The day after the accident with the rope, Ginny's father got what looked to Ginny like a mountain of posts and rails. He dug many deep holes until a wide-fenced paddock went around the big oak. When the last rail had been slid into place, Ginny led Mokey through the gate. She turned her loose with a wave.
“My back is never going to be the same again,” said Mr. Anderson cheerfully. “But it looks very nice. And Mokey will be safe. She's looking great, Ginny. You're doing a wonderful job with her.”
The whole family leaned on the top rail. They watched proudly as the pony cantered across the paddock. She was very happy with her freedom. She stopped to lie down and roll. And then she began to graze.
It was hot that afternoon. Instead of walking Mokey up and down the driveway as she had been doing, Ginny led her along the path through the woods. It was much cooler there. Their feet barely made a sound on the deep, loamy path. It was a sudden surprise when a tall chestnut pony spun around a bend in the path. He and his rider came to a short, hard stop in front of them.
The chestnut pony half reared. He tried to spin around. The girl on his back dropped her hands. She held him steady without seeming to move in the saddle. “Stop it, you nitwit pony,” his rider said calmly. “Ginny, hi! What happened? Did you have a fall?”
Ginny shook her head. “Gosh, I'm sorry we surprised your pony like this,” she finally said. “I'm fine. It's good to see you again.”
Pam dismounted. She patted her dancing pony on his sweaty neck. Then she led him toward Ginny and Mokey. “If you and Mokey are both fine, how come you aren't riding?” There was real concern in Pam's voice. Suddenly Ginny was telling her the whole story.
“So, you see,” she finished, “I felt like a total fool about the whole thing. And I'm not sure whether I should ride Mokey or not. Those darned burns still look pretty bad.”
“You know what you could do if you'd like,” said Pam. “You could bring her over to our place and ask Michael. He's been with horses so long. He'd know what to do.”
“That would be wonderful. If you don't think he'd mind,” said Ginny gratefully. Leading their ponies, the two girls went through a white gate, across a wide field, and into the stable yard.
Red flowers bloomed in white wooden tubs on the low wall around the yard. The lovely shining heads of several horses looked over the low doors. They took a calm interest in the new arrivals. At the sound of hooves on the smoothly raked gravel yard, a man came out the open stable doors. He was of medium height. He had a touch of gray in his hair and the brightest blue eyes Ginny had ever seen.
“Hi, Michael. It's okay. I didn't fall off,” said Pam quickly. “I found a friend in the woods. She needs some advice. Ginny, this is Michael.”
“Hello.” Ginny and Michael smiled at each other. Then Michael turned to take the chestnut pony's reins. “He's hot, Miss Pam,” Michael scolded. “I'll sponge him off and cool him out first.”
“He fusses all the time when he's by himself,” said Pam. “He's not much fun to ride alone.”
The chestnut pony danced his way across the stable yard. Michael walked quietly at his head. Ginny noticed that Michael limped a bit.
“Michael was a steeplechase jockey in England for years,” Pam told Ginny. They sat on the low wall to wait. “He had a bad fall, so he can't be a jockey anymore. But he's still a great rider. And he's wonderful with horses.” The two girls sat swinging their legs on the warm stones. Mokey nibbled without much interest on the leaf of a flower. Then she stood quietly. The ends of the reins were in Ginny's hand.
It didn't seem long before Michael came back. “Now, then,” he said briskly. “What seems to be the problem?”
He asked polite questions and left time for Ginny's answers. But Ginny could tell that he had seen everything in his first sweeping look at her pony. He bent over and picked up Mokey's front leg. He let the hoof down gently. He patted the pony. Then he said to Ginny, “Bring her along inside. We'll fix her up soon.”
It was cool and quiet in the wide aisle between the two rows of stalls. Mokey stood patiently. She looked around with interest. The brass rings beside the stalls were glowing softly with polish. A darkly shining leather halter with a brass nameplate hung beside each stall door. Dark wood paneling and a black iron grille went around each large stall. Behind it, Ginny could just see the heads of the gleaming horses. She could hear them moving about quietly in their deep, clean beds of straw.
