The Pony Question

by Jackie Merchant

  “It had a creek running right past the front door,” added Essie from the lounge, where she was curled up with Joshy, watching TV with the sound off. Aiden dozed in the armchair.

  “We might wait until Joshy can swim before we go there,” laughed Pete, which quickly turned into a yawn, “and on that note I might take Joshy home and put him to bed.” He stretched as he stood up from the table, “Come on, Aido, you too mate, it’s late.”

  “I’ll give Francesca a hand to clean up,” said Doddsy. “Me too,” chimed in Connie.

  “No, you won’t,” said Francesca, “Essie and I can do it.”

  “No, really, I will,” said Doddsy as she kissed Joshy and a drowsy Aiden goodnight.

  “Gosh, he’s getting heavy,” Pete said as he carried Joshy out the door. “Night, everyone.”

  “Night,” they chorused. “You go too, Doddsy,” said Francesca.

  “I’ll help you clear the table at least,” said Doddsy, stacking dishes on the narrow bench, “and I’ll wash or wipe. That’s the rules, isn’t it, the cook doesn’t clean up?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s right,” joked Essie from the couch. She knew she should get up and go to bed, but she couldn’t work up the energy.

  Somewhere a mobile phone beeped. “Whose phone was that?” asked Francesca, turning in circles in the kitchen. “Do you know where my phone is, Ess?”

  “I think it’s on top of the fridge,” said Essie, watching as Francesca found her phone and read the message, going suddenly quiet.

  “What is it?” asked Essie, worried by the stillness on her mum’s face.

  “Nothing to worry about,” said Francesca, putting the phone back on top of the fridge. “Caroline has had a change of plans and doesn’t need the cabinets or bench any more.”

  “What? What’s changed in the last five hours?” asked Essie, furious. She knew this would happen. She also knew what that debt on her credit card meant for her mum.

  “What’s happened?” asked Connie, sensing the tension in the room.

  “I paid for a large set of cupboards and benchtop for Steven’s wife when we ran into her at a sale today, but she’s just sent a text to say, change of plans, she doesn’t need them now,” explained Francesca, sounding tense. “It’s okay,” she said in response to their worried faces, “I’ll sell it, though it might take a while. It’s more that I’ve got two guys picking it up tomorrow and nowhere to store it.”

  “Of course you do,” said Percy. “Put it in the apple shed. They can back right in there and unload it.”

  “Oh, Percy, are you sure? I’ll have it out of there as soon as I can,” said Francesca, relieved.

  “No hurry,” said Percy. “Been a long time since we’ve had a use for all that space.”

  Francesca’s phone beeped again, and she gave a tight smile before reading the message. “She’ll drop your horse gear off on Monday, Essie, when she’s passing through.” Putting the phone face down on the bench, Francesca asked, “Now, who’d like another cup of tea?”

  ***

  A hush fell over the little cottage as Essie watched Percy and Connie walking slowly home, waiting until they reached their front door and waved, before switching off the outside light. As she turned to head for bed she heard the mopoke call. She’s early, she thought, and on a whim grabbed her coat and headlamp, and slipped outside out to check on Moxie.

  There was no palomino head looking over the door, and as the light reached into the stable, Essie gasped. Moxie stood in the back of the stable, head down. She was sweating and as Essie watched she twisted her head around, biting at her stomach, then pawed frantically at the ground.

  Colic. They needed the vet. Turning, she ran back inside to Francesca, who was in the bathroom cleaning her teeth. “Mum, we need Selena. Moxie is sick – I think it’s colic.

  Even as she rinsed her mouth Francesca was reaching for her mobile phone.

  “Hi Selena, it’s Francesca here. Sorry to call late, but Moxie is sick. Essie just found her. Here, I’ll put her on.” Francesca passed the phone to Essie.

  “Hi Selena, she’s sweaty, kicking and biting at her tummy, pawing the ground and stretching out like a cat,” Essie said, not waiting for her to ask. She listened for a moment, then hung up and handed the phone back to Francesca. “She’s on her way,” she said, already heading out the door.

  Essie started peeling off the mare’s rugs, each one wet through and throwing them over the stable door. She stood back when Moxie started pawing the ground, watching her like a hawk in case she tried to roll.

