[Potato.]

username:TheToyMaker
name:
gender:
eye color: purple
dam: --
sire: --

[TheToyMaker]

ah thank you ^^

what a beauty. such a great Tolter to have for my final.

name: What A Catch // Donnie

gender: gelding (he's my last tolter, I won't be breeding him)

and eventual halter color: how about a suprise, including his eye color and perhaps blue? Yoir halter designs are beautiful.

thank you, I'll start right away.

[TheToyMaker]

I had driven to the auction on a whim, trying to convince both myself and my wallet that I was only going to look, only going to find inspiration for another painting or two. I had everything I wanted in my two pretty mares back at home; I found all the pleasure and inspiration I needed in their soft, pastel coats and beautiful eyes. Thunder boomed far above my beaten truck, small trailer in tow. I could barely see the dimly illuminated asphalt ahead of me through the flurry of windshield wipers and water that clogged my sight. No sign of lightning, but the sky was dark and the thunder was like a mighty beast roaring in the skies as waves of rain poured down. Though the land all around looked like it had been flooded, I knew the auction wasn't cancelled. It was one of the biggest ones in all of Wales; and held inside a massive, very sturdy barn that had weathered much worse than this afternoon shower. Besides, no way the owners of that farm could afford to cancel it.

Barely spotting the farm's big entrance, I hauled right on the wheel and just barely managed to squeal into the parking lot. I managed to find a cramped space and slid into it before someone else did. With all the crappy drivers that somehow hadn't died in an accident yet, parking in crowded events like this was an utter pain. Nobody seemed to pay attention to the rules up here.

I took a deep breath before flying out of my truck and through one of the many entrances, though somehow I was soaked the the bone already. It was warm and a bit damp inside, scents from all over the place wafting in as vendors sat out for hours hoping someone would get hungry and spend something on their overpriced delicacies. There weren't an insane number of horses, probably about 80, all held in their own stalls, safe and dry from the rain. The auction had already started and I hurried to a seat near the edge of the ring, watching as one horse left and the next one trotted in. Voices and colors blurred as I eagerly sat and watched beautiful steeds toss their manes, muscles rippling under a glossy coat. Each one was just as prized as the next, beautiful conformation and bloodlines. Most were Icelandic Tolts, with a few others mixed in. The prices were high and the bidders were getting competitive. Some horses didn't get a single bid; they would later be for sale back at their stalls, the price lowered in hopes of catching someone's eye. A nice bay stallion caught my eye, deep blue eyes surveying the crowd as he sashayed in. He went for a high price. A pretty roan mare trotted in, with a perfect, floaty gait. I almost felt compelled to bid on her.

The auction was nearing a close, and I decided to go before it got too crowded as everyone left. I clambered out of my seat and away from the ring, passing the stalls of horses who hadn't sold. A stunning, jet black gelding with a horrid temperament snapped at me, and a palomino stallion with a missing eye sweetly rubbed against my shoulder.

One stall held a perlino gelding, a color I didn't see often. He was snorting as he threw himself around in his stall, damaging the stall but not loud enough to cause any attention. I called to a groom, who let the gelding into his attached paddock. It had stopped storming, but the ground was wet; the gelding kicked up clods of mud as he galloped around, turning his beautiful coat into a mess. He was well muscled though, with impeccable conformation. I asked the groom why he hadn't been bought- the man explained that he had been there for three years. They had first seen he was rather wild, and gelded him; but it did nothing. They had tried everything, from force to taking it slow and gentle, even sending him to other trainers. Still, it did nothing. The gelding refused to be tame.

I immediately fell in love with the gelding's story. His price was affordable, and his beautiful coat and eyes drew me in. A few minutes later, I was backing my trailer up against the paddock so they could load him from there, as he wouldn't tolerate a halter. With a bit of coaxing and grain he snorted and leapt into my one-horse trailer, and the groom shut the door behind him. Instead of panicking like I thought he would, he stood there, silent.

