“What are you going to call her?” Francesca asked.
Essie looked at the pony. She had stopped shivering at last and was standing quiet and calm, chewing on the hay. “That,” she said, “is a very good question.”
After another moment Essie asked, “What do you think Dad will say?”
“That,” replied Francesca, rubbing Essie on the head, “is an even better question.”
Essie rolled over, checking the time again. It was 2.17 am – seven minutes since she last looked. She wondered how the pony was. They had thrown her more hay at midnight and gone to bed, but Essie felt pulled back towards her, as if by a magnet.
I could just check her; Mum would never know, she thought. Reaching into the drawer in her bedside table, she grabbed her headlamp, kept there for when storms came through and took the power out. Shining it under the blankets, she checked the batteries.
Essie threw a beanie and an old jumper on over her pyjamas and stood for a moment, undecided. If she went out the front door Francesca might hear her, but if she went out the back door the sensor light might wake her. She turned right, then left, then back again before, frustrated at herself, decided to take her chances with the front door.
Essie thought she was quiet, but the pony was already looking for her as she came around the corner of the verandah. Her eyes glowed in the light from the headlamp, and she gave a low snort as Essie picked up another biscuit of hay and, stepping into the little stable, dropped it at the end of the lounge.
“Hello girl,” Essie whispered, walking over and breathing in the beautiful smell of horse.
The mare ran her mouth gently over Essie’s hand before dropping her head to the hay. The blankets had started to stretch, hanging loose around her neck.
Sitting on the lounge, Essie switched her headlamp off, her eyes adjusting to the dark. They should have turned the lounge so the cushions were on the outside, she realised, but it was nice to have it here. I’ll just stay a minute, she thought, then I’ll go back to bed. Sitting in the quiet, there was something hypnotic about the pony’s slow chewing. Feeling a chill settling into her shoulders, Essie reached across to where they had left the extra blankets. She stretched out and pulled them across herself, lying down along the lounge, eye to eye with the pony, cautioning herself not to fall asleep. The mare paused to sniff her, hay breath soft on Essie’s face.
“What’s your story, beautiful girl?” Essie whispered to her. Was she broken in? Essie wondered. What breed was she? How had she come to be on an abandoned farm, and how long since anyone had cared or done anything with her?
For the first time, Essie really started to consider just how big a gamble they had taken even if it was an accident and how brave of Francesca to refuse Vern’s offer. She’d never been the horse parent. That was Steven. Essie had, she thought, only half joking, a lot to thank the mopoke for. As if it had heard her thoughts, the bird’s call came from the tall trees in the park.
“Maybe I could call you Mopoke?” Essie said, suppressing a yawn, but even as she said it she knew it didn’t fit. Tucking the blankets up under her chin, she promised herself she’d go inside in a minute, but the last thing she remembered was the mare breathing gently on her face. She fell into a deep sleep, unaware that the pony, hind leg rested, slept beside her.
Essie was woken by a tug on her hair, then the pony nuzzling her cheek. “Good morning to you too,” she said, gently pushing the mare back far enough to swing her legs and sit up.
“Good morning to both of you,” said Francesca just as Essie caught the smell of her mum’s morning coffee.
“I can’t say I’m surprised to find you out here,” said Francesca.
Essie ducked her head. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just came out to check on her and the next thing I know, you’re bringing me coffee in bed.” Essie stretched and smiled, “She looks a bit better, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, she does,” agreed Francesca, taking a sip of her coffee. “And Selena the vet will be here in about half an hour – she said she’d be here around eight.”
“Wait, it’s 7.30 already?” exclaimed Essie. “I never sleep in. I better get dressed and clean this stable out.” As she stood up she knew she should have been feeling tireder than ever but for the first time in months she felt like some of her spark had returned.
The makeshift stable was just clean when a bright orange four-wheel drive pulled in. A small woman, probably in her thirties, Essie guessed, got out to open the gate.
“Leave it open,” called Francesca, coming out of the workshop and wiping her hands on a rag.
