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MY PONY By Betty Noone For reasons that will become obvious later on, I have changed my name and location for this story. For anyone to find out who the real me is, would make me vulnerable to possible criminal prosecution, even though I don't think that I did anything wrong, as the person to whom I did it to was already legally dead. So while my country of origin is not the United States, I will use the U.S. as the location for my story. Since I am the only one left who knows the entire story, it will be told in narrative style. I am a female in her middle forties (we never divulge our true age). I am a certified plastic surgeon (M.D) and also have a laboratory where I design and create artificial limbs and other prosthetic devices. I have a private practice at my clinic in the city, but I am also on call 24/7 to assist in putting together victims of accidents that need my particular expertise. My private practice is mainly cosmetic surgery, and my hospital work is mainly re-habilitation. My husband who is five years older than me, is a senior money manager at a major investment bank. We live in the city near my clinic, but we also have a home in the country where we try to spend most of our weekends. I love to ride horses, and the reason we purchased this particular home is because it has a large barn suitable for riding indoors, as well as several stalls to board the horses. I have two riding horses and they are taken care of by a groom who lives on the farm. My husband loves boats and fishing, and the house being on the coast (I cannot tell you which coast). He has his own boat tied up to our dock. I ride, he fishes. Between my husband and I we do better than making a good living, having good careers, we are not particularly into saving money. Life is good. The trouble started in the middle of July. I came home from the clinic, tired from an exhausting and busy day and I find my husband home, in the den, half drunk. He is not a particularly heavy drinker, although he loves his drink or two before dinner. As a surgeon on call at any time, I do not drink any alcohol whatsoever. His head is in his hands, and he is rocking back and forth. He is obviously in deep distress. After much prodding I finally find out his problem. And a problem it is. I was furious at his stupidity. He tells me that he had a 'sure thing'. Overnight he could make a lot of money on the tip that he received. He took over a million bucks from one of his customer's trust accounts, thinking that he would be able to replace it the next morning, and pocket the profits. No-one would be the wiser. But the tip did not pan out. I asked him how much he lost and he tells me 'all of it.' A routine computer check that the company does each day turned up the missing cash along with the paper trail led directly to my husband. He was suspended pending an investigation. He tells me that they have the goods on him and even worse it is a criminal act and that the government would be after him to prosecute him and put him in prison. For a long time. The government wants to make an example of those they catch as a warning for the others in the business to stay on the straight and narrow. So even if he replaces the money, he still could go to jail. I am in shock. All of my life and I supposed, his. we stayed on the straight and narrow. My good reputation is the source of my business. And this jerk and his greed is jeopardizing all that I have worked for all of my life. I am innocent, but the public will assume that I had a hand in it, rightly or wrongly. Greed. It has led to the downfall of so many. I asked why he did it. We didn't need the money. He just shrugged his shoulders and said he didn't know. I told him he better think of a plan and that we would talk about it in the morning. I had already eaten before I came home and this news was giving me a headache. Boy, I was sorely tempted to head over to the liquor cabinet, but I did not. I went to bed and locked the door. He can sleep on the couch for all I care. In the morning he tells me that he thought of a plan that might work. His company has a 5 million dollar life insurance policy on him, with me as beneficiary. If he was dead, the insurance company would pay off the loss to the firm, and the excess of almost four million would be paid to me. I told him that if he was contemplating suicide, the insurance company wouldn't pay the claim. By this time I didn't care if he did it or not. He told me to hear him out. Suicide was not on his agenda. He would take his boat out to sea, and pulling the dory behind it, would go out about 10 miles. He would strip off his clothes, leave them in the boat with a life-preserver, and then disappear. It would look like he fell overboard and drowned, but in reality he would take the dory back to shore, and come home and hide. He would need to create a new identity for himself, but he would be alive and we would be secure financially. I told him that it sounded goofy to me, but that I would think about