Checkers the Pony. Bless his little heart.
Checkers is a thirty-four year old skewbald pinto pony gelding that William "Willy" Hall rescued from certain death. He's a part of the furniture at the Laughing Fox, and is the unofficial mascot of the inn.
Quick Stats
- Name: Checkers
- Age: thirty-four
- Gender: gelding
- Type: pony
- Color: skewbald (brown) pinto
Personality
Checkers really is a sweet old thing. He's seen some hard years, but, being a hardy little pony himself, he's come out none too worse for the wear. As a youngster, he was feisty, but when he got gelded, most of the insane, hormone-driven instincts that drove him to acts of insanity were effectively cut out, and he calmed downed and became a much more reasonable animal, by his breeder's estimation. He's further mellowed out as he's aged, to the point that hardly anything fazes him; his motto, if he were to have one, mostly likely would have been 'if you seen it once, you've seen it a million times.'
When Willy first obtained Checkers, about five years hence, the poor pony was so worn out and down-trodden that his owner was on his way to take him to the market to be sold as a meal for some poor family (or, more likely, multiple families.) He'd been unresponsive, seemingly lethargic and the equine equivilant of depressed. He'd been a working pony his whole life, and whatever spark that had kept him going had just burned out. Upon coming to Willy's inn, he began a life in a spacious - and regularly cleaned - stall, recieving plenty of hay and other nutritional treats, and being left to laze about in content peace and quiet, without a day's work to his name. The change of pace - rest, plenty of food, access to clean water and kind words - really did the pony some good, and where he was a hoof-dragger, he's begun to regain a spring in his step; his eyes are no longer dull, and he's a pleasant sort of fellow to be around.
Willy, bless his heart, has absolutely spoiled the wee thing; he vists Checkers every day, always bringing with him a carrot, an apple, and, sometimes, a clump of sugar for the pony to munch on. As such, the beastie's taking to nickering upon the arrival of any person at all, hopefully inquiring for a treat and shamelessly querying for company. A frequent sight in the stable adjoining the Laughing Fox is the small, whiskery muzzle thrust over the door, nostrils flared as the pony nickers softly in the hopes of suckering some poor fool into feeding him.
It really shouldn't be any surprise, then, that not only is the old fellow nice and roly-poly-oly, but that his coat's grown to be nice and glossy, if a bit scruffy in patches where scars marr the skin. It also shouldn't come as any surprise that he loves human contact, and he loves being groomed. Again, the shameless nickering and pacing at the stall door comes into play, and funnily enough, he usually gets what he wants.
He's really a friendly pony. He was treated well when he was a foal, and most of his owners have been decent sorts - only a few bad eggs here and there - and his good memories vastly outweigh the bad; that, and he's naturally a very forgiving sort. For instance, he'll forgive your lack of treats, and he's perfectly content to recieve a stroke or two in passing on the muzzle. Of course, he whinies after the person, wishing for them to come back, but he quickly forgets - or maybe just gives up on - the person, and often returns to munchingon hay or splashing his water.
As as stall horse, he's surprisingly meticulous in his bathroom habits, he prefers to defecate against the wall, and often, whoever's mucking out his stall will find a large pile of poop in a corner. It seems that he doesn't like to walk in his own feces, and he prefers not to lay down in such, either. Urinating is another matter entirely. The stable does have a drainage system, though it's not the world's greatest, and in theory, it would be perfectly fine for the pony to just pee in his stall; that he tries to hold it in for as long as he can is a testament to his intense dislike of urine splashing on his legs. He really, really, really dislikes being splashed like that.
That being said, Checkers loves baths, especially if the water is lukewarm and he's being given a good scrub with fingers. Oh, gods, does he love finger; they can do such wonderful things, and reach such wonderful areas - and Checkers, in the honest way that horses will, often shows his appreciation for such things by leaning into the ministrations and groaning softly with horsy pleasure. And when someone hits a particularly sweet spot - his being at the base of his whithers, on the poll, and at the dock - his eyes tend to roll back in his head and his lips curl up and back.