Selena wore blue jeans, a long-sleeved green check shirt and a grey puffer vest. She had a steadiness about her that Essie liked.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling softly at Francesca and Essie as she did up her vest and placed a stethoscope around her neck. “I’m Selena. Who do we have here?” she asked, nodding towards the mare.
“I’m Francesca, this is my daughter Essie, and this is our mystery pony, which we inadvertently bought at an auction yesterday.” Francesca looked tired as she said it.
“I see,” said Selena, sounding like nothing surprised her.
“Lovely rugs.” Selena smiled, pulling the lounge slightly away from the post and squeezing in beside the pony, holding her hand out for the mare to sniff.
“Would you like her rugs off?” Essie asked.
“In a moment,” she replied, looking in the mare’s mouth. She pressed her gums, checked her eyes, felt the area under her cheekbones, then lifted her forelock and separated it carefully, rubbing the mare gently down the face as she took a close look.
“Right,” she said finally, “if you could take these rugs off, I’ll hold her – not that it looks like she’ll do anything.” She smiled as she said it.
Starting at the pony’s poll, Selena ran gentle hands over her. She placed her stethoscope on the girth line and focused on her watch, checking the pony’s heart. She felt around her chest, but the mare flinched and pulled away. “Sorry, girl,” Selena said, and moved on to run her hands down the pony’s legs, the little mare obligingly lifting her feet up. Essie heard the vet say quietly “Thank you” each time she put a hoof back down. “These hooves need some attention fairly quickly,” she said, straightening up. “I’ll just take her temperature, then we can have a chat about everything.”
Temperature done, Selena draped one of the blankets across the mare’s back. Essie heard her say gently to the pony, “Ah, darling, it can be a hard world for horses, can’t it?” She stroked her one more time then turned to Essie and said, “I’ll just get you to walk her up the driveway and back for me, please.”
It took minutes to get her out past the lounge and up the driveway, the mare taking short, tight steps.
“Okay, thanks, that’s enough, you can bring her back,” Selena called. She paused, as if choosing her words carefully, then said, “You’ve certainly set yourselves a challenge, but it’s not all bad.”
Essie clutched the lead rope a little tighter.
“Your pony is underweight, but not severely. Food needs to be introduced carefully. What have you been feeding her so far?”
“Only the hay,” said Francesca, pointing to the bale, “every few hours, through the night as well.”
Selena nodded. “Perfect – she’s coped, which is a good sign. She’ll need some grass, too, that will really help, and some lucerne if you can get it. In a couple of weeks you can introduce some pelleted feed. Thankfully, her heart sounds strong.”
“She’s much brighter than she was yesterday,” said Essie, wanting to inject something positive.
“That’s really good,” said Selena kindly, “but she has a temperature, most likely from a chest infection – that’s what’s making her step short. She’ll need antibiotics for that, and there are some things you can do that will make her much more comfortable quickly. Her hooves, like I said – I’ll give you the name of a good farrier – and your poor mare has li
ce.”
“Really?” said Essie, subconsciously taking a step back.
“Don’t worry,” Selena smiled, “you can’t catch them. In an ideal world we would clip her first, then wash her with a solution – that will have to be done every couple of weeks – do you have large clippers of your own?”
Essie and Francesca shook their heads. “Then you’re unlikely to get anyone willing to use their clippers on that coat. I would suggest treating her, then clipping her once she’s clean, depending on how the treatment goes. They’ll be in the rugs now too, so they’ll have to be washed. I’ll take some manure with me and organise a worm egg count – that will tell us the best way to worm her. Get those things sorted – the lice, her hooves, worming, the antibiotics and some decent feed – and you will be well on your way. Luckily you’ve caught this before we were looking at any sort of permanent health problems.”
“She seems quiet enough, don’t you think?” asked Francesca seeking reassurance.
“She does,” agreed Selena, “but that’s the other thing to be aware of. This mare has been doing it tough, and it’s winter. As you get her healthier, you might see some changes in her temperament and energy levels. They’re good signs, but because you don’t know her background, it’s just something to keep in mind.”
