When the rescue asked if I could foster a mini horse, I was down for it. Easy, right? I didn’t have to ride it so it couldn’t buck me off- always a plus. This particular mini horse was named Stanley. He was a pinto, and he looked like a tiny version of the kind of horse you see Native Americans riding in those paintings of the Old West. Stanley was a tiny terror. He bit constantly, but he was so short he could only reach my knees. The first few weeks he was at the barn, we all walked around with shredded knee caps. He was also very amorous and mounted everyone- me, my children, the big horses. If you have never experienced being tackled by a 400 lb linebacker with hooves and teeth, I’m happy for you. I wasn’t so lucky.