it. I did have it on my mind, and I created all sorts of scenarios and possibilities. I also hated him for making me complicit in his scheme. After a few days I came up with a plan. He would have to do his boat trick after midnight. He would have to cut off the dory's motor at least a mile before coming back to the dock, and rowing so as not to have anyone hear the motor. His fingerprints and toe prints would have to be removed, but, as a surgeon I can do that. He would have to hide in the attic, and be quiet at all times so as not to alert the police and insurance investigators who certainly will be investigating. I will see that he is fed and kept clean, and after the insurance company pays the claim he will be able to sneak out and find people to help him create a new identity. I told him that our marriage was over, first his actions would make it seem that I am a widow, and secondly, his actions caused me such revulsion that I no longer wanted to be his wife. I told him that I hated him for forcing me to be complicit in this scam. I also advised him that my experience with patients who had major claims against insurance companies was that the insurance companies took their time before making any payments and that he would be living in the attic for at least six months, maybe a year or longer. He told me he thought it was a good plan and that he had no choice. I told him that he must make his body such that afterwards no-one could be sure that it was him or not. Therefore he had to get all of his teeth extracted as well. Somewhere there are X-rays of his mouth and he could be identified through dental photos. He could not have it done locally and I told him he should go out to a city at least two hundred miles away. It would be painful and bloody but pay the oral surgeon enough that he will consent to remove all the teeth at one sitting. He would need to get a room someplace, (pay cash, do not use your credit card for anything, (they leave a paper trail) and recuperate for a couple of days, and then when he returns I will complete the removal of his fingerprints and toe prints. I also told him that I hated that he is making me think like a mastermind, and that if I would be found out, I too, would be ruined, so he had to cooperate and do as I say. He was not under arrest as the police and government had not yet been notified by the company, while they were making their internal investigation, so my husband was free to travel wherever he wished to. He left the next morning to find a dentist, and I told him not to use his cell phone or make any calls of any kind, especially to me. I would see him when he returned and not before. It was five days before he returned with not a tooth in his mouth. It made his cheeks fall in a little and it changed his facial appearance a little but not too much. What was different was that he was unable to chew anything solid as he only had gums. He did not have and would not have dentures fitted. Too risky. That weekend he took out the boat at 11 P.M. on a moonless night, and did exactly what we discussed. He rowed ashore in the dory about four A.M. and came into the house wet and cold. I made him take a hot bath, and then led him upstairs to his new quarters. The attic unfortunately for him has a 4 1/2 foot ceiling so that my husband could not stand up straight in it. We brought an old mattress and some linens upstairs, and a hurricane lamp as there was no electricity to the attic. He would be able to read by the lantern but there would be no TV, radio, or computer to occupy his time. He complained about it and personally I could have cared less. The next Sunday night we drove to my clinic for me to remove his fingerprint identification. It took me several hours to complete the surgery, and while he was groggy but still ambulatory, (I needed him to be able to walk so as not to require anyone else to be involved.) we drove back to the house in the country, and I led him upstairs to the attic. His new home. He was still wearing only the hospital gown, nothing else. I placed an electric fan with a long cord plugged into a second story outlet at the opening to the attic crawlspace so that there would be some ventilation for him. With both arms and feet bound with bandages he crawled into his new home. When the home was built over 150 years ago, they may have planned to make rooms in the attic at some time in the future, because there was a cold water outlet and drain in one corner of the attic. Plus there was a toilet drain. Prior to this time we installed a toilet and with the water, there were basic toilet facilities. No hot water however. He would have all he would need to survive, but as Spartan as Spartan can be. While I used to love to cook, my day does not permit me to prepare my own meals anymore, so I rely on eating out most of the time. But my husband is going to need to be fed, and I just cannot be there to do it for him. I checked the supermarket and decided on a diet regimen that would allow him to survive and be easy on me. He would get a cold oat