The Mystery Ponies of Ritz-field Oaks

Growing up the eldest son of a genuine horse trader (my Mom), I've accumulated a wealth of stories surrounding horses and horse people. Some are funny (at least in retrospect), and some are touching or poignant. Some of these stories are even true. Well, mostly true. Some of the names have been changed to protect the guilty, and to compensate for my failing memory. I certainly wouldn't guarantee the historical accuracy of anything I say or write.
I'll define 'horse trader' as one who engages in pretty much any horse related activity that can turn a profit. Our business card read 'horses boarded, bought, and sold', but we also provided pony rides at parties and events, supplied horses for judges in field dog trials, ran a couple of riding stables, and we hauled, bred, and trained horses. Additionally we contracted with the County's Animal Control agency to pick up and board roaming horses and cattle.
This contract with the county was fairly straightforward. Whenever there was a report of horses or cattle roaming loose, Animal Control would make an effort to locate the owners. If they couldn't be found (or wouldn't admit to being the owners), we would get a call to pick up the animals and take them to our farm. If someone later claimed the animals, they would have to pay a fine to the county, pay for any property damages caused by the animals while they were loose, and pay trailering and boarding fees to my folks for whatever time they were in our care. If nobody claimed them after 30 days (as was often the case, given the fines and costs), we were free to sell them at auction. Any money we collected over and above the trailering and boarding fees was to be turned over to the county. Somehow, by strange co-incidence, there was never any money left over. Blame it on the economy. Mom knew every horse dealer in the three surrounding states, most of whom would have written her a receipt for any figure she wanted, but I'm sure that had nothing to do with anything.
One fine summer morning we were all at home - I was about 16, and my two younger brothers were 13 and 14, along with my Mom and Step-dad Woody. We were just finishing breakfast when a frantic call came in from Deputy Bob Smithers of Animal Control. "How soon can you get to the Ritz-field Oaks Golf and Country Club? Several ponies are running around, tearing up the greens, and the course manager is having a conniption fit." Woody got the directions while my brothers and I gathered up lead ropes, halters, and some grain. We debated taking along a horse or two and some lariats, as we knew only too well that ponies can sometimes be hard to catch, but decided against it. We hooked up the stock trailer, piled into the truck, and headed to the golf course, which was about 3 miles away.
The first thing we noticed when we arrived at the course was how red in the face everyone was. It seems they had been trying to catch the ponies, or at least keep them shepherded into a corner of the course and off the greens. The ponies were making quite a game of it - letting them get close and then dashing off snickering at the last moment. Deputy Smithers and his partner Deputy Jan Higgins were clearly not in the best of shape, and all the running around had left them red-faced, huffing and puffing. The course manager, Mr. Pricely, was also red-faced and huffing and puffing, but it had little to do with the shape he was in. Perhaps 'fuming' would be a better word for his condition. "It's about time you got here!" In truth, only about 15 minutes had elapsed since we got the call. "Look at the damage these creatures are doing to my greens!" Addressing the deputies, he said "Whoever is responsible for these ponies is going to pay for repairing all this sod. It's going to take the rest of the summer to get it back in shape! And I want them prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law!"
It was true - the finely manicured appearance exhibited by most of the course was utterly destroyed wherever the ponies had run. Hoof prints, skid marks, and missing sod kicked up by their frolicking antics marred the landscape. We knew without a doubt that if the owners were ever identified, they'd be shelling out a pretty penny for the exhilarating freedom these ponies were enjoying.
There were six or seven of them. Fortunately they could not resist the allure of the rattle of a can of grain, and we caught them all relatively quickly. Also, they loaded into the trailer with no objections whatsoever - it was as if they did this sort of thing all the time. Deputy Bob remarked that once caught, the ponies seemed well mannered enough, and thought we aught to be able to sell them for decent prices if the owners never stepped forward (implying that maybe for once there would be money left over for the County). Mom - the horse trader - launched into an explanation about the economy and the depressed market for horses. She also pointed out several flaws in the ponies, which would make them less than ideal candidates for knowledgeable buyers. For example, one had three white feet and only one brown one, another one had a "watch" eye, a couple were too fat, etc. Of course, I'd heard her mention these same "flaws" as "ideal coloring", a "unique feature", and "easy keepers" when we were actually selling horses or ponies with these same characteristics. Deputy Bob just sighed resignedly and turned to talk to Mr. Pricely.
"Sir, we'll do what we can to locate the owners, starting with driving around to the farms in the vicinity to see if they're missing any ponies. We also have a hot-line for people to call when they're looking for lost animals. If anything develops, we'll let you know."
There didn't seem to be any reason to linger, so we climbed back in the truck and went home. We secured the ponies in a pasture of their own, and took good care of them while Animal Control tried to locate their rightful owners. Mom called the County about once a week for the next 30 days to see if any progress had been made. These calls were more of a formality than anything - we knew nobody was going to claim the ponies. For one thing, no one in their right mind would claim them with the costs of fines and damages to the golf course they'd be facing.
Once the 30 days had elapsed, Mom turned in the requisite paperwork along with a receipt for the sale of the ponies. Sure enough, the amount came close to, but did not exceed the cost of hauling and boarding the ponies for the month. I don't know which of Mom's horse-tradin' friends provided the receipt, but I do know that we did not actually sell the ponies. We needed them. You see, the second thing we had noticed when we went to pick them up that day, right after seeing how red faced everyone was, was how familiar the ponies looked. It wasn't surprising at all that they loaded into the trailer so easily - they'd been doing it for years for the pony rides we provided. We never figured out how they had gotten out that night, and God only knows how or why they'd traveled 3 miles to the golf course overnight, but somehow they had.
Hope you're not reading this, Mr. Pricely.