I went to work at Bucksridge for the first time since moving to London yesterday, with a slight change. Instead of picking up my wages at the end of the day, I left empty handed. I'm working my way to paying for my very own horse, finally. I'd always said I'd buy Logan when I got back from university, and now I've just got to have words with Sally, the owner of some stables near my house, and my father, who's going to probably shoot me. Ahh well, here are some photos of him and Damson I took on my phone yesterday. She's maybe a month older than him, they share the same sire. Inseparable best buddies, which is cute until I try to move him, I bet.
Yes, I know, an untrained, 16 hand, not-yet-matured, 4 year old warmblood-cross is not the obvious choice for a first pony. Gangly, big headed, and out of proportion, he's not really an obvious choice for anyone, to be honest! He'll end up alright, but with 4 white socks, I guess it's down to which old wives tale I listen to ...
One white sock-keep him not a day,
Two white socks -send him far away.
Three white socks-sell him to a friend,
Four white socks-keep him to the end.
One white sock, buy 'im,
Two white socks, try 'im.
Three white socks, look well about 'im,
Four white socks, better of without 'im!
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