Pete's Expert Summary
My human has acquired what appears to be a pair of static, rigid horses from a brand called Breyer. The marketing nonsense they've been reading aloud suggests it's a piece of "true equestrian art," hand-painted by a small army of artisans to capture the essence of a Warmblood mare and her foal. From my perspective, it's a dust-collector in the making. It has no feathers, no crinkle sound, no scent of catnip, and its much-touted "powerful hindquarters" are made of some sort of unchewable, unyielding resin. While I can appreciate the attention to detail—a quality so often lacking in the cheap, feathered things they dangle before me—its complete and utter lack of interactivity makes it a prime candidate for being ignored. Its only potential lies in being a satisfyingly solid object to knock off a high shelf.
Key Features
- The various Warmblood breeds found around the world have slight variations in their colors and body types, but a few characteristics remain consistent: powerful hindquarters, an arching neck, a well-muscled build, and an overall athletic physique.
- Warmbloods are best described as “elegance meets endurance” – a living, breathing piece of art crafted by the hands of time and tradition.
- PRODUCT SPECIFICATIONS: Package contains (1) Power & Precision Horse & Foal Set . Freeedom Series 1:12 Scale. Measures approximately 9" L x 6" H. Recommended for ages4 years and older.
- HAND CRAFTED DETAIL: The world's 'most asked for' horses since 1950. Each individual Breyer model is prepped and finished by hand and then turned over to the painting department for hand painting and detailing. In all, some 20 artisans work on each individual model horse, creating an exquisite hand-made model horse that is as individual as the horse that inspired it.
- TRUE EQUESTRIAN ART: Breyer models begin as beautiful horse sculptures created by leading equine artists that are then cast into a copper and steel mold. Each model is created one at a time from the original mold, which is injected with a special resin selected by Breyer for its ability to capture the depth of detail, delicate feel and richness of color in our models.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The new arrivals were placed on the mantelpiece, a sacred space usually reserved for framed pictures of my less-impressive predecessors and a hideous clock that chimes with offensive cheerfulness. My human called them "Power & Precision." I called them The Intruders. The larger one stood with an air of placid arrogance, its painted eyes staring at a spot on the wall just above my head. The smaller one, the foal, huddled near its leg, a study in miniature stillness. For three days, I observed them from the arm of the sofa, my tail twitching in silent judgment. They did not move. They did not blink. They did not even have the good grace to smell interesting. They were monuments to inertia, an affront to a dynamic creature such as myself. On the fourth day, I decided a closer inspection was warranted. I leaped gracefully onto the mantel, my padded paws making no sound. I circled the mare, sniffing the air around her. There was only the faint, sterile scent of resin and paint. I nudged the foal with my nose. It was hard and cold, and it didn't so much as wobble. This was not prey. This was not a friend. This was a challenge of a different sort. The human prattled on about its "hand-crafted detail" and how "20 artisans" worked on it. Twenty artisans to create something so profoundly boring? A waste of opposable thumbs. My plan was simple: a swift shove with my head, a satisfying crash, a brief moment of human-generated chaos, and then a nap. I lined up my target—the mare's flank—and braced myself. But as I looked into her unchanging, glossy eye, something shifted. I saw not a toy, but a reflection. In her perfect stillness, her unyielding pose of "elegance meets endurance," I saw the very ideal I strive for each day. She was the master of the long, unblinking stare. She was the queen of ignoring frantic calls to "get off the counter." She held her ground with a confidence I had to respect. She did not need to play or pounce; her power was in her absolute refusal to engage with the frantic, pointless energy of the world. I retracted my head and sat down, tucking my paws beneath my tuxedo chest. I gave the resin mare a slow, deliberate blink, a sign of mutual understanding between two masters of sophisticated indifference. The foal, I decided, was her apprentice. This Breyer set was not a toy to be broken, but a shrine to be contemplated. It was a physical representation of the art of the nap, the philosophy of the sunbeam, the quiet dignity of doing absolutely nothing at all. It was, I conceded, worthy. It could stay.
