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Sonny Boy, an untouched three year old when he arrived at Roundthwaite had a pretty pony head, exceptional feet, legs, bone, joints and feather, and was as wild as the proverbial hawk. If he had a fault it was in the top line of his neck and in his temper which was none too sweet in those early days. It was a couple of months before he was tame enough to commence breaking in; his main aim during this period being to trap you in the comer of the stable and kick you to pieces. On more than one occasion I had to leap into the manger to escape has flailing hooves.
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H, FELL PONY, 1961
