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June 2017 Story & Poem Entries Note: Winning stories and poems will be published in Pony Pals Magazine. All entries must be original, meaning that the member who enters them must have written the text. To be eligible the story or poem must have a horse or pony in it someplace. Stories should be suitable for all ages, including younger members. All entries published in the Magazine will earn 500 Wiggins Bucks, the best stories and poems will earn 3000 Wiggins bucks and trophy for the writer. Pony writer quills are awarded every day, remember to quit the scavenger hunt and restart it after you get your quill to earn a higher score.

June 2017 Story & Poem Entries Note: Winning stories and poems will be published in Pony Pals Magazine. All entries must be original, meaning that the member who enters them must have written the text. To be eligible the story or poem must have a horse or pony in it someplace. Stories should be suitable for all ages, including younger members. All entries published in the Magazine will earn 500 Wiggins Bucks, the best stories and poems will earn 3000 Wiggins bucks and trophy for the writer. Pony writer quills are awarded every day, remember to quit the scavenger hunt and restart it after you get your quill to earn a higher score.	Jane Crandal & JB
2017-05-31 21:35:50
She Trained Me Rabbit08 This is a true story in tribute to my first horse, Willowette. When I first logged on to CPP with my new username and password, I was so excited. I got a white horse (a girl), and I named her Willowette. That first day, all I did was ride her. Back and forth. Back and forth. On the only trail I had (I didn't have Tail Feather, my second horse quite yet.) I changed my look about a zillion times and then I rode Willowette some more. Each time I rode her, I would bang her head into the rocks, trying to gallop (and canter) her. I gave her so many health supplements... She didn't complain at all. I pushed her into the side of the trail (still trying to gallop/canter - and failing!), where she merely nickered to give me a gentle reminder that I was going too far and was about to step off the trail. To this day (I'm in my 4th going on 5th year of CPP) I still sometimes (accidentally) canter or gallop her into rocks or ride her up against the trail sides (though this happens MUCH less frequently than it did when I first had her - only about three times a week). All she does is nicker and carry on with taking me wherever I need to go. I have Tail Feather now, who I squish against the sides of the trail just as much as Willowette. She nickers too. She was trained to train me by the best. I'm thinking about getting a third horse (I don't know quite yet), who I hope is as patient with me as Willowette is (and was!) when I ride erratically. If I get this third horse, I will be glad that she will be stationed next to my kindhearted, gentle Willowette's stall. Willowette is patient, sweet, and always up for a challenge (even if she is getting a little bit older!). I know she passed that down to Tail Feather, and (again, if) if I get a third horse, I know she will teach that horse to be just as sweet, patient, and gentle as she is.	Rabbit08 & Willowette
2017-06-02 14:38:33
Heart Horses are magical, they are kind, gentle, and loving. Sometimes we do not see the love in horses, and we can think they are killers, hurtful, or frustrating. We only see these things because we are human, imperfect, and misunderstanding. The only way to see a horse's true form is starting fresh and looking into their heart.	hosessaddles & Phoenix
2017-06-02 14:38:33
A book review: Born to Trot by Margeurite Henry. Review by chestnutcolt13. Born to Trot This book takes a nice spin on the typical narrative. It is mostly about harness racing, and the first standardbred. However, much of the book is the main character reading the story of the first standardbred, Hambletonian. It is very well written, as any publisher will tell you. Rosalind and Hambletonian are extremely famous, and this is a wonderful story of them. The cover art and images are stunning. The descriptions have the right quality of feeling mixed with facts. The writing quality: Pristine. You definitely need to read it. I won't spoil it for you though. Check it out, you can find it on Amazon, maybe the library, and bookstores.	chestnutcolt13 & Thunderstorm
2017-06-03 20:59:18
A Crafting Article Hello, fellow virtual equestrians. I'm back again with a new article on building your own stable. Last time we discussed stall building. Now, it is step two. Troughs, and feed bins. This is very simple, so we may have time to cover some other items. For this project, you will need cardboard, glue, and scissors. (Start collecting cardboard. You're going to need lots of it.) Cut five pieces of cardboard. Three need to be half the length of your horse, and two need to be up to your chest. Use one long piece as the bottom, and the other two as the sides. The two small squares are the front. Glue, and decorate. Voila! Stable step two completed. Now, here's a quick tip. If you have horses, you need a pasture. A cheap option is to buy a green plastic table cloth! If you want a creek, get a blue one as well. You can make a river, plus use pieces to fill the troughs. This is Chestnutcolt13, and I'll be back next month with bridle making: The basics	chestnutcolt13 & Thunderstorm
2017-06-03 21:04:41
