My Little New Orleans Pony

Imagine being a grown man but having the same interests and the same trust in other people you still had when you were a child.  Actually, that doesn't sound so bad now that I think about it.  I had a happy childhood.  If if it wasn't, how was I to know?  I met a guy who thinks likes this.  He's a jockey.  That's why the title of this story is: My Little Pony in New Orleans.

Ready? On your marks.  Get set.  ----GO!

Herbert Herbert is half American and half Creole.  His mother's family goes back four generations in Milan (pronounced MY-laan, in case you don't know) and his father's family goes back to when the Spanish were still in charge.  

Herbert Herbert's first name is pronounced American: Herbert.  His second name is pronounced Creole: AY-bear.  It was never a problem for his teachers during roll call, after all, he is born and raised New Orleans.

He's a runt of a guy.  I'm not saying that to be insulting.  Just the facts. There's nothing wrong with a man being short.  It's what inside that counts.  The same is true of women.  Anybody, really.

The quality of a person's character is what matters most.  Nothing else.

MY LITTLE NEW ORLEANS PONY.

Herbert Herbert (say it along with me) races at the Fairgrounds Race Track in Mid-City New Orleans.  He rides full-grown stallions, mares and geldings.  He's won more than a few races, too.  Not many, but more than a few.

The reason jockeys like to be short is because the smaller they are, the less they weigh on the horse.  Herbert Herbert weighs next to nothing compared to you or me.  He's got a winner's physique.  

As a jockey, Herbert Hebert does travel the country on the horse-racing circuit, but New Orleans is his home base.  He is usually in town by the time the ostrich races are run at the Fairgrounds and he has won, placed, and showed in the ostrich races every year that they've been held.  During ostrich season, he is more than a bit of a celebrity around the Fairgrounds Neighborhood.

He last time I talked to Mr. Herbert, it was at the end of last ostrich season.  We were sitting next to each other at the bar at the Seahorse Saloon.  He had a pint of Dixie and so did I.  We have similar taste in beer and in horseflesh.  He knows that I always bet him to win, place, or show in every race.  I know a lot of people who do it, too.  It doesn't matter what nag that they put him on.  We know that New Orleans' best jockey knows how to make every horse his little New Orleans pony.

That's what he whispers into the horse's ear when they're in the gate together before the race starts.  He leans over into the horse's ear and he whispers so softly that no other horse can here, "You're my little New Orleans pony, baby.  You're my little New Orleans pony."

When the guns go off the horse is usually off like a shot.  Herbert Herbert doesn't always win, place or show every race but the horses he rides run with heart.  I guess you could say he's a horse-whisperer if you want to.

He doesn't speak ostrich but somehow the ostriches know that they are their best little New Orleans ostrich to him.  Do you even know where an ostrich's ears are on its head?  The answer may surprise you.

Herbert Herbert was crying in his beer that afternoon when I was talking to him.  Sure, it's great to be an award winning ostrich jockey in New Orleans but that wasn't exactly what he dreamed of when he was just much younger, a wee jockey.

"I saw myself as winning the Kentucky Derby," he told me.  "Believe me, I'm grateful for my prize money from the ostrich races but the ostriches are just dumb birds.  It's no way to get rich.  We don't have any control over them.  We just hang on as best we can.  It's not like in the Black Panther movie.  It's all dumb luck on dumb birds.  It's a novelty.  I'm happy for the bucks but I'm not proud of it."

He took another sip of his Dixie.  "Ostrich racing isn't a real sport, no matter what anyone tells you.  You and I may as well go and bet on the cockroach races in the back room here.  We have just as much chance of predicting the winner."  He looked toward the door that leads to the back room of the Seahorse Saloon but he decided to keep talking instead.

"I've been lucky with the ostriches but it's all been dumb, dumb luck.  Now, if I were to win the Kentucky Derby, that would take some skill, me and the horse, my little New Orleans pony crossing the finishing line, winning the Kentucky Derby.  Now, that would be something." He started to cry.

I know as much about horse racing as I do about ostrich racing (and cockroach racing, for that matter).  All I know is that if Herbert Herbert is the jockey, I'm betting on him.  I think he's too old to stay in the sport much longer, though.  I think that his days are numbered.

Not being able to race horses won't kill him.  His plan is to stay on at the Fairgrounds to exercise the horses around the track to keep them fit.  He loves to groom horses and to take care of them.  He has formulated his own liniment so he has a pipe dream to manufacture and market that.

There is nothing wrong with dreaming big, especially when we're young.  

There is nothing wrong with settling with what you have after trying your best to follow that dream.  Sure, things could have worked out differently.  You could have gone to dental school and you'd be very comfortable, financially, at this point in your life.  

C'est la vie, as they say in New Orleans.

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