That word is PONY. He is ten years old, a blotchy design of brown and white and smarter than most other beings on the planet. His nicknames are "Einstein", "Clever Clogs" and "The Pony Calculator". The trainer has described him as "frighteningly bright" and the person who cared for us in the absence of the regular humans called him "Brat Face", "Smarty Pants" and "you little ^%$#^^%$*#".
Wilson arrived in an enormous box on wheels at the end of March - by enormous I mean that it held nine equines. Two of those were called Mike and Tommy and are 19hh. I very much wish we had been able to visit with those equine edifices but they were on their way to somewhere called Calgary.
Molly immediately laid down the law about my being a sacred object around here and threatened to do terrible things to him for three days. Then she announced she quite fancied him. I find him personable and an excellent mutual neck scratcher. He had never lived indoors before but has taken to it so well that he now declares he can't exist without deep bedding, ice cubes in his evening water and his own fan.
The trainer has had some interesting interactions with him but Wilson seems to be gradually bringing him to heel - though the trainer thinks the reverse. The wheels in the pony brain never stop spinning. The woman has ridden him a bit but is still maundering on about her shoulder - the damage to which was caused inadvertently by Wilson...
But that is a story for another day and involves four different species.