cereal with milk in the morning with a ripe banana and a vitamin pill. For dinner I found that a certain brand of beef stew had sufficient calories for his daily intake, and I decided that all I had to do was open up a can and put it in a bowl for him to eat. That it was the same thing day after day was no concern of mine. On Monday morning, I called my office and tell my secretary/nurse that my husband was missing, that he did not return from a fishing trip and that I was going to the police to report that he is missing. I had a solution that when placed near my eyes, burned them enough to make them teary and red-rimmed as if I have been crying. I made the report and the detectives came out to investigate. The helicopters found the boat several hours later, and it was towed back to the dock and the techs went over it with a fine tooth comb. The body was (obviously) not found but that is not unusual considering ocean currents. Sometimes they float to the surface and sometimes they disappear forever. I also called my husband's office and told them the 'tragic' news. They too, sent over someone to talk to me, and I, posing as the grieving widow surprised myself at my magnificent acting job. My husband meanwhile is upstairs in the attic, sound asleep as a result of the shot that I had given him prior to me notifying the authorities. By late afternoon they left and I went upstairs to see how my husband was doing. When he saw me he tried to say something, but he found that he could not. One of the things that worried me about this man was that if he was caught he would not only confess his crimes and subsequent actions but be sure to involve me as well. So while I was cutting off his fingers to the first knuckle, and the toes completely, I also cut his vocal chords. He is now mute. He cannot talk, and there is now no way to identify him positively. He was certainly agitated and was waving his bandage bound fists. I filled his bowl with beef stew, and a bowl for water, and left it for him to eat. This time I closed the gate at the entrance to the attic and padlocked it so that he could not get out. I explained my reasons for doing what I did. I told him that by cutting off the fingers to the first knuckle we didn't have to worry about the nails growing, and as for the feet, well, he would be able to get into a smaller size shoe. Not really because without toes he would find that he had no balance to walk. His mouth moved, but no sound came out of it. Hunger is a strong emotion, and as angry as he was, he was also hungry. I watched as he crawled to the gate where I had placed his food and water, and I watched him as he ate from his bowl as if he were a dog. On all fours. He then lapped at the water bowl, but found that too tiring, so he tried to suck the water into his mouth. It was better, but not by much. I could have gotten him a drinking straw, but I wanted him to suffer for what he is putting me through. By the end of the first week the insurance company asked me to come down for an interview. I declined saying I was too distraught, but they were welcome to come to my home in the country. I had now moved my office and clinic to the country home as I needed to feed him twice a day. The house had all the facilities necessary for me to function at this location, including the laboratory for making the appliances. The patients didn't seem to mind and no one knew that I had a guest in the attic. The insurance investigator was kind, but politely told me that they didn't like coincidences. That it was too convenient for the embezzler to disappear without a trace. They would be happier if there was a body. He also said that the insurance company would not be paying off on the policy anytime soon. The government investigations would have to be completed first, and maybe not even then. He was polite but made no bones about his suspicions. My eyes were red and teary and I don't think he suspected my complicity. When my husband found out about his daily diet being the same, day after day, he seemed unhappy, but who could tell? He couldn't make a sound. When I unwrapped his bandages ten days after the surgery, he was surprised that he did not have a full hand and was also surprised that he had no toes. None at all. He found it difficult to crawl on his hands and knees, so I made two canes that were only about 15" long that he could use to walk as if he were a four legged animal. It took him a little getting used to, but it seemed better for him than crawling. Sunday night, each week, I donned my bathing suit and hosed him down in the attic. I used soap and water, but the water was cold. He shivered. He learned to be on all fours all the time now and was getting adept in walking that way. And so it went for three months. The police and the government were still investigating. Of course the newspapers carried the story in the beginning and from time to time follow up stories. Sailors were on the lookout for a body, and soon it faded from the public eye. I kept my routine as usual. I did notice that my husband