Summer Pony

by Jean Slaughter Doty

  “No,” said Michael. “Try again.”

  Everything then became a blur to Ginny. The hot, sunny field. The feeling of the unsure pony under her. The hateful rail fence.

  Michael's stern voice. “No. No, no. That isn't good enough. Try it again.”

  Finally Ginny was on the verge of tears. She didn't know what else to do. She reached back. She gave Mokey a stinging slap with her hand. Shocked, the pony galloped toward the fence. She pricked her ears. Then she swept over it with a foot to spare.

  “Wow!” said Ginny. “So that's what you meant!”

  “Fantastic!” cried Pam.

  “Again,” said Michael. This time he sounded pleased.

  It was a wonderful morning. Ginny and Mokey jumped fence after fence. They grew more confident. Michael called out crisp instructions. Pam shrieked with delight at each jump.

  When Ginny finally pulled up, she was speechless with happiness. Michael was nodding with quiet approval.

  “You're on your way now,” said Michael to Ginny. “But no more jumping until you get a helmet of your own. There are three rules of jumping. You must always keep them in mind. Give your horse a chance. Never jump without a helmet. Never jump alone.”

  He gave Mokey a pat. “You two girls get off those ponies now,” he said. “They've done enough for one day.”

  Pam told Ginny that the snaffle bridle could be Mokey's for the rest of the summer. The old pony bridle was cleaned. Then it was put away in a dim corner of the garage.

  In the days that followed, the two girls rode together through the countryside. They found low walls and fences and fallen logs to jump. Some days Pam was busy with other plans. Then Ginny rode alone. She was happy to be with her pony. She liked the soft welcome stillness of the woods and open fields.

  Sometimes Michael joined the two girls. He exercised one of the horses in his care. Pam's mother and father were away for the summer. They left a housekeeper in charge at home. “My father says they're off on a business trip,” Pam told Ginny. “But I'll bet he manages to see a horse or two in Ireland. He doesn't like his black colt much. He might just send a new one home to replace him.”

  Ginny just smiled in silence. She thought briefly of her own desperate search for just one good pony in the mud and cold at the Sweet-briar Pony Farm.

  Michael gave his praise. Pam gave her excited support. But Ginny could not believe that she and Mokey could jump anything but low fences.

  Then, one early misty morning, the girls were chased by what they quickly decided was an angry bull. They flew on their ponies across the pasture. But the gate leading out of the field was closed and locked.

  “It's okay,” Pam called back, “I'm sure we can jump it.” But the ground in front of the gate was rough and stony. Firefly wouldn't jump. He ducked to one side.

  “Go on with Mokey!” cried Pam.

  Ginny, with sudden will, gave the pony a touch of her heel. She could feel Mokey galloping. But time stood still. The bars of the green gate stood dark and clean against the cloudy sky. Then the gate was behind them. They were galloping across the next field. Mokey was bucking with delight. Ginny was laughing and gasping for breath, hanging on to the mane.

  Dizzy with pride, Ginny finally pulled up. She turned in time to see Firefly land over the gate. He came cantering over to Mokey. “That was a big one,” said Pam with contentment.

  It had started to rain. They rode quietly across the field and into the dripping woods. “I wonder,” said Ginny, “if I will ever again, in my whole life, jump anything that looks as big as that great green gate did this morning.” She rested one hand on Mokey's warm, wet shoulder. “That was only a cow back there in that field, you know. It wasn't a bull. I think we knew it all the time.”

  “Of course,” agreed Pam.

  Proud and contented, the girls and their ponies made their way home.

  It was going to be another scorcher of a day. Ginny woke up. She frowned at the sun. It was rising in a great orange ball. It meant there was still another day of the heat wave.

  Ginny slid out of bed and tugged on her clothes. Then she stuffed her feet into a pair of sneakers. She ran a brush through her long hair. If she was going to ride at all today, it was clear that she'd better ride early. The morning air would still be cool.

  She tied her hair back with a rubber band. She stuffed a few lumps of sugar into her blue jeans pocket. She tiptoed through the kitchen and took the bridle from the hook in the garage. Then she started down the hill to Mokey's paddock.

