Pete's Expert Summary
My Human has presented me with what they seem to believe is a suitable offering: a rigid, undersized horse. They call it a "Breyer," a word uttered with the same undue reverence they reserve for the opening of a can of premium, line-caught tuna. Apparently, this specific model, "Cossaco," is a tiny monument to some real-life equine champion, hand-painted by a small legion of artists. From my perspective, it possesses none of the key features of a quality toy—it does not crinkle, it is not filled with catnip, and its tail is tragically un-shreddable. Its only potential lies in its significant size and weight; it is a prime candidate for a dramatic, middle-of-the-night "accident" from the top of the bookshelf. A potential test of gravity, but otherwise, a profound waste of my attention.
Key Features
- Cossaco shows audiences what incredible partners Lusitanos are as he performs and rides in clinics with Jill. A highlight of their shared Working Equitation experiences has been performing for thousands at the National Western Stock Show.
- In addition to exhibitions and teaching, Cossaco and Jill are currently competing at Masters Level in Working Equitation. In 2022 they became Canada’s first Masters Working Equitation Champions!
- PRODUCT SPECIFICATIONS: Package contains (1) Breyer Traditional Series Horse - Cossaco. Traditional Series 1:9 Scale. Measures approximately 11.25" L x 9" H. Recommended for ages 8 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 thing arrived in a box that smelled of cardboard and distant factories, an immediate affront to my delicate senses. The Human, with cooing noises I typically associate with my own magnificent presence, placed the statue on the living room mantel. It stood there, frozen mid-prance, a silent, gray pretender to the throne of household importance. I watched from my velvet cushion, tail twitching in mild irritation. It was an idol for the unimaginative. It did not move, it did not breathe, it did not warrant a second glance. I yawned, displaying my superior dental architecture, and drifted into a deep, sunbeam-warmed sleep. My dream-self, however, was not on the cushion. I was stalking through a vast, cavernous space that smelled of dust, leather, and something ancient and powerful. Before me stood the horse, no longer resin but flesh and blood, its coat shimmering under lights I couldn't see. It wasn't looking at me, but through me, its gaze fixed on a distant memory. A silent question formed in my mind, not in words, but in pure, feline curiosity: *What are you?* The horse did not answer with a whinny or a snort. Instead, a cascade of images flooded my consciousness, a story without sound. I saw the press of a thousand watching eyes, felt the subtle shift of a rider’s weight, understood the complex, silent language of leg and rein. I experienced the thrill of a perfect pivot, the thunder of hooves in a gallop, the singular focus of a champion. This creature was a dancer, a warrior, an artist—its purpose was a burning, disciplined fire, so utterly alien to my own life of calculated leisure and elegant repose. It was a life of *work*, but a work so refined it had become art. I awoke with a start, the afternoon sun now a soft orange. My gaze immediately shot to the mantelpiece. The gray horse stood exactly as it had before, a mere figurine. Yet, it was different. I saw not a lump of painted resin, but a vessel of captured lightning. The curve of its neck was no longer just a sculpted line; it was a testament to pride and partnership. The toy was worthless, yes. I would never bat at its stupid, static legs. But the *story* of Cossaco... that was another matter entirely. It was a story of a different kind of perfection. I gave a slow blink of grudging respect. The statue could stay. It had earned its perch, not as a plaything, but as a silent reminder that there were other kingdoms, just as proud as my own.
