Finally, Percy went back inside and Rob returned. Pointing to the bark he said, “It’s not perfect, she’ll still have a steep trip down, but it will make it a bit less of a slide.”
Intent on watching the truck back up, it took Essie and Francesca a moment to realise that Percy, still in his dressing-gown, with beanie and gloves on, was directing Rob. With a lift of his hand he indicated that the truck was back far enough.
Leaving the cab door open, Rob walked to the tailgate. Turning a handle near the back wheel, he slowly lowered the ramp until it sat atop the bark.
“Still steep,” commented Percy.
“All we’ve got,” replied Rob with a shrug, sounding grim.
Walking up the pine chips and onto the tailgate, Rob’s feet slipped and he grabbed the edge of the truck to steady himself. A tarp that hadn’t been there before covered some hay. “A mate met me on the highway with a couple of bales of hay. That should get you started,” he called. Essie felt her eyes sting at his kindness, and Francesca said, “What would we have done without you?” but Rob said nothing, focused on untying the pony.
Essie hoped the mare might be looking around at the new surroundings, might seem a little better, but if anything she looked worse. Her legs were spread far apart, like a foal learning to stand, and she’d pulled back against the halter, using it to help her balance.
“What can I do?” Essie asked.
Robert looked at Essie, assessing her.
“When I get her to the back door, I might have to give her some encouragement to go forwards, off the truck and onto the ramp. If I pass you her lead rope, do you think you can hold the end of it as she comes out?” he asked.
The ramp looked more like a pirate plank that the pony had walk. Essie pushed any doubts aside and said, “Yeah I can do that.”
“Good girl,” he said.
“Do you want me to do that, Essie?” said Percy from behind her.
“No, thanks, I’ve got it,” said Essie, relieved to finally be allowed near the pony.
Rob turned the mare carefully, the footing in the truck getting dangerously slick from the rain. As he edged the pony towards the door, Essie reached up, taking the rope in shaking hands. She’d forgotten her gloves.
“Are you sure you don’t want Percy or me to do that, Essie?” Francesca asked, her voice tight.
“No,” said Essie, “I’m fine, good, okay.” And she meant it. Behind her she could hear Francesca telling Percy how they’d ended up unloading a pony in the rain and the dark.
“We’ll go as slow as needed,” said Rob, standing with the pony at the top of the ramp. “No point rushing.”
Going back to the side of the pony, near her rump, he tapped her gently and then, giving her a click, said encouragingly, “Go on, girl.”
The pony took a half-step and then another, more like shuffling.
“Good girl,” Essie said, keeping a gentle steady pressure on the halter, not enough for her to pull back against but enough to encourage her to come forwards. Robert clicked her on again and finally she edged close enough that the long tips of her neglected hooves were just off the edge of the truck, and on the ramp.
“Get ready now Essie,” Rob said, “she may come down in a rush. Come on girl, just a bit more.” Hooking his arm behind her rump, he attempted to push her forwards. For a moment she leaned back against him, resisting, and then, without warning, she lunged out onto the slippery ramp, both front hooves together. They started to skid out in front of her while her back feet stayed put. It looked like she would land on her belly, but then she was scrambling, making a terrible racket, throwing her head about as she tried to keep her feet, her flank banging hard into the rim of the doorway.
“Look out, Essie,” called Percy, as Francesca shouted in alarm. There was chaos as the pony tried to get her footing. Then suddenly her back feet were on the ramp too. One second she was sliding down like it was a slippery dip, the next second the lead rope pulled through Essie’s hands, burning them, and the mare fell, legs sliding off the side of the ramp. With no way to save herself, the pony crashed down onto the pine bark, landing heavily on her side, her head narrowly missing the gravel edge of the road.
Essie clambered over the ramp to the pony’s head. The little mare was unmoving, covered in mulch. Only her sides heaving like bellows and the occasional slow blink of her eyes let them know she was alive. She didn’t try to get up.
Essie was aware of Francesca trying to pull her back, out of the way, but she shrugged her off. She was focused on the pony, and nothing else.
