A young pony was playing with the other ponies when he learned a neat trick. This trick was so neat that he practiced it over and over again. The other ponies like the trick at first, but then get bored, and started avoiding him, saying “I want a friend who plays many games with me, not just repeating the one trick over and over”. But the pony was completely absorbed into his own world and was content just playing with himself and this trick. But loneliness crept in here and there in the small gaps inevitable in life.
One day, a circus director came along, and said “this trick is great, please join my circus”. The pony is delighted! Now he gets to perform his same trick in front of different expectant crowds seeing it for the first time! Even more satisfying, he can practice his trick among alongside the lion, the bear, and the elephant, each of whom are practicing their own trick! They quickly bond over their shared experiences, and finally, he gets to be with his type of people! The loneliness is vanquished!
But with time the pony grows conceited. He sees the Elephant’s trick is more popular than his own. He wonders, what if I can perform that trick too? He starts practicing the elephants trick. The pony is smart talented and figures out how to overcome some of the anatomical differences and make it sort of work. The circus director sees that it isn’t as pretty as the Pony’s own trick, or as natural as the Elephant performing her own trick, but sees that it somehow works. The pony starts to substitute in for the Elephant when she gets sick. He thinks, “why this is great, now I get two opportunities to be adored instead of one”.
The pony’s conceit continues to increase. The pony thinks “why, I can just do all the tricks, and get all the crowd’s attention”. He starts practicing the lion’s trick and the bear’s trick too. The difficulties are greater. A horse’s hip structure just doesn’t support standing up straight like a bear’s does. The lion’s natural flexibility is much greater than a horse’s. The tricks don’t really work for the pony. But the pony thinks, “I made it work for the elephant, I can make it work here too. And so he focuses more and more on perfecting these tricks not made for him, until he stops practicing his own trick, and abandons practicing the elephant’s trick, too, as it is “good enough”. His focus is entirely on the new tricks. The circus director won’t allow the pony to perform these flawed attempts in front of the main audience. But the pony knows the business by now, and collects small audiences by himself outside the main circus. The audience politely applauds and leaves saying “this is a cute amateur act, but I sure wouldn’t pay for it”. This frustrates the pony and drives him deeper into him obsession with perfecting these tricks. Meanwhile, the pony continues performing his old act in the main circus. The new ambition gives the performance around the tricks a certain flair. But the lack of practice makes performing that trick more and more stressful, as care and mental strain take the place of extensive bodily experience.
But the breaking point with the circus has nothing to do with the act, but with simple bodily maturity. He has aged, grown big and showing mature features, and is no longer cute enough for the circus director. “Your time here is done!”
Our protagonist returns to the herd, and finds the other ponies have matured beautifully, and developed the many graces and skills of fully mature horses, and found their place in the herd. But our protagonist, now a young gelding in body, but immature in mind and experience, fits in poorly, and can contribute little to the herd. However, the circus act had built up certain muscles, and so the horse finds work.