  It had been so hot during these last few days. The horseflies had gotten really bad. Mokey had been spending the days in the cool stall in the garage. She spent the nights out in the paddock. She had eaten every blade of grass in the paddock. She ate right down to the bare earth. Ginny gave her an armful of hay and a tub of fresh water every evening. The pony seemed to enjoy the new setup.

  “Mokey!” Ginny called softly. But there was no whinny to answer. Ginny stopped at the paddock gate. She called again. It took her several baffled moments. Then she realized that there was no pony anywhere in the paddock. Mokey was gone.

  Once she was over her first shock, Ginny saw the rails down in one panel of the fence. She saw the faint trace of a track. It went through the dew-soaked orchard grass outside the paddock. Then it led up toward the driveway.

  After the first moment of alarm, Ginny smiled to herself. The pony had probably gone over to Pam's stable, looking for company. Ginny went to get her bicycle out of the garage. She was annoyed to find that the front tire was almost flat. The bike hadn't been used since the day Mokey came.

  She found the bicycle pump. She fixed the tire. Then she set off down the driveway. It was a strange feeling to be riding a bike again after so long. For the millionth time, Ginny decided that it couldn't take the place of a pony.

  Ginny hummed softly under her breath. She rode along the road. She watched for signs of hoofprints. She looked on both sides for her wandering pony. But there were no signs of Mokey anywhere.

  The Jennings horses were being fed. Ginny could hear the rumble of the feed cart in the aisle of the stable. She propped her bike against the wall. She poked her head through the door. Michael was away on his vacation. A strange young man was caring for the horses while he was away.

  “Morning,” said Ginny. “I've lost my pony. I thought she might have come here.”

  “Sorry, miss. I haven't seen her.” The young man came to the door. He looked out over the fields. “But if she does show up, I'll be glad to put her in the extra stall and give you a call.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thanks.” Ginny gave him her name and phone number. He wrote them down carefully on the notepad by the stable telephone.

  Ginny sat on her bike for a few minutes. She was trying to make up her mind about what to do next. Pam was away. Her parents had come home and insisted she go with them for a few days in the mountains. So she couldn't help.

  Ginny was starting to worry. Just a little. She had been so sure Mokey would have come to the Jennings stable to visit Firefly. It was a surprising letdown not to have found her here.

  Ginny decided to ride home on the bridle path through the woods. Just in case Mokey had chosen that way to come. There were roots and stones in the path. She had never noticed them while riding Mokey. They made bike riding hard.

  She came out on the road again. She was cross and out of breath. She hadn't seen so much as a hoofprint anywhere. Not even in the soft ground near the stream. She rode home and flung the bike into the garage. Then she stormed into the kitchen. Her mother and father were having breakfast.

  “That dumb pony has run away,” she told them. “Vanished. In fact, she must have flown. I can't even find a hoofprint.” Suddenly, to her horror, she felt tears burning her eyes. “I don't even know where to look for her!”

  “Breakfast,” Mrs. Anderson said firmly. “At least a glass of milk. You can't go looking for ponies on an empty stomach. And then I think we should call th
e police.”

  “The police?” said Ginny. She was startled out of the coming tears. “What for?”

  “Maybe someone has seen her,” said Mr. Anderson. “If you found a strange pony wandering about in your vegetable garden, wouldn't you notify the police? That is very likely where she'll be found. And does that pony ever stop eating?”

  Ginny had to laugh. “That's probably why she got out,” she admitted. “I think she pushed the fence rails down to get at the grass outside the paddock. There isn't any left at all inside the fence.”

  The police were polite and wanted to help. But they had no word of a found pony. They promised to watch for her. They would report any news as soon as they got it.

  The hot day grew hotter. It dragged on without end. Mr. Anderson pulled on his hiking boots. He set out through the woods to look for Mokey. Mrs. Anderson drove around the nearby roads in the car. Ginny stayed home to answer the phone if anyone called. But there were no calls. Mrs. Anderson finally came home. She was shaking her head. Ginny went off on her bike again.

