That time I rode that pony through a field at the age of four.
That time that you came to my birthday party when I was eight, a multiple of four. And at the party you freaked out when some kid tried to pin a fake tail onto you with a roofing nail. And rightly so. That must have hurt.
That time when I was 11 when that small horse, or pony, came out of the grocery store on Alexander street wearing a derby and doing the Charleston, which, at the time seemed completely normal, but now I think, did people ever wear derby hats while doing the Charleston? For the record, 11 divided by four is 2.75. Not quite an integer, but then neither is pi, and he's not sweating it.
That time in little league when I caught that pop fly right after my thumb got smashed on a foul. Nothing to do with four-legged animals, that was just a great day. Come to think, there may have been animals with four legs in the woods which were behind the baseball diamond. I remember that kid who went missing and then later when they found him, one of his arms was chewed off. Only a wild creature could have done that. Most likely though not a pony or other member of the order Perissodactyla.
That time when I was eating cheese and bread in France and a French animal remarkably resembling a horse (or pony) came up to me and tricked me with magic and then ate both my cheese and my bread. If only I had had wine with me, I could have heard some great drunken horse tales. As it turned out, cheese isn't so good for a horse's stomach, and, as we discovered in the morning, neither are egg sandwiches.
