Anyway, Thunder lives in our living room, eats gluten free oats, and doesn't make a sound. His riders, on the other hand, seem to be everywhere, also eat gluten free oats and make a terriffic racket: "Hyaa!" "Giddyup, Thunder!" "Don't pull my hair!"
Poor Thunder. Although he's a mean, spring loaded, running machine, he never manages to go very far. Even with an hour of hard riding each day, he only moves a few inches one way or the other, and he works so hard for those few inches. His tyrannical riders never seem to give him a break and shout incessantly while riding. On occasion, his load lightens and a doll or stuffed animal hops into the saddle. But, mostly he's being driven by the little girls.
However, he doesn't complain; his new life must be better than living in that thrift store where no one yelled at him or spurred him to achieve all the wild inching he has accomplished in the last few weeks. And, he's now valued far above the $6 that we paid for him.