Michael came up to Mokey with a small clipping machine. It was hardly bigger than his hand. He let Mokey sniff at it. Then he plugged it in and turned it on. It made almost no sound. Unsure, Mokey blew at it once or twice. Then she relaxed and paid no attention. Michael spoke quietly to the pony. He began to move the clipping machine gently near her muzzle.
“We'll just let her get used to it for a bit,” he said. “I doubt this pony has ever seen a clipping machine before. Have you had her long, Miss Ginny?”
Ginny told him about Mokey. She watched in wonder as Michael clipped the long hairs from Mokey's muzzle. He trimmed the insides and edges of her ears. He started to clip away at her mane, just behind her ears.
“You're not going to cut it all off!” gasped Ginny.
“No, silly,” laughed Pam. “Only that little bit where the bridle goes behind her ears. It keeps the mane much neater. Michael does it to all our horses.”
Michael patted Mokey. “Nice little mare,” he said. “Has a lot of sense. Now, let's get to these fetlocks of yours.” He ran the clipping machine over the round joints above Mokey's hooves. The shaggy hair fell away. He clipped around the burns below the fetlocks. He went to get a bucket of warm water. He gently sponged the sore places. When the hair had dried, he clipped above the hooves again. Finally he nodded. He stood up and turned off the clipping machine.
“Getting all that hair away from those burns will help them heal more quickly,” he said to Ginny. “I'll give you a jar of a different kind of ointment. Use it lightly. Just a very little bit, once a day.” He put the clippers away and went to get the ointment.
When he came back, he gave Ginny a jar. He also gave her a small white plastic container. “Give her this powder in her feed tonight,” he said. “I don't think this pony's been wormed for some time. This medicine should help her pick up. She'll look better very soon.”
“She looks so much nicer already after what you've done,” said Ginny. “Thank you so much. I had no idea how much difference clipping those little bits could make.”
“Don't rush off just yet,” said Michael. “Two more things. You can ride her now. Just go easy for another day or two. And this pony needs shoeing. Badly. Do you see how long her toes have grown? And how they are chipping around the edges?”
“Gosh,” said Ginny. She kneeled to look at the chips that Michael showed her. “I hadn't thought about that. Mr. Dobbs didn't say anything about it. Do you suppose she's ever had shoes on in her life? Why don't those chipped places turn into cracks?”
“They will if she isn't shod,” said Michael. “The blacksmith is coming here tomorrow morning. He's going to reset a shoe on Mr. Jennings's black colt. Would you like to bring your pony over and let him see to her if he has the time?”
Ginny felt her face getting red. “I feel I'm being an awful pest,” she said finally. “You've been so nice. You've taken so much time this afternoon. I don't want to get in your way.”
“Don't be silly,” Pam said quickly. “Michael never minds when someone really wants to learn about horses. Do you, Michael?”
“But there seems to be so much I don't know,” said Ginny. She looked at her pony sadly.
“You will never feel you know enough,” Michael agreed cheerfully. “No matter how many years you spend with horses, there will always be something new to learn. That's what makes them so interesting. Off you go now, you two. I have other work to get done. You will have your pony here for the blacksmith in the morning, Miss Ginny?”
Ginny smiled gratefully. “We'll be here,” s
he promised.
Mokey did not like the pink powdered medicine in her grain that evening. She rattled the feed tub with her muzzle. She blew through her nostrils in annoyance. She didn't like the strange taste. She tried to eat the oats without eating any of the powder. But when Ginny went to say good night to her, Mokey had eaten all the grain and the medicine.
Mokey didn't like the sight of the smoke from the blacksmith's fire the next morning either. She slid to a stop. She threw her head in the air when she saw the blacksmith's truck. The hot coals were in a portable metal stand beside it. Ginny nearly went off over Mokey's shoulder. She managed to save herself by grabbing wildly at Mokey's shaggy mane.
The blacksmith made disapproving noises when he looked at Mokey's hooves. After a few wary snorts, the pony stood quietly. The blacksmith trimmed each hoof. He used a curved knife with a thin blade and a heavy file.