Rob squatted down beside Essie, quietly saying, “She’s all right, Essie,” patting her on the shoulder. “She’s had a big tumble and got one hell of a fright, maybe winded herself, but the landing was soft. She’ll get up in a moment.”
Essie heard him, but she didn’t believe him. Something about the pony reminded her of visiting her nan when she was dying in hospital, when Essie knew she was tired and ready to go wherever it was that came next. That was this mare right now. Essie looked at the pony in the dirt and roadside muck, not wanting to get up. People had let this happen to her. For a moment Essie saw the piles of discarded clothing, disposable, wasted, just like this pony.
Francesca turned to Robert as he stood up. “What do we do now? Maybe we should have let her go?”
Essie knew her mum meant, Maybe it would have been kinder to let her go to the dog man and end her suffering?
I’m not giving up yet, Essie decided, but looking at the broken pony lying in the dirt and the rain, she really didn’t know if she had a hope. She’d had a horse before, but nothing had prepared her for this. For a moment Essie wished she was a little kid again. She wanted her dad and all his confidence around the horses, she wanted to stand up and move away from the responsibility, but instead, she ran one finger down the pretty head, tracing the hard line down the middle of the mare’s nose, brushing the muck and mud away from her eyes. She knew this pony was her responsibility, and that no one else was coming to take the job off her. Leaning in close to the pony, Essie whispered, “Come on now, everything will be all right, but you have to get up just one more time tonight. Good girl, up you get. Come on now, hop up.”
The pony made no sign of moving, and Essie sensed Rob coming to move her away, but Percy held him back.
“Give her a minute or two,” he said, wiping his nose with a hanky he pulled from the sleeve of his dressing-gown. “I’ve seen stranger things between ponies and girls.” Essie sent Percy a silent thank you.
The rain started again, sending large drops onto Essie’s back, splashing specks of mud into the pony’s face.
Taking a hold of the halter, Essie tried to lift the mare’s head. “Please come on, girl,” she said in little more than a whisper. Something told her yelling would defeat the last of whatever remaining will the pony had, and she might just die there on the pavement, covered in dirt and pelted by rain, surrounded by strangers.
Now that she had started murmuring to her, Essie couldn’t stop. She wasn’t even sure what she was saying, but the pony didn’t move. It was like the will that had been keeping her going through all the hungry times, the courage to walk onto and stay upright on the truck was finally all used up, the fall taking the last little bit of faith she had.
Something stirred in Essie’s memory. She remembered watching Chet blowing gently into other horses’ noses, communicating. And so, with nothing to lose, Essie dropped her face down just millimetres above the mud, and blew gently into the whiskery nose. The pony gave no sign that she even noticed.
Pausing, resting her forehead on the mare’s dirty cheek, Essie thought of the things she wanted the pony to know: that they loved her even though they’d only had her for moments, that Essie was so sorry for what had happened to her, and how much Essie wanted her to get up. Essie also thought about how much the pony had suffered, and how she would understand, although it would break her heart, if the pony just couldn’t go on.
Then,
putting her mouth down to the velvet snout, feeling tough whiskers against her cheek, she blew all those thoughts, love and messages into the pony’s sweet soft nose, hoping they would travel to her heart. Then she sat back in the mud and stroked the pony’s head. There was nothing else to do.
Nothing happened. Seconds ticked by, and Essie felt everyone preparing to tell her to move aside, to accept that the pony had had enough. A horrible lump of sadness formed in her chest.
She wanted to beg the pony, “Oh, please get up,” but it didn’t seem right. As the rain got heavier, Essie glanced behind her at the others, then she felt the gentlest of movements under her hand where it rested on the pony’s face. Turning back slowly, scarcely believing it, she felt it again.
Rob saw it too and, coming up behind her, lifted her to her feet, pulling her out of the way. Essie began to object but Percy gently cut her off, saying quietly, “You’ve done enough. If she is going to try to stand now, best give her a little room, hey?”
The four of them stood in the faint circle of red cast by the truck’s rear lights. Not one of them moved, not even to wipe the rain off their faces. All their concentration and will went into the pony.
