Chubs, the Little Horse

Hey friends, it’s Chubs.

This isn’t one of my usual posts where I talk about snacks, naps, or the endless joy of being hosed down on a hot day. No, today’s story is serious. It’s about something that happened recently—something that could have ended reallybadly.

It started like any normal day. I was standing outside the trailer, just hanging out, watching the birds and wondering if someone was going to bring me a carrot (no one did, rude). My buddy Finnick was already tied inside the trailer. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t stomping or snorting or acting worried.

In fact, he was busy eating. There was a bucket in front of him, and he was happily munching away like everything was fine. But then… the bucket disappeared.

And that’s when things changed.

Finnick decided that if the snacks were gone, so was he.

Instead of waiting for help or listening to our hooman’s calm voice (which was definitely saying, “Whoa, Finnick, don’t do that”), he started backing up. Slowly at first. Then with more determination. Our hooman was trying to push him forward, telling him it was okay. But Finnick wasn’t having it.

He kept backing out—while still tied.

Suddenly, his back feet slipped right out of the trailer, and just like that, he was half in, half out, his head still tied up front. I stood there on the outside, eyes wide, heart thumping. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to help, but I also didn’t want to get caught in the chaos.

Our hooman rushed to untie him, but the rope had pulled too tight. Finnick started jerking, flinging himself side to side, panicking. The whole trailer rocked. He thrashed and fought, and I thought—this is it. He’s going to hurt himself.

He could’ve bashed his face. Broken his neck.

But then, with one huge lunge, Finnick flung himself forward and scrambled back into the trailer.

He stood there, shaking. So did I.

Our hooman unhooked his lead rope right away and let him eat while trying to untangle the knot. I could feel the tension in the air—like the wind before a storm. No one said anything for a long time.

It was one of those moments where you realize how quickly things can go from normal to not okay.

Finnick wasn’t trying to be bad. He just didn’t understand what was happening. And sometimes, even strong horses like him (and calm ponies like me) get caught in things we can’t control.

I’m just really, really thankful it ended the way it did—and not worse.

So yeah, that’s the story. No jokes today. No sparkly heart ears or snack rankings. Just a reminder to be careful, stay aware, and appreciate the hoomans who do everything they can to keep us safe—even when things get scary.

We’re okay. But it was a close one.

Until next time—be kind, be safe, and never underestimate the power of a bucket.