I looked it up on the internet one night while working.  I nearly cried when I read the stories of the PPL children and their ponies.  The woman in Michigan who sold me that mare is a Michigan Volunteer, Tammy Teter, and the lady I contacted with lots and lots of questions is, of course, the National Director, our beloved friend, Marianne!

The ending?  There is none, just another beginning on this lifelong PPL Journey.  One that I, now a Personal Ponies Volunteer in Arkansas, am delighted to undertake.  I am surely not alone.

Christina