Lifting her head like it weighed a tonne, slowly the mare got up onto her side, head wobbling. Everyone held their breath. Then, with a groan appropriate for the effort it took, she was on her feet, standing awkwardly, her rump high on the pile of mulch. Essie heard them all sigh, and tears sprang to her eyes.
Essie lifted the lead rope and reached out a hand out to the whiskered nose. Ears coming forwards, the mare blew out onto Essie’s cold fingers. To Essie it felt like she had spoken back, saying she’d try.
“Go in out of the rain, Percy, thank you so much,” said Francesca, leaning in to kiss his wet cheek. “I don’t want Connie after me for having you out in this weather. We can help Rob from here.”
“Righto, girls,” he said, wiping a watery eye. “Sing out if you need us, but make it loud – my ears will be off and you’ll have to wake Connie,” he said, referring to his hearing aids. With a wave of his gnarly hand he shuffled off.
“What else?” asked Francesca, as much to herself as anyone else.
Rob, as steady as he’d been from the first moment, said, “Let’s get her undercover and go from there. Francesca, how about you back the van up and we can unload the lounge? Essie, we’re going to need a bucket of water for her.”
Essie nodded. She was reluctant to leave the pony, but she handed the rope to Rob and turned, moving towards the front door. The pony went to follow her, giving a soft whinny.
“It’s okay,” said Francesca, seeing how torn she was about leaving the pony. “You see if you can get her into the carport, the bucket can wait.”
Essie let the pony set the pace. At the edge of the tin roof, where the rain echoed loudly, the ground going from wet to dry, the little mare paused, looking down, before finally stepping out of the rain. As if knowing she’d reached her destination, she dropped her head into Essie’s chest and stopped, not another step in her. Essie let out a sigh, not realising she’d been holding her breath.
“Nearly done,” said Robert, “but we need to get her dried off a bit.”
“And rugged up somehow,” Essie said. “She’s shivering and there’s no fat on her to help keep her warm.”
“Essie, go inside and grab the old towels from behind the laundry door,” said Francesca, turning the studio lights on so they could see. “There’s a pile I was going to cut up for applying wood stain; they’ll do. And grab the bucket from the water tank. Rob and I will unload the lounge.”
Essie came back just in time to see Rob and Francesca heave the wooden-backed lounge across the front of the carport, blocking the pony in.
“Just clamber over it,” Francesca said, seeing Essie baulk. She swung her leg over, landing with a bit of a hop in the makeshift stable.
“Sorry about the cushions,” Essie said, looking at the dirty boot mark she’d left on the chair.
“It doesn’t matter,” laughed Francesca. “I mean, look at it.” She was right, the old lounge was pretty tragic – a good match for the pony, really.
Rob followed Essie over the lounge, and Francesca passed him the bucket of water.
“Is this big enough?” she asked, looking doubtful.
“It’ll be enough for tonight,” said Essie.
“Here, give me one of those,” Rob said, grabbing a towel and moving to the other side of the pony. Starting at her head, he began towelling her dry in smooth, firm circles. The towel quickly turned brown – Rob’s efforts seemed to do nothing but stir up mud. Essie worked down the other side, feeling the pony’s ribs as she dried her.
“Is there anything we can use to rug this pony up? I don’t suppose you have any old horse rugs lying around?” asked Rob.
“No, we don’t,” said Francesca, not looking at Essie, “but there’ll be something in my workshop.” Essie thought of all the lovely rugs that had gone with Chet, and the few old ones still in the horse float, parked in a storage unit somewhere in town.
They heard Francesca opening and closing cupboard doors, then she emerged saying, “What about these?” Her arms were full of old chequered wool blankets, and one outrageous crocheted one. “I was waiting to use these for fabric when the right project came along, but a pony in need will do, won’t it?”
“Definitely,” agreed Rob, “and wool will keep her warm as toast.” Taking the top blanket, he unfolded it and gently passed it over the pony’s pale gold back. The mare didn’t move, which told them one more thing about her: she’d worn rugs.
