A Day in the Life of a Pony Named Pony: Halloween

Halloween. THIS is my holiday.

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like in the mind of a pony, wonder no more. Here are the hilarious inner workings of a sassy and opinionated pony named Pony.

Illustration by Jenny Kammerer. You can find her on Instagram at @jennykammart.

Dear Diary,

It’s been a minute, but now there’s a reason to write. Halloween. Finally — a holiday worthy of my talents.

The other horses have spent all day leaping sideways at candy wrappers and trembling at the sound of dry leaves scuttling across the ground. Pathetic. You’d think they were auditioning for The Exorcist: Equine Edition. One of them snorted so hard at a plastic pumpkin that he nearly flipped himself inside out. Truly, it’s a marvel that any of them survive turnout.

Meanwhile, I have purpose.

As the sun set and the wind began to rattle the trees, I donned my Michael Myers mask (Beta Human calls it “disturbing” — I call it “inspiring”) and took up my post in the shadows. The fools never saw me. I waited… patient, silent, magnificent.

Then — movement. The big gelding, the one who thinks he’s so brave, ambled by the treeline. I let out a low breath and stepped forward just enough for the moonlight to catch the gleam of the mask. The sound he made could only be described as a cross between a bugle and a kettle whistle. He bolted. I have never been prouder.

The others joined in, of course — herd mentality at its finest. Off they went, galloping in terrified circles, manes flying, eyes rolling. I, of course, stood perfectly still. Like the icon I am.

Beta Human came running out, flashlight in hand, muttering about “ghosts” and “ridiculous ponies.” If only she knew. I stood there in the trees, the mask slightly askew, and watched her trip over a mounting block. Delicious.

Tomorrow, they’ll all talk about the “ghost of the pasture” and the “curse of Halloween night.” Let them. I’ll be in my stall, chewing contentedly on my alfalfa, wearing the mask around my neck like a medal of honor.

Until next time, Diary. May the humans never learn, and the horses never stop providing entertainment.

Malevolently (and festively),
Pony 🎃