  “Oh, poor girl,” said Francesca, seeing the distressed mare in the corner. “Is there anything we can do for her?” Francesca asked.

  Essie shook her head. “Just wait for the vet.” Every now and then, as something pained her, Moxie stretched her head out as far as she could, then shook it as the spasm seemed to pass.

  “These rugs are saturated,” said Francesca. “I’ll see what else I can find.” She vanished into the studio.

  Essie felt so helpless as she watched over Moxie. She wished there was something she could do. Selena had said not to walk her until she got there, or unless she started trying to roll. As the little mare pawed the ground again, headlights lit up the driveway. Finally. Essie was opening the stable door before Selena was even out of the car. The vet carried over a bright battery-operated light, which she hung over the front wall.

  “Hello little girl,” she said, walking up to Moxie. “Not feeling so good, huh?” She put the stethoscope to her belly, moving it around and listening, before coming back and checking her heart rate. Every now and then Moxie turned her head back towards her tummy. Selena checked her temperature, then turned to Essie and Francesca. “How long has she been sick?”

  “I don’t know,” said Essie. “She was fine when I brought her in at about five. She ate her hay like normal, and then I found her like this just before I rang you.”

  “And when you say brought her in, brought her in from where?” Selena asked.

  “From next door, she was out in the neighbour’s paddock today. Why?” Essie asked.

  “It is colic,” said Selena, “I’m just trying to be sure what sort. So would she have had access to different grass today?”

  “She’s been in there a couple of times,” said Essie, “but not for as long.” Guilt gnawed at her.

  “It could just be that we’ve had frosts so there is more sugar in the grass rather than the usual amount, or it could be just one of those things and we will never know why,” Selena said as she headed to the car. “I’m going to give her some pain relief, an anti-inflammatory and a slight sedative, and we’ll see if that helps her at all. Lucky you checked her and called me when you did. Often people leave these things too long before they get help.”

  Moxie didn’t flinch as Selena gave her the injections. They stood back, watching and waiting, as slowly the mare became less agitated. Finally, head dropping, she seemed to doze.

  “You’ll need to keep an eye on her and make sure the symptoms don’t return when the pain relief wears off,” Selena said, checking Moxie’s heart rate one more time. Looking around the stable, she noted, “She’s been to the toilet so that’s good.”

  “We were planning to see you soon to check an old tendon injury for us,” said Francesca. “But we didn’t think it would be this soon.”

  “What’s wrong with the tendon?” Selena asked.

  “We spoke to her old rider. She says Moxie damaged her tendon sheath on one of her fronts a couple of years ago,” explained Francesca. “It’s how she came to be turned out in the paddock and forgotten.”

  Squatting down and concentrating hard, Selena ran her hands up and down the mare’s front legs. Standing, she said, “I can’t feel any fluid or puffiness there, or anything out of place. How long did you say she’s had off?”

  “A couple of years,” Essie replied.

  “Then my advice,” Selena said, “would be when she is well I’ll come ove
r and check her legs carefully. I can’t feel anything on her legs just standing here that says there’s a problem,” she offered, “but we’ll get you over this little hiccup first, hey Moxie.” She stroked her face.

  “It would be better to know, don’t you think, Essie?” Francesca asked.

  “I guess,” said Essie, thinking about the cost.

  Selena turned away as her phone started ringing. Answering it, she listened for a moment then said, “Okay, I’ll come now.”

  Climbing into her car, she cautioned, “Keep an eye on her, for the next few hours at least. Call if she gets bad again, and let me know if you want me to come and check her legs thoroughly.” And then, with a distracted wave, she was gone.

  Essie ran her hand over Moxie’s coat, sticky now from dried sweat. She took one of the washed old blankets she had worn when she first arrived and spread it over her back to keep the chill off her.

  “Well, if we need to be awake for a few hours yet, I might do some work in the studio,” said Francesca. “What about you, Ess? You look done in. Don’t overdo it. I can watch her.”

  “I’ll doze here on the lounge,” said Essie, yawning. “Can you make sure I wake up and check her?”

  “Here,” said Francesca, handing her the phone. “Use this to set an alarm, it will be more reliable than me, and you will need these.” She threw blankets onto the lounge from the studio doorway.

