A long, long time ago in a far away place a 4-year-old boy heard that his grandfather promised to buy a pony. He first heard of the pony from his grandmother who knows how to put pressure on the old guy.

She told their grandson that his grandfather is going to buy a pony and keep it at the farm for him to ride when he visits.

Regina had that conversation with Trey about a year ago.

“Tom Tom, is that where you will keep the pony?” he asked, pointing to the barn that’s in need of repair on our Blount County farm.

I told him that was my plan when I replaced the pasture fence and fixed the barn so a pony would be happy.

The pony, he said, would have him for a friend and that would make the pony happy enough.

I understood his message: Buy the pony today.

Trey doesn’t get to visit Decatur and the farm much because it is a minimum eight-hour drive from his Savannah home. But he remembers that I promised to buy a pony.

I pointed out to Regina that she is the one who actually mentioned the pony to the grandchildren. I only mentioned to her that I would like to buy one.

She says it makes no difference who dropped the “pony” word because it landed at my feet. She made that point again last week, after I attempted a long-distance
chat.

Trey, now 5, had been at the beach for a week with his other grandparents and was busy playing with things my rival bought him. He was too busy to talk, so in an effort to get his interest I suggested that his mother tell him I was at the farm.

I could hear him asking her: “Does he have a pony yet?”

I told her to tell him that I didn’t, but I was a fence closer to getting one.

It may have been my imagination, but I think I heard him say, “Huh!”

Enough said.

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