  It was late afternoon. Ginny was so tired and worried. She felt almost numb. But anything was better than just sitting still and waiting for the telephone to ring.

  She rode up a number of strange driveways. She knocked on many doors. Everyone was kind and concerned. But no one had seen a lost brown and white spotted pony—or any other pony—that day.

  There was a long, sweeping blue gravel driveway. It led to a house that could barely be seen from the road. Ginny turned her bike. She went through the stone pillars at the entrance. She found her tired legs would not pedal her bike through the deep gravel. She stopped. Then she left her bike and walked toward the house on foot.

  She came around a last sweep of the drive and stopped so quickly that she slid. Beside the house, a pretty young woman was leaning on a low white fence. It went around an apple orchard. And there, under the apple trees, was Mokey. She was eating as usual without worries.

  The woman turned. She smiled at Ginny. “Hello,” she said in a warm, friendly voice. “Is this your pony? We've so liked having her with us today. The gardener found her here this morning. She looked so pretty under the apple trees. We were happy to have her stay a little while.”

  Ginny felt half choked with a crazy mix of rage and relief. She jammed her hands deep into her pockets. She took a long, deep, shaky breath. “We've been a little worried about her,” she was able to say at last. “We didn't know where she was.”

  The woman waved her hands helplessly. “My husband and I have just moved here from the city. We thought this visit from your pony was one of the charming things that happen in the country.”

  Ginny decided quickly not to say anything more. That was safer. She hurried to her pony. Mokey raised her head from the green apples she had been eating on the ground. She slobbered apple juice cheerfully down the front of Ginny's shirt. Ginny flung her arms around the pony's neck. She wept briefly and thankfully into her mane.

  Of course she had not thought to bring the bridle this time. For one moment she had a flash of panic. She was thinking she might have to leave Mokey here. Now that she had found her at last, this seemed unbearable. Even for just a few minutes. But then she thought to tug her belt from her blue jeans. She looped it around Mokey's neck, just behind her ears. She led her proudly through the narrow gate.

  “We would love to have her come visit us again,” the young woman called to Ginny.

  “Thank you. That would be very nice,” Ginny managed to say. She felt a little kinder now that she had Mokey safely by her side. After all, she told herself firmly, these people had never lived outside a city before. They might really think that ponies roamed loose in orchards all the time. Ginny even found herself smiling. Mokey must have enjoyed being admired like a fine painting.

  It was wonderful to have her safely home again. The police were told and thanked. Mokey was sweaty and covered with fly bites. Ginny washed her off with warm water. Ginny stopped fussing over her and shut her firmly in the stall. The pony's usual cheerful mood had turned quite sour by this time. Ginny was sure this was due to too many hours in the heat and flies. She gave the pony a full bucket of fresh cool water. Mokey drank it. Then Ginny gave Mokey her evening feed of grain and hay. This did not seem to interest her very much. Ginny left her alone.

  It was over. Ginny felt as limp as a soapy sponge. Her mother and father were as tired and relieved as she was. Dinner became a happy celebration.

  “Your father and I had planned to go to the movies tonight,” Mrs. Anderson said after the dishes were done. “Would you like to come with us?”

  Ginny shook her head wearily. “No, thanks. I'm going to take a bath and wash my hair. I'm not going to move again until morning!”

  It was after ten o'clock. Ginny finished brushing her hair dry. She was ready for bed. Happy and half asleep, she was in her bathrobe and slippers. She went to say a last good-night to her pony.

  She turned on the garage light and went over to the stall. She had a lump of sugar in her hand. When she leaned over the door, she caught her breath. She let it out in a gasp. Mokey was standing in the middle of the stall. Her head was stuck out straight in front of her. Her nostrils were flaring as though she had been running. Her ears were back. Her eyes were staring. Her stomach was big and swollen. Sweat dripped from her shoulders and sides. She was having trouble breathing. She was clearly in great pain.

  Ginny flew to the telephone to call for help. Then she stood, for a long, painful moment. She was trying to decide whom she should call. Her mother and father couldn't be reached. Michael was away. Suddenly she remembered the vet. He had cared for their cat last summer when it had cut its paw. She couldn't remember his name. She hoped wildly that his number would be listed in her mother's book of special numbers. Vet—Dr. Nichols. With shaking fingers, she dialed the number.