The pony was trained to pull a cart, and though he no longer does it on a daily basis, Checkers is well-school in such things - if he were capable of doing such things, he'd no doubt be able to harness himself and hitch up the cart all by himself, and all in his sleep, too. As he can't do that, he relies on Willy and other folks to do so. Ever since Willy first met Checkers, the pony's been a bit wary of harnesses, due to a long few years spent working in a harness that ill-fit him and pinched at his shoulders. One of the first things that Willy did was purchase a harness that properly fit the poor old guy, and with time, exposure to pleasant experiences with the harness, and plenty of rest and lack of heavy work, Checkers has begun to come to willingly accept the harness. He still flinches when it's brought out, but it's more muscle memory than anything, and though he doesn't move toward the harness in eagerness, he doesn't move away, either.
He's so placid and amiable that he's been cleared as child-safe. Bomb-proof to the max, he tolerates their loud noises and their less-that-respectful touches; yanking on his tail isn't likely to incite an outraged kick, and he seems to understand if a small child needs to grab onto him to steady themselves. He is, rather wisely in Willy's estimation, careful enough to keep his ears out of reach. Touch anything you will, but leave his ears out of it. He'll sensitive about his ears, and he only tolerates soft, kind touches. No squeezing, no tugging, no rough-handling allowed.
History
Checkerswas not originally Willy's pony. In fact, Willy's only had him for five years - which leaves approximately twenty-nine years spent in the care of other people.
First thing's first, Checker's original name wasn't even Checkers - that was just the name that Willy gave the pony upon rescuing him from certain death. When Checkers was first born, he was named Pinecone. He was born on a farm outside of Corus to a reputable breeder, who had had an operation crossing the cobs of the farmlands with the retired or unsuitable rider ponies that he was able to purchase. Many a fine animal was produces, them's as being smart and willing to work, and more importantly, capable of working; they were bred for dual purposes, to be able to serve as a swift mount when need be, and to also be able to change paces in an instant and work the fields. Stocky enough to pull heavy loads, yet light enough to run at high speeds for long periods of time, that was the ideal that the ponies were bred for.
Pinecone had been such a pony. He'd been trained to harness and to saddle, and when he was suitably trained to his breeder's liking, the boy was sold to a merchant family to be the lovely little mount of the family's little girl, Ingrid. Ingrid had not liked the name Pinecone, and she'd renamed him Tiger. He'd lived as a riding pony for that girl for a couple of years, until she had outgrown such things and had begun to pursue more 'lady-like' things, and then, sadly, he'd been sold to a mortician to be used as a haul-pony for the carts of the dead.
It wasn't a bad life, that; sure, the smells of the dead distress the pony, but his driver wasn't a bad sort (just a little creepy, aye?) and he was well-cared for. The man hadn't liked the pretentious name that the girl had given the pony, and Tiger was renamed as Judge, in honor of Mithros. It was while pulling carts full of dead things that not only did Judge turn nine years old, but that the ruler of Tortall was murdered and Jonathan V came into power, not that he cared of such thing, but it an was important factor in his life...
That being said, the mortician gave us his job and signed up for the army to fight against the Tyran offense, and Judge was sold to a man who took to hauling wood to the Craftsmans District for the many tradesmen who required such things. It was back-breaking work, with him often pulling loads that weighed twice his weight and were piled high above him. And this was essentially what he did for twenty years, day in, day out. His owners and drivers switched from time to time, but he continued to pull the same cart filled with the same things - he was given many names: Pony, Bastard, Little Guy, Buster, Dead Meat, etc, etc. He wasn't overly appreciated, and his treatment grew worse and worse with each change of ownership, until, finally, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, the most recent of the string of owners had decided to take him to the Slaughter Market to make a few extra copper nobles.
Who should see him headed for there but William Hall, newly-made innkeeper and life-time sap; the man had taken one look at the pony and his heart had gone out to the poor thing - and he had resolved to rescue that spotted animal and take him home with him, nevermind that he wasn't a horseperson or that it probably wouldn't be of any use to him. Willy had purchase the pony for thirty coppers, which was many many times more than what the animal was worth, but the man hadn't cared - he'd gone home empty-pursed and with a debilitated pony in tow, and had proceded to lavish love and attention upon the animal.
The pony's name at the time of the purchse had been Bill; Willy had not liked that name for the pony, thinking it too stoic and normal for poor fellow, and he had renamed the animal Checkers, in reference to his spotted coat.
Other
Checkers is the mascot of The Laughing Fox. Never mind that he's not a fox, and that he generally doesn't laugh - his place is set.