“Been some time since this pony's been seen to,” the blacksmith said finally. He stood up. He frowned at Ginny. “Plain light shoe on this one. Wouldn't you say, Michael?”
Michael had been putting the black colt back in his stall. He came over and nodded good morning to Ginny. Then he spoke quietly with the blacksmith.
Ginny had not said a word during all this time. She rubbed Mokey's ears. Ginny was trying to hear what the two men were saying. She was aware that her shirttail had pulled out of the waist of her blue jeans when she had nearly fallen off Mokey.
Ginny was thinking how funny her spotted pony must look. She had unmatched eyes and mane and tail. And she was outside this perfect stable full of blooded and beautiful horses. Ginny began to feel more and more out of place. She stood beside her pony. The two smart, skilled men talked about each hoof with deep thought.
“She's only a plain pony,” Ginny wanted to say. “She isn't a show pony. She isn't a race-horse. She's just Mokey.” But she didn't say it. She just watched in silence. The blacksmith picked up one hoof. He held a shoe on it and shook his head. Then he went back to his truck for another shoe.
“Toes in a little on the right foreleg,” said the blacksmith. “The shoe will soon mend that.”
Almost two hours later, he set the last nail in the last shoe. He stepped back from the pony. He waved his hand. “Jog her out,” he told Ginny.
Ginny looked helplessly at Michael. “I don't know what that means,” she whispered.
Michael smiled. He took Mokey's reins. “He wants to see her led at a trot. Then he can make sure she is moving evenly and straight,” he said. “I'll take the pony.” He clucked to Mokey. She had fallen half asleep. He turned her and led her away at a trot.
“I don't believe it,” Ginny said out loud. “I simply don't believe it.” For the first time that morning, the blacksmith grinned at her.
“Proper shoeing makes a bit of difference,” he said.
Ginny just stared. Mokey began to trot out. Her stride seemed to get longer with each step. Michael brought her back to a walk. He turned her. Then he let her go into a trot again. Mokey arched her neck. She gave a happy swish of her tail. She seemed to float over the ground.
“That pony's not a bad mover,” said the blacksmith. “Given a chance, that is. Don't forget, young lady. A pony's hooves grow all the time. They're just like your fingernails. Only the poor pony has to stand on those hooves. They can get pretty sore when they aren't tended to. They grow uneven. They chip and crack. They change the whole angle of the leg when she moves. Now she's comfortable. The angle of the hoof is right. It doesn't hurt anymore when she strides out. Give her a few more months of proper shoeing. You'll see even more of a difference. Mind, this has to be done every five or six weeks.”
Ginny gave the blacksmith her name and address for his billing records. She thanked him and Michael. Mokey jogged across the road on their way home. Her hoofbeats made a new and musical sound.
Two weeks later, Mokey's legs were fully healed. Ginny called Pam to ask if they could ride together the next morning. “I'm sorry. I can't tomorrow,” she said. “Our new outside course is ready. They just finished putting in the stone wall yesterday. Michael says that if I don't school Firefly over some new fences pretty soon, he's going to forget how to jump.” Pam laughed. “Of course that's not true. But it has been a long time. I'm going to school him tomorrow.”
“Can I come and watch?” asked Ginny eagerly.
“Sure! See you tomorrow.”
Ginny rode Mokey to the schooling field the next morning. Pam was warming up her pony. She waved briefly. Then she went back to her work. Ginny slid off Mokey's back. She let the pony graze at the end of the reins. Ginny watched Firefly and his intent rider.
Michael arrived and Pam stopped her pony. Ginny leaned against Mokey's shoulder and listened. Michael gave instructions and Pam nodded. The look on her face was serious and thoughtful. “Easy on this. It's your first time over a new course,” Michael finished.
Pam made a wide circle. She broke the pony smoothly into a canter. Then she took him into a little bit faster but steady hand gallop. Firefly pricked his ears. He settled into an evenly paced stride. He glided over the first jump. A rail fence. A white gate. A stone wall with a heavy log on its top. Every jump was met with a prick of ears and strict attention. Pam seemed barely to move in the saddle. She finished the course and drew smoothly to a walk. Her face was flushed with pleasure.