  To her great relief, the doctor answered the telephone. “Oh, please,” Ginny gasped. “There's something terrible the matter with my pony. My parents aren't home. I don't know what to do!”

  In a quiet, calming voice the doctor asked a few questions. He got Ginny's name and address. Then he said, “Don't move the pony. Take away any feed or water from the stall. Then let her alone. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Ginny hung up. She tore back to the stall. Mokey always finished her oats. Ginny was sure the feed tub would be empty. She was shocked to find it was not. She unclipped the hooks and set the feed tub outside the stall. She checked the water bucket. It was empty. Then she shut the stall door.

  She glanced at her watch. She was frantic for something else to do. She realized suddenly that she was still in her bathrobe and slippers. She rushed upstairs. She got dressed. Then she rushed down again. She turned on all the outside lights so that the vet could find the house more easily.

  A few minutes later, she saw headlights coming down the drive. Without a wasted moment, the doctor lifted his black bag from the front seat of the car. He followed Ginny to the pony's stall.

  One quick glance at the sick pony was all he needed. “What did she get into?” he asked sharply. A small bottle and a syringe were already in his hand. “Grain? Bran? Corn?”

  Ginny stared at him blankly. “Oh!” she cried suddenly. She had a flash of understanding. “Apples! It must be the apples! She's been eating apples in an orchard all day long!”

  “Put her halter on,” Dr. Nichols said briefly. Ginny snatched the halter from its hook. Then she slipped it gently over the pony's head. The syringe was filled by now. The needle bit into the pony's neck. Mokey never moved. A second shot from another vial came after the first.

  The doctor went on working over the gasping pony. The silence was broken only when he spoke to Mokey in a low, calming voice. Finally he folded his stethoscope. He took a deep breath. Then he left the stall. “Now we wait,” he said. “And this is the hard est part of all. Twenty minutes.” He checked the time on his watch.

  “You aren't going to leave?”
asked Ginny. Her voice was shaky.

  “Of course not.” He sat on a bale of hay. He turned so that he could watch the still pony. “Now tell me what happened,” he said.

  Ginny told the story of the long and frantic day. The doctor shook his head. “Apples,” he said, “can be very bad. They go sour when they get into the stomach. But too much grain can be just as dangerous. Or even too much grass, if the pony isn't used to it. Horses and ponies can kill themselves by eating too much. Most other animals have more sense. I like horses. I've owned and cared for them all my life. But they really seem to go out of their way to get themselves into trouble.”

  Ginny nodded. “But I've eaten too many apples,” she said. “I've gotten a stomachache sometimes. Once they made me sick. But Mokey looks”—she stopped and caught her breath— “she looks as though she might even die.”

  The doctor did not disagree with her. Ginny had hoped he would. “She has a pretty bad case of colic,” he said finally. “Horses and ponies can't vomit like dogs or cats or people. That's why your pony is in so much trouble. All those apples. And probably a bucket of water on top of them—” Ginny nodded sadly. “Her stomach is so swollen. We can only hope it doesn't burst before the medicine has time to work.”

  “If it bursts, she'll die,” Ginny said flatly.

  “That's right. I really am sorry to have to tell you all this. I want you to be prepared. Just in case. It's a good thing you called me as quickly as you did.”

  He checked his watch and got up. Then he gave Mokey two more shots and another dose of medicine. The sweet, sharp smell filled the garage. Ginny peeked nervously at the pony in the stall. “She's not sweating so much,” she said hopefully.

  “That's only because I've given her something to relieve the pain,” said the doctor. “This kind of thing is agony. At least she's not hurting so much now.”

  He stood for a moment. He watched with concern. The pony tried hard to breathe. “I wish there were a large animal hospital nearby. Or a veterinary school with an operating room for horses. Then we might be able to get her there and operate in time. But the nearest one is several hundred miles from here. In the shape she's in, the trip alone would probably kill her.”