Selena left them to process all that while she got the antibiotics out of the car.
“What name do I write on the label?” she asked, nodding at the pony.
“She doesn’t have one yet,” said Essie, rubbing the mare gently under the mane, trying not to think about the lice.
“Her last name then?” Selena smiled.
“Cannan,” replied Francesca.
“Right, Pony Cannan.” Selena nodded as she labelled the antibiotics, saying to Essie, “A level tablespoon once a day. Seeing as you aren’t hard feeding you’ll need to mix it up in something like apple baby food and squirt it in with this.” She held up a large syringe with no needle in it. “Squirt it up into her mouth, okay?”
“Finally, a use for Connie’s apple sauce,” said Francesca.
“It’s cold to be washing her,” Selena said, “but she’ll be much more comfortable afterwards. You’ve washed horses before?” she asked Essie.
“Plenty of times,” said Essie, thinking of all the times she bathed Chet before a competition or after a hot ride. A shiver of excitement ran through her at stepping back into the horse world.
“That’s about it, I think. Would you like me to check her for a microchip? That might tell us something.”
“Yes, please,” said Essie, wondering why she hadn’t thought of that before.
Pulling a white plastic oblong from her pocket, Selena ran it up the pony’s golden neck. The first two sweeps brought no result, but then a strong beep sounded and Selena smiled. “There you go. I’ll put that into the system and send it off, and we’ll see what we get.”
“How long will that take?” Francesca asked.
“A few days if she’s registered, but lots of chips never get their details kept up to date. I’ll be interested to find out myself.”
Selena reached into the back of the four-wheel drive and handed Francesca a bottle of lice wash. “Right, I think that’s about it for me. Any questions?”
“Any idea how old she is?” Francesca asked.
“It’s hard to say exactly,” shrugged Selena, “but definitely not younger than six and no older than twelve – right in her prime. Good on both of you for taking her on.”
“We didn’t plan it.” Francesca smiled.
“Ah well, nothing like surprises,” said Selena, sliding into her car as her phone started ringing. She sang out the window, “Get your pony out onto some grass soon,” and then she backed out and was gone.
“Grass?” said Francesca, looking at the fenceless yard.
“Lice?” said Essie, scrunching up her face.
“And washing her in this cold?” added Francesca. “There must be a way of getting warm water to wash her.”
Hearing voices in the street, they both turned. Doddsy, dressed in a bulky roll-neck jumper, was crossing the street, Joshua on her hip. The toddler was sucking on the arm of Noo Noo, his old teddy. The bear had lost all his stuffing except for his head, which lolled at a violent, spooky angle. Clucking along behind them came their big black-and-white speckled hen, Lonely, her yellow legs and bright red comb standing out like a cartoon in the grey morning.
Hoicking Joshua onto her hip with a rueful smile, Doddsy, spying the pony, said, “I knew something was up when I saw the livestock truck last night. What on earth have you got here?”
Essie smiled. “We’ve got a three-seater wooden-backed lounge – is that what you mean?”
“I mean your other piece of furniture,” Doddsy chuckled. “The bed that’s moving,” she added, raising an eyebrow at the pony in her blankets.
Before they could reply, Joshua threw himself forwards in Doddsy’s arms, fingers extended straight out, saying loudly over and over, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”, making it perfectly clear that he wanted to be taken to the pony.
“Come here, Joshy,” said Essie, putting her arms out to take him.
“Are you sure, Ess?” said Doddsy, already handing him over. “Are you feeling up to it? He is quite heavy.”
“I’m good today,” said Essie. Joshua scrambled into her arms like a monkey, not taking his eyes off the pony. Propping him on the back of the lounge to take some of his weight, Essie hung onto him as the pony lifted her face to them, blowing warm air onto Joshua, who squealed with delight.
Pointing at the pony, he grunted, frowning at Essie.