became duller and duller. He could not speak, he could not listen to radio or TV or play computer games. I had the feeling that he was not as sharp as before. That his mind, having nothing to think about and not hearing any sounds of the outside world, was retreating within himself. Time must have hung heavily on him. I suppose I could have seen to it that he had TV at least, but I could not take the chance of a guest hearing the noise. When I came with the food, he trotted over to the gate, and waited expectantly for it, like a dog. A dog. Maybe I should make him into a dog. No. He was too big. Dogs are not that big. What else? A horse! I loved horses. No. He is not big enough to be made into a horse. A pony! A pony! Of course, I can make him into a pony. I told myself not to be silly, you cannot make a man into a pony. But the thoughts would not leave me. Different scenarios began to play out in my mind. After a week of this a plan developed and I began to work at it. I went to my lab and designed the prosthetics. The first was shoes that when tightly laced into his toeless feet would force him to walk on the pads of his feet. A hard plastic hoof would be attached to the shoe giving it the appearance of a pony's foot. I also designed two fifteen inch forefeet. Instead of using canes I would have his fingers permanently sealed around them so that it would seem that he doesn't have arms, but feet. The soles were covered with hard plastic hooves. It is easy to put him to sleep. All I had to do is put a pill in his food, and bury it. I had prepared cotton mitts soaked in plaster of Paris powder. I put them on his hands, taped them around the handle of the prosthetic and then with a mister, wetted the mitts. It only took about five minutes for each hand to solidify around the prosthetic. The prosthetic was made to look like a pony's forefeet. I installed a chastity device on his penis and a nose ring through the septum of his nose. Another ring in the skin just above his buttocks, where I can later on, tie a pony tail. To complete the job, I attached long ears to his ears attaching them with two studs in each ear, that sort of looked like donkey ears. When he awoke, he realized that his hands were now attached to the devices and that what was left of his fingers were holding on to the top of them. He saw that he had pony legs front and back. I could tell he was angry, but he could not yet walk wearing the new devices. He would have to learn to do so. I was able to control his movements, because I made a long pole with a hook on the end, so that I was able to grab his nose ring and force him to go wherever I wanted him to. It took a couple of days, but he got the hang of walking. He is now walking as if he were a pony. On all four feet. His face is not a pony's face, and I could not do much about that, But I did give him an electric shave once each week, but allowing the stubble to be long on his face. I knew that both the police and insurance company had the house and myself under surveillance from time to time. They would never be convinced that it was not a possible scam until they could verify a body. Terry Springer was 20 years old. He dropped out of school when he was sixteen. He worked for me as my horse groomer. It wasn't a hard job. Just taking care of a couple of horses. The biggest drawback was cleaning out the manure in the stalls each morning. Otherwise there was little to do. Until the Mister disappeared we only came to the farm on the weekends, but now I was living there every day. He smoked pot, a little rum, and I never called him on it. He adored me. I gave him room and board and enough cash to take care of his limited needs. For my part I needed someone to help me. There were things that I had to do that I could not do by myself. I knew I was Terry's idol, but I was leery about letting a 20 year old wastrel in on the secret. But I had no choice. Who else could I ask? I brought Terry into the kitchen one night, and had a full bottle of his favorite rum on the table. I had him open the bottle and pour himself a nice size drink into a water glass. He wanted to pour some for me, but I told him that I didn't drink. He took a good gulp of the stuff, and then sat down. I asked him if he knew what a pony was? He said he did. I asked him what did he think if a man, a person, wanted to become a pony? He didn't seem to understand what I was talking about. And so I explained it to him again. I decided to go for broke and told him that there was a man in my attic that is wanting to become a pony. I didn't tell him that it was my husband. I told him that I needed his help in getting this man down from the attic into one of the horse stalls in the stable. Would he help me? And would he help me train this man to be the pony he wants to be? I am sure that Terry still did not comprehend fully what I was saying, but he would do anything I would ask him to do. The next morning I put my husband to sleep again with a pill in his breakfast oats. Terry and I entered the attic and wrapped leather straps