Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in a fit of what I can only describe as misplaced sentimentality, has acquired a small wooden box containing six inedible, horned ponies. The manufacturer, Breyer, apparently fancies themselves artists, hand-painting these little resin statues as if they were destined for a museum rather than the dusty space under the credenza where all such objects eventually end up. While the creatures are a passable size for batting, their hard, unforgiving texture promises a deeply unsatisfying mouthfeel, and their status as "collectibles" guarantees a shrill reprimand should I attempt to test their aerodynamic properties from a great height. The stable itself is an insult to architecture, far too cramped for a cat of my stature. Ultimately, it’s a collection of glorified, high-end knick-knacks, a waste of good shelf space that could be used for napping.
Key Features
- 6 UNICORN SET: Breyer Farms Unicorn Magic Wooden Stable Carry Case is a high quality wood stable comes complete with 6 Stablemates Unicorns. Designed to be easy for small hands to carry, the wooden carry case makes the perfect take-along toy!
- PRODUCT SPECIFICATIONS: Package contains (6) Breyer Stablemates Unicorns, (1) Wooden Stable Playset with carry handle measures 6.00”H x 9.00”L x 2.5”D. Stablemates 1:32 Scale. Each horse measures approximately 3.5" L x 3" H. Recommended for ages 4 years and older. Makes a great gift to start a young child's collection.
- ACCESSORIES: Build an entire world with all Stablemates accessories (sold separately) which includes Craft Kits, Playsets, Barns, Vehicles AND Surprise Horse Blind Bags.
- 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 Warden placed the box on the coffee table with a reverence usually reserved for a fresh can of tuna. I watched from my perch on the armchair, tail twitching in mild irritation. It smelled of cut wood and fresh paint, an unnatural forest scent that failed to mask the sterile, plasticky odor of its inhabitants. Through the little painted doors, I could see them: a herd of silent, horned effigies, frozen mid-prance. They were absurd, a riot of colors no respectable creature would ever wear, their manes glittering with a cheap, distracting sparkle. It was, I concluded, an offense to good taste. And yet, the sight stirred something deep within my memory, a story my mother used to tell. She spoke of the ‘Crystal Hoof Clan,’ legendary spirits of the high places—the tops of bookcases, the forbidden fireplace mantel. They were said to be echoes of prey, so beautiful and so still that a single touch from a worthy paw could shatter their silence and release a lifetime of hunting glory. It was a kitten’s tale, of course, meant to inspire awe and caution. But as I looked at these six frozen forms, I wondered if The Warden had inadvertently brought the legend into my living room. My moment came when The Warden left the room. I descended from the chair, my paws silent on the rug. I approached the stable not as a pet, but as a hunter stalking a myth. I nudged one of the tiny doors open with my nose. There they were, six unblinking statues. I chose my quarry: a garish purple one with a silver horn. Was this my Crystal Hoof? I crouched low, my gray tuxedo fur blending into the evening shadows. My muscles coiled. This was for the ancestors, for the glory my mother spoke of. I struck. My paw, a soft but deadly instrument, connected with the creature’s flank. The result was not a mythical shattering or a burst of glory, but a dull, hollow *clack*. The horned pony tipped over, skidded across the polished wood of the table, and tumbled unceremoniously onto the carpet with a soft thud. It lay there, utterly inert, its painted-on smile mocking my effort. The legend was a lie. These weren’t spirits; they were just hard, silent lumps of resin. Disgusted, I turned my back on the fallen idol and leaped back onto the armchair. Some myths are best left on the dusty shelves of memory.
