"It has come to me," I murmur. I stare in wonder at the small gold circle that holds so much power. The Precious is mine..
My "masters" are sleeping and have no idea what I have done. While the "special one" (notice my charming sarcasm) slept, I carefully and cleverly slipped the Circle out of his pocket. By the time they have risen from their slumber, I shall be far away from them, eating the best grass in Middle Earth, gazing at the lovely fillies surrounding me.
"I shall become known as Bill: The Supreme Ruler of the Ponies. No, Master of the Horses. Emperor of the Burdened Beasts! Yes, I like that one." I gingerly pick the Circle up with my teeth. I must put it somewhere safe.
I try my ear, but it seems that every time I turn, my ear eludes me. This is frustrating indeed.
"Ash nazg thrakatulûk , agh burzum-ishi krimpatul," a voice whispers in my ear. I let out a terrified whinny.
"Who's saying that? And why are you talking to a pony?" I gasp, dropping the Circle.
"Bring me the Ring, Bill" it whispers.
"Why? Holy… you heard my thoughts! And I thought I had special abilities."
"Put the Ring on, Bill, let my slaves come and find you," the voice is sweet and soft now, much like my mother's gentle neigh. Should I not put on the Ring for my mother? I want her to be happy, especially after all those horrible years of stealing her harnesses, eating her hay, blaming her for the crap on Gamgee's tomatoes, kicking her stallion in the…
"I'll do anything for you, mother," I say hurriedly (I don't want her to remember those things too), and begin to slip the Ring on my finger- wait! Something's not right here.
"Um, Mother, if you are my mother, I have a little problem here. You see, I don't have fingers. I have hooves but they're too fat. I think I'll just give it back to my owner." My mother hisses in frustration.
"Just give it to me!" She shouts, exasperated.
"Why should I? I mean, you can't do anything with it, you're dead!" I gallop back to the special hobbit and give the Circle back.
I've decided that I'll have to put my dreams of riding- I mean, ruling the fillies on hold for the moment. I mean, after all, it isn't even mating-
"Time to go, Frodo, Sam," the tall one they call Strider, says. I watch as my fat master rises, and yawns, his fat little face shaking off the sleep.
"Morning, Bill," he says to me, patting my cheek. I neigh softly, affectionately, and wait for a chance to bite off his chubby finger- oh, well. He got away.
"One day, fatso," I vow, "one day when you bend over in front of me, I will kick you so hard you won't be able to stand up or sit down. You'll have to walk on four legs, like me."
Before I take over the pony world, I have to get rid of my only obstacle: Samwise Gamgee. And when, and I mean when (notice my confidence and healthy self-esteem) I do, all ponies, horses, donkey, and mules will bow to me!