around my husband's chest and buttocks. With a hammer Terry opened the access door to the attic that faced the barn. He then went downstairs and brought the tractor into the barn area. He tied the rope that I dropped to the ground from the attic to the wire cable on the tractor, and I slowly hauled the cable to the attic, as Terry unwound the spool at the front of the tractor. When I was able to grab the steel cable, I signaled to Terry and he came back upstairs and together we tied the cable to the leather straps. This made a harness so that we can now lower my husband out the access door and carefully to the ground. We took our time and soon we had him on the floor. He was awake by now, but still groggy, and with my pole in his nose I led him to his new home in the barn. I used the pole because I knew he was angry and if I got careless he could give me a kick with his hooves that could cause me bodily harm. I walked him to the stable which had a tiled area with hot and cold running water for washing. In another corner was fresh straw for his bed. Meanwhile, Terry rolled the cable back on the reel of the tractor, and put the tractor back in place. Then he went to the attic and re- nailed the access door shut. I then told him to clean the attic thoroughly so as not to have any evidence that anyone lived there. It was time to tell my husband the facts of life. I told him that I have been in negotiations with the insurance company. They said that they would discontinue their investigation and pay off the policy if I would settle for a million bucks instead of the five million the policy was worth. They said they could stall the case for many years and then may not have to pay then, either. I told them that that amount was not acceptable and after several months of negotiations, we are at the point where they will settle for half, or 2 1/2 million...no questions asked. I told them I would take it. This would give me about a million clear after paying the company the amount of money stolen along with the accrued interest. I told him that if he would allow me to train him as my pony, I would treat him nicely. I would take off his chastity belt and see that he had an orgasm each night. That I would see to it that he was washed each night with soapy water before his bedtime. But he had to learn to obey as a pony would. But that if he didn't I had the power to treat him badly. I could whip him and I could kill him, and who would care? He was already dead in the public's eyes. I told him that I would love him, not as a man, but as my pet. If he agreed he was to nod his head. It took a full minute, and then he did. I told him that from now on, his name would be 'Buttercup' and that he was to respond to that name. That I would train him to walk properly, to trot, to canter, and to let me ride him while he was wearing a saddle. I am not sure if he fully understood what I was saying, but he again nodded his head. With that I fitted the bit and bridle in his mouth and adjusted the straps so they fit snugly. I told him that he would have to get used to wearing them for a long time each day. They would only be taken off at night, before his evening meal. I then attached a beautiful pony tail to the ring that I installed on his buttocks. I had Terry put on some long rubber gloves, and with a brown dye covered my husband's entire body to make him look brown. I left a little white diamond pattern on his forehead, and left his ankles and forepaws white. I took a picture of him with my cell phone and showed it to him. He didn't look like a pony yet, but he didn't look like a human either. That night, as I promised, his chastity belt was removed, and so that he didn't harm anyone with his hooves, I secured his feet to some round stakes that I had hammered into the ground. Terry attached a modified milker to Buttercup's penis, and it didn't take long for him to cum. It has now been almost a year since he had an orgasm. I could tell he enjoyed it by how he shuddered. Under my supervision Terry washed him with soapy water and then carefully dried him. He was then led by the reins back to his stall where his dinner was waiting for him. I began to inject him once each week with HGH, human growth hormones. This will increase his body strength significantly and give him the stamina to perform hpw I wanted him to. At first, Terry just walked him around the rink holding him by the reins, with the bit in his mouth. He was docile and seemed to be accepting his fate. I told Terry that I paced it off, and that ten circuits around the inside of the barn equaled one mile and that was the goal I wanted for Buttercup. For his part, Terry seemed to be happy that I was spending some with him, and seemed to accept that Buttercup was just another horse. I knew that keeping him in the barn was dangerous. Some snoop could find out and I would be in serious trouble. Knowing that, one morning I dressed Terry in a woman's top, and placed a scarf around his head, and told him to drive my Cadillac convertible to the next town, a thirty minute