“Another one, thanks, Mum,” said Essie, laying the next one over the top.
Finishing with the crochet rug, Rob stood back and examined the pony. “Now we just need a way to tie them,” he said, but Francesca was a step ahead.
“Let me have a go,” she said. In minutes she had fastened a Velcro strap from her collection of sewing stuff to the front of the top blanket, closing it across the mare’s chest. She used a red and blue curtain tie across the back to hold everything in place, then added a ribbon through the crocheted one and they were done.
“We had blankets like these when we were kids.” Rob smiled. “I’d forgotten how bright they are!”
Essie’s mum laughed. “Yeah, weren’t they? Who ever thought all those bright checks were a good idea? It’s certainly some outfit. I hope she doesn’t die of embarrassment!”
“I hope she doesn’t die at all,” said Rob.
“She won’t,” said Essie with a new sense of calm. “I know she won’t.”
“I’m with you, Essie,” said Rob, covering his mouth as he yawned. “Resist the temptation to give her too much hay all at once; slow and steady is best. It’s fair to say she hasn’t had a proper feed in a while.” Pulling a pocketknife from his jeans, he cut the baling twine and passed Essie what seemed a minuscule amount of hay.
“Bit by bit,” said Rob. “You can feed her every few hours though. She needs to be seen by a vet too. Do you know the local vet?”
“No,” said Francesca, “but I’ll ask our neighbours.”
“Selena Lane is the one you want. I’ll forward you her number,” Rob said, pulling his phone from his pocket. As Francesca’s phone pinged he nodded, “I’d text her now; she won’t mind. Maybe she can come in the morning.”
“Okay, you’ll be right now and if not, you’ve got Selena’s number,” Rob said. “I’ve got to go. I’ve a bit of a drive ahead, but I’ll be coming past this way tomorrow to collect a load of cattle, so I’ll drop in some more hay and see how you’re going, if that’s all right?”
Francesca nodded, “Of course it is. I don’t know what we would have done without your help – I really mean that. Please let me pay you for bringing the pony home.” The gratitude was clear in her voice.
“It was on my way, and I was glad to help.” Rob smiled. “I will put a condition on not charging you though,” he said, giving Essie a tired grin.
“What’s that?” asked Essie.
“It would be great if she had a name by the time I come back.” He yawned as he started walking towards his truck.
Essie smiled; he had a point. “Okay. I wonder what it was? There wasn’t anything in the auction catalogue, was there, Mum?” Essie asked.
“No, nothing,” Francesca said. “No info at all.”
Rob called out a soft “goodnight” through the dark, then they heard the truck start and rumble off. Suddenly it was just the two of them, in the carport with a pony covered in old bed blankets and a crocheted rug. They looked at each other, wondering how on earth this happened.
Francesca picked up the unused blankets and dropped down onto the lounge, patting the spot beside her. Essie ran her hand down the pony’s neck one more time as the mare slowly pushed around the hay, then went and curled up beside her mum.
“Let’s sit with her a while,” said Francesca, taking off her wet coat and tucking the two of them under a blanket.
“Do you think she minds us being here?” asked Essie, leaning against her mum.
“I think she likes it. When your nan was sick, I’d go and sit with her in the hospital. Most of the time I don’t think she knew I was there, but occasionally when I’d leave, she’d squeeze my hand. You know, when I said I’d get you a new horse one day, this wasn’t what I imagined,” Francesca said with a gentle laugh.
Essie smiled softly. “I didn’t really ever want another horse,” she said, knowing it wasn’t completely true, “not after the Dressage Championships with Dad.” She knew Francesca would understand what she meant. After a small pause, she asked, “Do you think she’ll be all right?” Essie’s voice was quiet.
“Yes, I think she will,” said Francesca, equally softly.
“How do you know?” Essie whispered.
“I just believe she will, Essie. I have faith that she has come to us, and us to her, for a reason. And because I heard the mopoke this morning.” Francesca squeezed Essie as she said this, knowing how she felt about superstitions.
The Pony Question Page 4