Prior to coming to Four Sticks Farm, Biskit was part of a neglected herd rescued by the MN Hooved Animal Rescue Foundation. He was a demonstration horse at a fundraising clinic given by a local trainer and was standing quietly in a round pen when I walked into the barn. I stopped to get a closer look at the little yellow gelding, and when his soft baby browns met my gaze, there was no doubt that he would be joining Chicago and Rusty at Four Sticks Farm.

I regaled George with as many details of the event as a non-horsey husband can tolerate, ending with a suggestion of what he could get me for my birthday, which was on the following Friday. I told him about the pretty palomino. He told me he already had my birthday present. I picked up Biskit the following Saturday.

Whether a remnant of his sad past, or plain old gluttony, Biskit is always ready to belly up to the hay bale and reluctant to bid it farewell. During primo grazing season, when the paddock is open all day, he is loath to leave the opportunity to gorge on all that forage even for a drink of water or a turn in front of the big barn fan. He leaves his muzzle on low to mow a path to the next spot of greener grass.

I’ve tried to take advantage of that food focus by taking Chicago for a little exercise around the property while Biskit is stuffing his stomach, but he will eventually notice he’s the only pony on his side of the pasture rail and then he’ll panic, running the fence line, tail lifted, head high, calling for his friend. An impressive site, if you ignore the small mounds of manure dotting the alley as they drop from beneath that elevated tail.

Because he has an unspecified neurological issue that affects his balance, Biskit escaped riding duty, with an everlasting assignment as the barn buddy. He is a pasture pal. The support pony, he buys into his place in the herd, which is anywhere behind the polka-dotted butt of the big red horse he calls “Boss.”

What he’s never bought into is that Patience is a Virtue. He protests excessive time in the crossties, with impatient pawing, piles of poop, and puddles of pee in the barn aisle. Our good-natured farrier unpacks his superpowers of patience and proficiency to complete Biskit’s pedicure within the window of three-legged tolerance, finishing the job seconds before the pot-bellied pony snatches his hoof away in a most disrespectful display of gravitational insecurity.

But he is cute. More charming than churlish, Biskit is beloved by most who visit the barn. He’s a BFF to the Big Red Beast, cordial to the cats, and gracious to the golden with a squeaker ball. A birthday gift still giving after 14 years.

Blessings.