I survived the pretty, flashy but hot, hot, hot show pony. I was new to driving and had some lessons under my belt. I’d ridden all my life. My trainer was helping me shop for a driving horse. We’d mostly looked at minis, but there just wasn’t a well trained mini that we could find at that time. I had recently gotten a riding horse and riding pony from a local rescue. They were for my husband and daughter, but I had no intention of riding due to balance issues. The rescue folks told me their landlord had an absolutely beautiful Hackney pony, 22 years old, that had been driving his entire life. They said he seemed desperately unhappy locked in a stall and doing nothing, and seemed like he really needed a job. My trainer wasn’t available the day I went to look at and drive the Hackney. I fell in love. I agreed to buy him, and called my trainer to ask her if she would transport him for me.
Trainer and I get to the barn to pick up my new pony, and the person I’d only known as a very mild mannered, quite older lady started yelling at me. “What the hell were you thinking, getting a Hackney? Haven’t I taught you anything? They are the hottest horses on earth. You’re going to kill yourself.”
I was determined, so we brought him home and we were able to turn him out immediately with the other two horses I’d gotten because they’d all lived together before I got the two rescue horses. The new pony, who I called Crackers (registered name Get Crackin’) was a love on the ground. He stood like a statue to be groomed and harnessed. Trainer and I worked together for a few weeks getting a harness and cart and getting everything fitted. Trainer never trusted him and would not get in the cart. We tried Crackers out in my pasture with me driving and he was pretty good. After several outings in my pasture, trainer agreed we could take him for a short jaunt on the road. She brought her bombproof Arabian gelding over and rode along while I drove Crackers.
Turns out Crackers had only driven in arenas, and had never been on the road. He was terrified of mailboxes, newspapers in plastic bags, trash bags, driveways, puddles, and shadows on the road. That first drive was very short and I had a pony drenched in sweat at the end of it.
From then on, I worked Crackers by myself. He was a bolter, also fond of running backwards, and I was sure we were both going to die a couple of times. Once he ran me into an empty lot about two miles from my house, which happened to be full of thorns. He bolted because my neighbor’s elderly horse, who he’d seen regularly, was looking at him from quite a distance. I had to ground drive him all the way home because we ended up with two flat tires. We were lucky that’s all that happened, because the brush was so high that I had no idea what was under it as we ran along. Another time, he spooked at a noise and tried to back the cart off the edge of a ravine. Had he back six more inches, the cart would have gone over and pulled him on top of me. Luckily he finally responded to the whip and my panicked “walk on, dammit!”
Oddly, Crackers was fine with cars, my neighbor’s semi (and its air horn), road graders, fire trucks with lights and siren going, trash trucks, and mostly kept himself together when a helicopter landed next to us. He was terrified of real estate signs, black trash bags (but white ones were OK), and never got over his fear of mailboxes. I knew I’d finally gotten through to him when I was able to pick up my mail from the cart. We also delivered my daughter’s Girl Scout cookies one year.
He never had much whoa, but we got to a place where I didn’t feel like I was going to die every time we went out.
He was the love of my life. He was sweet and cuddly on the ground, and always willing to go for a drive (and scare the heck out of me). When he started showing his age at around 27, I trained my daughter’s pony to drive and started taking him out instead. Every time I started harnessing the other pony, Crackers would be frantic in the pasture, practically yelling “Take me! Take me!” But at that point, he just couldn’t do it any more. I tried ground driving him for short distances so he wouldn’t be pulling any weight, and he still couldn’t seem to handle it. I finally had to euthanize him when he was 29 due to a sinus tumor. I still miss that quirky pony every day of my life.
Rebecca
is if you want to get a greenie, first ask yourself how comfortable/experienced you are with greenies in general (because even after he comes home from a trainer he is still going to be a greenie). Then either make sure it is sellable in another career, or you would be perfectly happy keeping it as a riding pony or you can fund its retirement for a good long while. 