Moments by DreamerGirl The wind in my hair, the breeze on my face, the sun warming my body, the graceful jump of a canter--that's just about living a perfect dream. I ride my horse Apollo as often as I please. He seems to enjoy is every time, just as I do. If I could be caught in this moment forever, that would do me well. The feeling of this moment is just what I want, nothing more, nothing less. When you ride a horse, you get lost. Lost in emotion, feeling, and awe. Your surroundings are full of life, your horse jumps into spirit, and you feel so alive. Apollo knows the feeling. He's always listening and looking into his surroundings, making sure I'm safe, and making sure he stays on track. If I could live in this moment, I'd be forever pleased. But I can't. Moments come and go, but that's what makes them unique and all the more enjoyable. It makes them more special, because it's something you don't do very often. But, Apollo and my moments will forever be in my heart. Locked away, never to be forgotten.	DreamerGirl & Serene
2017-06-07 18:14:45
Dawnwarrior I was born at a strange time of year. While most foals are born in springtime, my dam foaled me in December. I remember the snow flying outside the stable. It was the worst blizzard in years. My dam and I were the sole creatures awake then. The humans had fallen asleep at the stable camera hours ago. My mother was a buttermilk dunskin Warmblood. She had been tamed when she was as young as I. She nuzzled me, and warmed me. Shivering, I nestled close to her side. I wondered what color I was. Determined to find out, I tried to stand up on my gangly legs. Promptly, I fell flat. Then my dam nosed me to feet, and helped me to stand. My knobby knees shaking, I took my first steps toward a water bucket in a corner. Peering into the misty ripples, I saw a face. It was a ruddy brown, decked with a wide stripe. My nose was spotted with a snip, and my eyes were brown. My mane was creamy white. Puzzled, I looked at my mother. "What am I?" "You are a flaxen chestnut warmblood, and you are my colt." I pretended that this made sense as I peered out into the swirling snow. Soon, I would understand, and I would know everything she knew. Little did I know the beautiful adventure I would go on. I didn't even know about Elaine Meadowwood, the most amazing human ever. Soon. Always soon.	chestnutcolt13 & Thunderstorm
2017-06-09 00:47:20
The Wild Child Run! Run! Run! I love you, so run! Pricked ears, Lighted forehead, A neck that curves like a palm branch. Forever. But no. Run! She galloped into the mist. Forever wild. Forever free. Forever beautiful. Forever in my heart. The Wild child.	chestnutcolt13 & Thunderstorm
2017-06-10 03:52:00
Ride. Riding. Well, how do you explain it? Some say sitting on a horse. No. It is beauty, and magic. It is wind, spirit, love. Hearts beating fast, colors breezing by. Becoming one. Being your horse. That moment before a jump when your legs get tense, and you remind yourself to relax. Rippling muscles, tensing veins. People cherish love and life. Horses are both. And when you dismount and fall back into yourself, you will always remember.	chestnutcolt13 & Thunderstorm
2017-06-10 03:57:54
Tucked away in a corner of my bedroom is a cache of trophies, ribbons, and medals, neatly organized into rows, on a row of bookshelves. Looking into that corner is like looking at a timeline of all the horse shows I’ve won. Every time, first place. No matter what. My first show, I got second. But when I proudly walked to my mother and father, they were not proud at all. My mother scolded me, grabbed my ribbon and threw it into a trash can. She said I should’ve urged Spirit faster and gotten a faster time. The first row has plenty of spaces at the beginning, but during my sixth show, I fell off Spirit just before the last jump and broke my leg. My mother was furious. She shouted at me, said I was clumsy and stupid, that any four year old could ride better than me. The nurses in the hospital were both amazed and terrified. The next four months, my mother never ceased to remind me that my skills were worsening, that I was wasting good time, that if I never rode again it was my own fault. When I finally could ride again she signed me up for as many competitions as possible, telling me that I’d better get first place in all of them. I needed no warning. From then on, I knew that anything less than first was unacceptable. But from then on, riding lost its joy. The jumps that felt like flying were merely obstacles, one after the other, that I had to complete to reach that first place award. Spirit and I no longer had our little friendship. Learning new things was just the path to winning that next competition. And when it was over, it was over. When I told my mother I missed my trail rides with Spirit, she laughed at me. “You want to go trail riding?” she scoffed. She marched me up to my room, to my shelves of awards. “These are the things you should be proud of, that you should want more of, Victoria.” she told me. “Not some trail riding nonsense. Do you understand?” “Yes, mother.” I replied meekly. “I understand.” But I didn’t. Why couldn’t I spend some time with Spirit, enjoy myself, and laugh a little? I was tired of this endless cycle of competitions, of practice, of awards I couldn’t care less about. Soon after I had another competition, another first place. My father snapped pictures of Spirit and I, of my mother with her arm around me. But mid-photo, my mother turned to me. “Victoria, why aren’t you smiling? Aren’t you happy? Aren’t you proud? If I were you I’d be jumping up and down like a little child!” I forced on a smile, but she shook her head. “Victoria, isn’t this what you want? Don’t you like competing?” I shook my head, stroking Spirit’s forehead. “I just- just want- to ride!” And even though I was nearly thirteen, I cried. All the frustration, the longing, everything, it just burst out of me, like a torrent of water. My mother sighed. “I’m sorry, Vicky, so sorry.” It was the first time she had called me that in years. “I just wanted to make sure that when you’re old and grey like me, you’d be able to look back and have something to be proud of.” She patted me head. “Come, let’s go get some ice cream, and then we can talk.” My mother cancelled my shows. We rode together in the woods every day. And when I was finally ready to jump again, I did. And once again, it felt like flying.	Melzzz & Verity
2017-06-10 16:00:02