Scott Hollifield: And now, the shocking conclusion to the pony story

In case you were wondering, the pony worked when we plugged it in.

We had to swap out a faulty saddle bag, but the pony ran like a thoroughbred pumped full of Mark McGwire's leftover big-boy juice.

Let me explain. I usually write a column and move on to more pleasant and relaxing activities, like amputating my own toe. I don't dwell on a piece after hitting the send button or reread it after it's published because I inevitably find a mistake or omission and begin slamming my head against the nearest solid object.

Sometimes, though, people who read the column, mostly prisoners, shut-ins and those who finish the Sudoku and don't have anything else to do, ask me what happened next in a way that actually leads me to believe they are interested in what happened next.

"Hey, when you wrote about (fill in the blank), I kept wondering if the guy with the monkey ever (fill in the blank) because that's pretty much illegal in every state except Tennessee."

And I realize I've written an unintended cliffhanger column someone remembered after turning the page.

It happened again a few days after Christmas at the drive-through teller window when Bonnie said she wanted to know something.

"Did the pony work?"

For a few seconds, I thought this seemingly nonsensical statement was a coded message for, "Someone is robbing us. Call 911," and I nearly sped away to avoid becoming entangled in a hostage situation that might take up most of my afternoon.

Then I understood. The pony. Oh, yes, the pony column.

Prior to the holidays, I wrote about buying my daughter a TV for Christmas, referring to it as a "pony" throughout so as not to spoil the surprise if she happened to read the column, which, of course, she did not.

Most people got it, except for those who informed me by e-mail that plugging a pony into an electrical outlet could be considered animal cruelty and that raising livestock at my current residence was a violation of a city ordinance.

In the piece, I explained that the pony/TV fell from the salesperson's hand cart and hit the store parking lot pavement with a thud. The salesperson promised to retrieve a new pony/TV while I brought my truck around to the loading zone.

A cliffhanger was born.

Would I actually get a new pony/TV or would he slip me the same one that crashed to the pavement? Would a little girl's pony/TV work when we switched it on Christmas morning, reaffirming the faith I placed in my fellow man to do as he said? Would it sit there cold and lifeless, a dark testament to my suckerness? Would there be uncontrollable sobs and tears at what fate had wrought? Would my daughter be upset as well?

These questions were left unanswered - until now.

Yes, as I said at the beginning, the pony/TV worked. Either the salesperson had retrieved another pony/TV or the one that hit the pavement with a thud was undamaged. I embrace either of these Christmas miracles with a joyous heart.

But the cable box -- let's call it the saddle bag/cable box if we're going to continue to beat a dead horse here -- was another story, working for stretches of four to five hours before blinking out and requiring repeated calls to saddle bag/cable box technicians where I repeatedly was on hold for 20 to 30 minutes so I could eventually repeat the same steps, leading me to repeat many ugly words that should not be repeated.

Following a saddle bag/cable box swap and a Santa-like visit from High-Tech Sam, my brother and expert pony/TV wrangler, all was soon well and a plethora of shrill, brain-numbing images poured from the new TV, much to the delight of us all.

So, for those who wondered, yes, the pony worked when we plugged it in.

For those who didn't, just ignore this. Maybe there's a Sudoku on the next page.