Original titles are not my strong point. He’s a horse, his name is Arthur and that’s all I got.
Well, not really. I also have a animal-crazed little girl who absolutely adores him to bits. If you ask her if she would like to go visit Nana and Papa, her eyes light up and she will exclaim “And I can see Orangie and Drop Off and Arthur”
Speaking of which, maybe originality just doesn’t run in my family.
Now hold on, just wait just a cotton pickin’ minute!
Who names their three children Karlynn, Karami and Wyatt, then proceeds to name their cats Orangie and Drop Off?
Nonono. Seriously. Work with me here.
Guess what color Orangie is? If you guess that she resembles a pumpkin, you would be correct.
And guess how Drop Off came to be a family member? She wasn’t exactly picked out at the pet store, just sayin’.
And yet my siblings and I end up with names that no one can spell, pronounce or otherwise figure out. Except for Wyatt, these days it seems there is a little Wyatt in every classroom. But boy, when we were growing up, there were none of us. My name is a bastardization of Carolyn, Karami is a popular last name in the Middle East/Asia, and Wyatt was a famous cowboy/lawman from the dime store novel days.
I guess they just plum ran out of original names by the time pets rolled around.
But Arthur is far more than a pet, he’s the 6th family member. He’s outlasted our dogs from our childhood and remains the one constant on my parents acreage. He was my horse for lessons in 4H, and that was a long, long time ago seeing as how I am now nearing 34. He’s a fixture, he waits at the end of the driveway to see who’s coming and going in the neighborhood and word has it on the street that he’s even charmed a couple down the road who walk nightly to bring him treats during their wanderings.
And he’s an oat monger.
“hey, pssst, little girl, you got some oats?”
“ok well if you won’t give them up, I’ll just frisk you for them”
Really, it’s becoming a problem.
“Hey you. Yah, you holding the camera. You got some oats?”
“If I give you a coy side glance look, will you give me some oats? Pretty please? ” *insert batting horse eyelashes here*
And if you think there is no way that horses bat their eyelashes at you for oats, you ain’t never owned one.
“Ok, well you know what? I didn’t want them anyways. And you can just go now. GO.”
There is nothing more ornery than a 20 year old horse who wants oats. Unless of course, you are trying to saddle him. Then all bets are off.