So I drove home, doing my best not to hit any potholes and jostle the gelding. The rain had stopped and though everything was soaked, the sky was relatively clear. When I pulled up my driveway I positioned the trailer so the I could release him right into my smaller paddock, which wasn't as torn up as my girls' bigger one. I swung open the gate and opened the back of the trailer, quickly leaping out of the way. The gelding took a moment to back out before turning on a dime and flying away, covering me in sludge. He roared around the pasture, mane and tail moving wildly as he bunched his muscles and gave a few great leaps into the air. He reminded me of a stallion I had owned long ago; his name was Donnie. He was a fiery boy, but I had an inseperable bond with him. When he passed away I was heartbroken, but knew I'd find another. I decided to call my new gelding Donnie. It fit perfectly.

Still smiling, I shut the gate and parked the trailer in its correct spot. As I trudged up to my front door, I noticed my father sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, beer in hand. My parents had come to visit for the week. As I walked up to him, he turned and grinned at me. "What a catch," he said before turning back to watch Donnie race around, coat gleaming in the new sunlight.

And what a catch indeed.

[TheToyMaker]

It had been three days since I brought Donnie home. He appeared to be settling in nicely, inspecting all corners of his enclosure, and whinnying constantly to my mares in the other pasture. He was very active, always trotting or cantering around and arching his neck and tossing his mane as he encountered new scents. I couldn't help but marvel at his stunning gaits; his walk was smooth and gentle, his trot so light and floaty it looked like he was on a cloud. His canter looked so rocking that I'm sure I could fall asleep on his back -even his wild gallop impressed me as I watched his muddy coat ripple over his muscles.

Speaking of his muddy coat, I swear all that stallion had done was roll around in any water he found. Donnie seemed to love it; he'd already knocked over or tried to fit himself into the trough quite a few times. The second day I had tied my girls outside the barn where Donnie could see them and hosed the mud off them, and he stood with his chest pressed against the fence the whole time, watching my every move. My mares hadn't been too agressive on sight of him, he'd give a shrill whistle to capture their attention but Embarr would just pin her ears back and herd Rhea away. Rhea (she's blind) knew there was a new horse, but as she couldn't see him, she just ignored his calls.

The fourth day Donnie was here, I had an idea. After about an hour I had managed to attach a few hoses together, so the final length could reach Donnie's pasture. He had stood at the fence and eagerly watched me struggle, but as soon as I came close, he rocketed off. Typical. The past couple of days I had been trying to get close to him, but as soon as I reach out, he turns on a dime and gallops off. You can see the smirk in his eye; he's toying with me.

Twenty feet away, Donnie had stopped and turned to face me as I fiddled with the hose nozzle. He had no idea what was about to hit him. Plastering an innocent expression on my face, I aimed at his hooves and turned the hose on. The instant the chilly liquid hit his lower legs, Donnie flipped out, contorting his body in all sorts of ways. He stopped again a few feet away, realizing that the hose was a water-thing. Having had enough entertainment from his initial reaction, I turned the hose onto a gentler spray. Donnie curiously stepped forward, sticking his muzzle into the spray before leaping away. Once he realized the hose couldn't reach any further, he tested it again, with the same reaction. He kept doing it over and over again, before suddenly he just rocked back on his hindquarters and lauched himself through it. I nearly fell to the ground laughing as he stood in shock at the other side, eyes wide and coat soaked. Then, suprising me, he continued to leap through the water, tossing his mane and stomping on the ground. Donnie was clearly having a great time testing the different hose sprays, running through them and even trying to drink one. I could tell this was going to be his new favorite pastime.

When I finally dragged the hose back and put it away, Donnie had already rolled in the mud, turning his coat into the sludge monster it was before. So much for cleaning him off. But even though I was frustrated with his muddy appearance, he looked so content, grazing happily in the far corner.

Later that day, the sky had darkened and it had begun to pour. My girls were in the barn, but Donnie was out as he had a sturdy, weatherproof shelter in his pasture. I looked out the kitchen window to see none other than my new gelding kicking mud everywhere as he raced around his enclosure in the pouring rain, calling to the thunder itself and racing the faint lightning far in the distance.

Yes, he'd adjusted just fine.