“What do we do?” I yelled to Garrett, on his heels.
“Catch her,” Garrett yelled back dryly.
“I think you need to outrun her. And then get her to turn around.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll just outrun a horse.”
“You ran the New York Marathon. You can outrun a pony!”
“One of those things doesn’t equal the other!”
Under any other circumstance, Garrett would be shaking his head at me with his devilish grin, and I would be shaking my head right back. Yet, sadly, banter while running for your life is rarely full of heart flutters and flirtatious smiles.
My chest thumped harder as Dolly barreled toward the fence that stood between the vineyard and the field. There were rows of grapevines between us and the party tent in the distance, but if one person walked out of the tent, they would see Dolly, and then they would see us. Garrett’s shirt was unbuttoned, and I looked like I had almost fucked someone in a barn. It would be unexplainable on every level.
Dolly slowed her hoofs to a stop at the fence and turned back around toward me. I leaned against a high-jump hurdle, exhaling relief. Garrett quietly walked toward Dolly, just as she turned her back to him, burying her pink nose in the hay to refuel before her next 3K. Garrett cautiously tapped his hand on Dolly’s back like she was a door.
“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to approach a horse from behind!”
Dolly whipped her head at Garrett, her big brown eyes narrowing on him, her ears pointed toward him like she was a bull and he was a bright red flag.
“How was I supposed to know that?” he asked, as he stepped back from Dolly with his hands in the air.
“You’re a privileged white kid from Connecticut,” I hissed.
Dolly edged her hooves into the dirt, eyes unblinking on Garrett. I moved in front of Garrett with my palms outstretched, crouching down to Dolly’s level.
“Hi, Dolly,” I said, offering her the front of my hand.
Her ears softened as she let me pet the bridge of her nose.
“What do you say we get you back home?” I asked, walking in the direction of the barn.
I turned around, hopeful that Dolly would be on my heels. She hadn’t moved an inch. Unfortunately, there was no halter and also no rope to lead Dolly back to her home. I glanced up to the sky, clenched my eyes shut, and drew in the dusty air. Dolly was a miniature pony. I was also miniature: standing at five-foot-two. If a three-year-old could ride Dolly without going catatonic, so could I. I opened my eyes with my heart pounding, I sucked in courage, and I climbed on board.
“What are you doing?” Garrett asked.
“The article in front of Dolly’s stable—it says she loves nothing more than giving pony rides.”
“To children,” he said.
“Well, I’m improvising.”
I laid my stomach along her spine, lifting my leg in the air. I was far too adult-sized to make getting a ride from a miniature pony look good, but damn, this bitch was loving it. Dolly trotted toward the stable, giddily, and I couldn’t help but smile as the warm breeze hit my cheeks.
The pace was slow and steady, until suddenly, dirt started to fly in the air, wiping the grin off my face. Terror took over as Dolly’s little hooves picked up speed. My eyes widened to saucers, seeing us galloping ahead, toward a low crossrail.
“Dolly, don’t you fucking dare!” I yelled.
She fucking dared.
Dolly lifted her head up, and barreled toward the hurdle like Ryan Gosling was waiting for us, shirtless, on the other side. We flew through the air, and I closed my eyes, feeling my stomach slam against my ribs. Dolly thudded to the ground on her front hooves, pounding my vagina hard against her bony backside.
I patted the side of her head, screaming into her ear over the increasingly dirty wind in my face. “OKAY, DOLLY, YOU DID IT. YAY! IT’S TIME TO GO NIGHT-NIGHT NOW.”
Garrett was on our heels, panicked. He whipped his head back to the party tent, making sure that we were getting farther and farther away from blowing our criminal cover.
Breathing hard, I looked up to see rows of low-jump hurdles. I tugged at Dolly’s mane as she lurched over one jump ring after another, my lady parts getting hammered, and not in a good way. My cheeks flapped harder against the wind as she picked up her pace, holding on to a speed that miniature ponies shouldn’t be capable of reaching.
A high hurdle was ahead of us, clearly meant for a stallion, not for Dolly, the unsung hero of a petting zoo. I guessed Dolly had bitterly looked on year after year as the big horses got to cover the tallest hurdle while she had to give screaming two-year-olds a nice little trot around a ring. Now, she would show us all.
I could hear my heart beating in my head with nausea settling in my throat. I turned my head around to look at Garrett. He was running yards behind me, with helpless wide eyes and his gorgeous, messy hair blowing in the wind. Dolly picked up the pace, and I whipped my head forward: yards away, the tallest hurdle was approaching. I squinted, realizing it wasn’t just one hurdle. Dolly would have to jump wide enough to clear a triple.
Dolly’s mane flew into my howling open mouth as I ducked my head to the side of her neck, unable to watch as I met my death. This was a fitting end. I imagined how the East Hampton Star would cover our demise: “Dolly died heroically, a miniature pony trying to reach her full-sized dreams. Also a casualty of Dolly’s high-hurdle aspirations was Maggie Vine, that rando who was last seen with Asher Reyes.”
I opened my eyes, seeing Dolly’s hooves tuck under her belly as we left the ground.
“AHHHH!” I screamed, with two hands clutched behind her ears.
We arched toward the hurdle like E.T. and Elliott floating over the moon—except E.T. was clenching her glutes to keep from shitting on the mini pony underneath her bare ass.
Somehow, Dolly cleared all three high hurdles. I was strangely proud of her, but I didn’t have time to celebrate her personal record, as my right boob slammed against Dolly’s spine, knocking the breath from me. I lost my hold on her, flailing my arm desperately toward Dolly’s mane, gripping on to her fur, and squeezing my legs around her body as she ran toward the barn. With each gallop, I felt my chest inching down Dolly’s side, my chin now nearing her front leg, my sweaty palms now losing a battle with gravity.
I lost my hold on Dolly’s mane just as the sandy floor—the floor that my face was about to meet—became concrete. My shrieks echoed through the barn as my body tumbled off the miniature pony, hitting the cold hard floor with a thud.
I tried to catch my breath, pressing my palms onto the floor and peeling my cheek up off the ground. Dolly stopped prancing and turned to loom over me. She nudged my trembling body with her wet nose, and I dug my heels onto the floor, sliding my ass away from the least terrifying animal of all time: a My Little Pony Happy Meal toy come to life. Dolly pointed her chin into the air and pranced to her open stall, as if she hadn’t just scarred me for life.
Garrett flung himself against Dolly’s door, sliding the brass lock closed so she was locked in for good. He stared at me breathlessly, with sweat dripping down his bare chest. I pressed my hand onto my neck, searching for reassurance that I was still alive.
“Are you okay?” he asked.