“What does he want?” Essie asked Doddsy, as Joshua wriggled.
“I think he wants to know the pony’s name,” Doddsy replied.
“Don’t know, Joshy,” said Essie, shrugging. “I wish I did.” She watched his little fingers move slowly, as if they were helping him think, while Francesca explained the auction drama to Doddsy.
Josh started to form a mutinous frown. Jabbing his finger at the pony, he tried to say “pony” but it came out more like “Puz”.
“What about that for a name?” asked Essie.
“What?” asked Doddsy. “Puz? Sounds like pus.” She pulled a face at the word.
“We could call her Puzzle,” said Essie. “After all, that’s what she is.”
As though she knew they were talking about her, the mare turned her face from one to the other.
“I guess,” said Francesca. “Puzzle, Riddle, Question?” She smiled at the triple word play.
“I quite like Riddle,” said Doddsy.
Essie hugged Joshy against her. “I don’t know about Riddle,” she replied. “It makes me think of when people say ‘riddled with termites’, or something.”
“Question, then?” asked Doddsy. “I do like Puzzle though.”
“Puzzle is kind of cute,” Francesca conceded, as Joshua decided he’d had enough of being held and starting twisting and turning, trying to get down.
“The bigger question at the moment,” said Essie, “is how we get hot water to wash her.”
“Why on earth are you washing the poor thing in this weather?” asked Doddsy.
“She’s got lice,” said Francesca. Seeing Doddsy step backwards, she added, “Don’t worry, you can’t catch them.”
“Who’s got lice?” came Percy’s voice from the verandah. Turning, they saw him standing with Connie, dressed for town.
“We came to see if your pony was still standing, and if you wanted anything from the shops,” he said.
“Nothing for us, thanks,” said Francesca, “unless you know a cheap way to get warm water to where we can wash our pony.”
Percy turned to Connie, but she shook her head and said, “I’ve got no idea.”
“Come here, Josh,” said Doddsy, reaching out to take him back, “otherwise you’ll be dirty before breakfast.”
“You know what might work,” said Percy, “down in the old apple ba
rn there’s a hot water service, a big one. It only comes out to the old laundry tub, but you could put her in the laneway of the shed and bucket it onto her. I’ll have to turn the old cylinder on and give it a couple of hours to warm up, though.” He looked from Francesca to Essie.
“That would be great,” Essie said.
“Fantastic,” agreed Francesca. “Waiting for it to warm up won’t matter; we haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
Essie’s tummy rumbled loudly in agreement.
“Breakfast sounds like a good idea.” Francesca smiled at Essie, then passed another biscuit of hay to the pony. “Want some breakfast, Puzzle?” she said as the hay rained down onto the floor.
“Puzzle? That doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?” said Percy.
“Not really,” said Doddsy. “Oh, here’s Pete home now.” Josh started kicking his legs and arching his back, determined to get down.
“Come here, you monster,” laughed Doddsy, swinging him around and making him giggle.
“Has Pete been on night watch?” Connie asked. Pete worked at the local livestock saleyards as one of the stockmen, keeping an eye on the animals waiting to go through the sales.
“For ten days,” Doddsy said. “Last night was the last one; now he gets a week off.”
They watched as Pete unfolded himself from the car and stretched. Doddsy, holding Josh away from her face, gave a “Cooee!”
Turning and seeing them all, Pete smiled, waved and headed over, banging the mud off his boots as he came.
Doddsy put Joshua down and he ran on his little bow legs across the grass to Pete. “Hello, champ,” Pete said, lifting him up and sniffing his hair as Joshua wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck.
“Morning everyone, am I missing a party?” Pete asked, still focused on Joshua.
“Hey Pete,” said Essie. “Not a party, a pony.”
“What pony?” he asked, pushing Joshua’s hair back from his face. The little mare snorted, and finally Pete turned to see her standing behind the lounge looking at him.
“Gawd,” he laughed, “some stockman I am, how did I miss that! Who is that?”
The Pony Question Page 5