drive. That he could spend the day there, but if he drank or smoked pot, he was to wait until he was sober until he returned. I promised him a thrill if he followed my orders exactly. When he pulled out of the farm area heading for the next town, the hovering police helicopter followed him thinking it was me. I waited for ten minutes and then, having already loaded Buttercup into the horse trailer which was attached to the pickup truck, I drove out in the opposite direction to my destination. It was several hours before I arrived at a small secluded farm. It had only a dirt access road and had no signs on it saying what it was. A wooden gate had to be opened to allow my vehicle to come through. I got out, opened the gate, drove through, and then closed the gate behind me. Abner ('the Colonel') Schmidt was waiting for me. He owned this small pony farm and took care of a couple of horses for'selected' clients. I had met him previously at one of the horse shows and he slyly indicated what kind of business he was in. He sort of let it be known that he was agreeable to anything to make an easy buck. I told Abner how I wanted Buttercup to be treated, and that the promises I made to him would be honored, but that Buttercup needed to be trained in the art of being a pony. I told him that I thought with the HGH hormones giving him the extra muscle he needed, that Buttercup should be able to trot, canter, or gallop for a full mile without stopping by the time his training was complete. I told him that he was to be milked nightly, if he was good, and he was to be washed, fed and in a clean stall. This was going to cost me $1,000.00 per week, 52 Grand a year. I took Buttercup out of the carrier and led him to Abner. I told him that Abner would train him, he was to be a good pony, and he would be rewarded as I promised. I also told him that I would come to visit every Sunday. Buttercup could now almost pass for a real pony if it were not for the shape of his head and neck. But there was nothing I could do about that. After I left and with my instructions, Abner walked Buttercup to a nearby hill where there was an excavation resembling a grave. He showed the hole to Buttercup, telling him that if he didn't obey, that hole is where he would wind up. Who is going to investigate a horse that died? Buttercup nodded his head twice He could not even neigh. No sound would ever come from him. Abner was a man of his word. He started training Buttercup. One Sunday I brought out four fresh plastic hooves as the hooves he had on were wearing down due to his training. Abner installed the new hooves on Buttercup, and then installed four aluminum horseshoes to his feet to protect them from future wear. Buttercup found that they made his gait steadier, but if he was on a paved street he had to be careful about slipping on the pavement. When he was in motion, his feet now made the clip-clop sound that horses do. Buttercup found that he lost track of time. He knew time by the light of the day, or by meals or training periods. He was so tired at the end of the day that he had no trouble laying on his straw pallet and falling right asleep. I was nervous about keeping Terry around. He knew too much. I know that he adored me, even worshipped me, but I knew that under severe interrogation he would fold. I told him about the wonders of California. I told him I would give him $1,000.00 cash so that he could go out there. I found the address of a cult that preyed on drop-outs such as he, and gave it to Terry, telling him that they would take care of him when he got to California. I did hear from Terry when he arrived in California, and that he was now living on the commune' s farm. And that was the last time I ever heard from him. It took almost six months at Abner's farm before I was satisfied that Buttercup was ready. He could be harnessed to a two wheel buggy, he could be saddled and taken for a ride, (providing the rider was not too tall, nor too heavy. 130 pounds seemed to be the most he could carry,) He could be saddled and raced on the track, although ponies are not known for their speed. He could trot, canter or gallop on command. His mind deteriorated that it seemed that all he did was to wait until he was given a command. He accepted being Buttercup. I loved coming on Sundays, saddling him up and take him for a stroll. He wore blinkers about his eyes so that he had to depend on his rider to tell him where to go. He was able to see the ground in front of him so as not to step on a stone or something and hurt a foot. When I saw him I always would feed him an orange or an apple as a treat. He seemed to like that. It may sound strange, but I forgot that this was once my husband. I saw Buttercup, although he was not a real pony. Once I tried to make a mask to fit over his head to give his face a longer look, but it affected how the bit fit in his mouth. It didn't work If it wasn't for the shape of his head I could pass him off as a real equine. I knew I was living dangerously. Too many people were now in on the secret. I knew