“Very nice,” said Michael. “Not perfect, mind. You must make a wider turn after the post-and-rail fence. That will give your pony a better chance to get straight at the gate jump. You like to cut your corners, Miss Pam. Take your time. Think your turns before you make them.”
Pam tried the turn between the two jumps three more times. She walked her pony to rest him. Then she jumped twice more before Michael finally nodded his approval.
“Fine,” he said. “A good start. We'll try again on Thursday.”
Pam took off her hard black helmet. She waved it in front of her hot face. “Why don't you take Mokey around once, Ginny?” she said. “It's a lovely course.”
“Oh, gosh, no,” said Ginny quickly. “Mokey is fun to ride, but she's not much of a jumper. She gets up close to a jump before she'll even try to take off. Then she kind of hops over it. I've tried her at home in the paddock and over fallen logs in the woods. I don't think she likes jumping at all.”
“You'd better keep that pony walking, Miss Pam,” said Michael. “He's hot. And as for your pony, Miss Ginny, I think your problem is that bit you've got on her.”
“Oh.” Ginny looked at the metal bit in Mokey's mouth. “I never paid much attention to it. This is the bridle that came with her. So I thought it was okay.”
“This is a curb bit,” said Michael. “It's a very harsh bit. I think Mokey is afraid of it. When a pony jumps, it must stretch out its head and neck in the air. It does this just as it takes off and during the flight over the fence. Sometimes the rider doesn't give the pony enough rein. Or the pony is afraid of the bit. Then it will put in a short stride in front of the fence. It will jump the way you said Mokey jumps. It might be interesting to try her in a snaffle.”
“What a wonderful idea,” said Pam. She was listening as she walked her pony in a circle around them. “Do we still have that pony snaffle that we used on Firefly when he was younger?”
“I'm sure we do,” said Michael. “I'll just have a look.”
In a few minutes he was back. He had a bridle in his hand. Ginny was filled with excitement. She had taken Mokey's old bridle off. The pony had wandered into the center of the field.
“You shouldn't have done that,” said Pam with concern. “She'll run away!”
“Oh, no,” said Ginny. “She'll come when I call her. She always does.” She raised her voice. She called to her pony. Mokey swung away from the grass she was eating. She came trotting over to Ginny.
“Fantastic,” muttered Pam. She gave her sweating pony a light slap on the neck. “Did you see that, you nitwit? Next time you toss me off, remember this. Don't go running off the wa
y you do.”
Firefly walked on. He wasn't worried. Michael fitted the bridle carefully to Mokey's head. He made sure the bit rested with ease in her mouth. “This snaffle is gentle,” he told Ginny. “Work her around a few minutes to get her used to it. Then jump her over the low part of the rail fence. Wait. Just a moment. Do you have a helmet?”
Ginny shook her head. Pam rode over. She gave her helmet to Ginny. “This should fit well enough!” she said. Ginny pushed it down on her head. The helmet was hard and covered in velvet.
“It feels funny,” she said.
“You'll get used to it very quickly,” said Pam.
“You must never jump without a helmet,” said Michael firmly. “It will protect your head in case you have a fall. All set? Then give it a try.”
Ginny flung herself on Mokey's back. She urged Mokey into a trot. The pony mouthed the light snaffle bit. She tossed her head and swung into a strong canter.
“Good!” called Michael. “Let her move on, Miss Ginny!” Ginny turned the pony toward the low fence.
Mokey made her stride shorter. She slowed as she reached the fence. She bounced over it clumsily.
“Did you see that?” Ginny said. “She's hopeless.”
“Nonsense,” said Michael. “You must make her understand that she is to gallop and jump right in stride. When she does, you will be with her. She needs to trust herself and trust you not to hurt her mouth. Then she'll surprise you with what she can do.”
“Okay,” said Ginny. She was unsure. She grabbed hold of the mane. She gave her pony a halfhearted kick. They crept over the rail fence for the second time.
Summer Pony Page 3