the police, while they closed the case as unsolved, still watched me from time to time. I had to be really careful that I was not followed when visiting Buttercup on Sundays. I was becoming paranoid about it. I had to do something. On the internet I found the solution. I began to correspond with someone from the Middle East. He declared himself to be a horseman, and as discreetly as I could told him about Buttercup. He said he would be visiting the United States shortly and when he arrived he would contact me. It was October when he arrived. There were four Black SUV's accompanying his limousine. Two in front and two in back. When they stopped at my door at my country house, his bodyguards came out of the vehicles and stood by his car. When he got out of the car he was dressed in the rich style of the Arabs, robe and bearded. He had an autocratic air about him, but when he and I met he was very gracious. I invited him to come inside and when his bodyguards tried to follow, I asked that they remain outside, that we had to speak without any witnesses. He gave an order and they obeyed but I could see that they were not happy about it. At first the conversation was stilted. Either one of us wanted to be the first one to reveal ourselves. Finally, I handed him a handful of snapshots of Buttercup that I printed out and he looked at them very carefully one by one. We finally got down to business and he began to ask what Buttercup did. I told him that I could take him to the farm but that a five vehicle caravan was out of the question. He would have to ride in my pickup truck. He asked for, and I agreed, to allow one of his men to come along. We got to the farm a couple of hours later and I put Buttercup through his paces. With each demonstration I could see in the Arab's eyes that he was fascinated. He told me that in his country his was part of the Royal family, that he had diplomatic immunity and that if a deal could be struck there would be no problem in getting Buttercup out of the country. I was wearing my horsewoman's outfit with boots. I rode Buttercup. He was then hooked up to the buggy and gave us both a ride. By this time the Arab told his bodyguard to stay loose. He was not in harm's way. When we returned to my home later that evening, having stopped on the way at a little restaurant to get something to eat, I was asked what it would take to sell Buttercup to him. I told him that it was important to me that Buttercup never be found out, and I was assured that in his country no one would dare go against one of the Royal family. I asked what he would offer, and he came right back with a million. I told him I needed a million, two hundred fifty thousand, so that I would have a million net, after taxes. He said he wanted Buttercup for his ten year old son. He promised to take care of Buttercup, but I realized that once I sold him, I would have no way of knowing what happened. But I wanted the million. I got a million from the insurance company, but the earnings from the million were all being used fpr the care and training of my pony. Selling him I would be able to have two million working for me, and have no worry about ever being found out. He did not feel comfortable sealing the deal by shaking hands with a woman, but he was courteous and did so anyway. And so Buttercup would soon be the property of Prince Ben-Saud. The following Sunday we again met at my house and he handed me a suitcase full of cash, which took me over an hour to count, and we then left for the pony farm. I asked for a few minutes of time with Buttercup, and he was brought out of his stall. Seeing me, he expected to be exercised, but instead I took him about the neck and explained that he was going to be with a new owner somewhere in the Middle East. That they paid a lot of money for him and they promised to treat him kindly. I saw tears form in Buttercup's eyes. I explained that it was just too dangerous for me to have him here much longer. He obviously wasn't a real pony. I said that I wish I could make his head to resemble one, but it just wasn't possible. But that he was as much a pony as a human person could ever become. I told him that I loved him as my pony, and to be good to his new masters. Buttercup stamped his forepaw on the ground. There was nothing else I could say, and I handed the reins to the Prince. I was later told that he was brought to the local airport at the nearest large city, where at midnight he was loaded aboard a private 737 and took off for parts unknown. I declared the sale of a show horse in the amount of $1,250,000.00, paid the $250,000 in taxes, and now had a nice nest egg. I sold the farm and moved my practice back to the city. I am still in private practice, still on call for emergencies, and am enjoying my life as never before. Once in awhile I think of Buttercup, but always as a pony, never as a husband. I wonder if he is being taken care of, or even if he is still alive. I will never know. Now that I have gotten this off my chest, maybe I can put it to rest and not think of it anymore.