  Essie took the phone, yawning as she stretched out on the lounge. Percy and Rob had turned it around so its back was against the stable wall. As Essie wrapped herself up, she was struck by a memory of her and her dad sitting in fold-out chairs outside Chet’s stable one night when the pony was sick.

  Essie felt her eyes fill with tears, frustrated at herself for missing her dad – the old Dad, she wished that Dad was here. You only think that because you’ve had a fright, she said to herself, but it didn’t help.

  Folding the blankets back, she walked slowly up the driveway. Trying to distract herself, she looked up at the stars, the Milky Way seeming to get bigger the longer she looked at it.

  She took Francesca’s phone from her pocket and looked up the time in Germany. It was 1 pm there, lunchtime. She scrolled through to her dad’s number, looking at it hard before pressing it.

  It rang on and on, until eventually it went to voicemail. Essie hung up, not knowing what message to leave. Without thinking, she pressed the number again, listening to it ring, until suddenly he was there.

  “Hello?” he said sharply.

  “It’s me, Dad,” said Essie. “Are you in Germany?” she asked, suddenly stuck for something to say.

  “Yes, I am, I’m at work.” Pausing, he said, “Has something happened?”

  “No,” said Essie awkwardly.

  “Have you changed your mind about boarding school?”

  “No,” said Essie again, her eyes filling with tears. Why couldn’t he just ask something normal, like how are you?

  “Well, if that’s the case and there’s no emergency, I’m going to go. I’ll talk to you soon.” He hung up.

  Essie stood looking at the phone, breathing slowly in and out, then slipped it into her pocket.

  “What are you doing out here?” Francesca asked, coming up behind her and leaning over the gate.

  “Looking at the stars,” Essie said, wiping her eyes. “What about you?”

  “I was looking for you.” Francesca smiled in the dark. “And now I’m looking at the stars.”

  They stood there for a while, occasionally pointing out a shooting star.

  “So many wishes to be had,” said Francesca quietly as another star shot across the sky.

  “Under the stars is always a good place for conversations, don’t you think?” she said, still looking skyward.

  “I guess,” said Essie, wondering where this was leading.

  “So, if you wanted to have a chat about your dad’s offer of boarding school and a new pony, we could do that out here,” Francesca said.

  “I’ve got something to say about it,” said Essie, “but I don’t need a conversation.”

  “What do you want to say?” Francesca asked, not looking at her.

  “I want to say, very clearly,” said Essie, “that I have a school, I have a home and I have a German riding pony, none of which needs replacing. That’s what I have to say, and that’s all I’m going to say.” From behind them came a gentle whinny and the call of the mopoke.

  “Sounds like Moxie is calling you,” said Francesca softly.

  Unlike Dad thought Essie as they turned toward the stable.

  You gave me a fright, Moxie,” Essie said as the mare dropped her head into the halter, seeming no worse for her colic from the night before. “If Cardboard turns up with my gear today, I hope there’s an old halter in there; this one is beyond it. Also,” she added as an afterthought, “I hope I can be polite.” She was so angry about Caroline leaving Francesca with the bench and cupboards. Maybe something did change, but she hadn’t even offered an apology.

  “You need a trim up,” Essie said, trying to get the halter to sit properly with no bridle path, “and don’t tell me you don’t know all about that and how to behave yourself. I’ve seen the photo and I’ve spoken to Jo.” Essie rubbed Moxie’s head, pleased to see that where the halter had rubbed the hair off her face it was starting to grow back.

  At the sound of air brakes, Essie looked up to see the furniture van pull up, delivering the cupboards and bench. Before the motor could be turned off Percy appeared at the gate to the shed yard, waving the truck forwards, walking down the path, showing them the way. Francesca came out the front door and followed close behind.

  Essie hesitated. Should she wait for the truck to go before she took Moxie to the small yard at Percy’s? She thought about everything she’d heard from Jo, how good and easy she said Moxie had been and decided it was her problem to get over, not Moxie’s. After the colic scare, she would just put her out for a little while – everything would be fine. Pushing the stable door open wide, she walked as confidently and calmly as she could towards the paddock.

  She tried to keep the halter pressure off Moxie’s head, stepping up her own pace so she wasn’t slowing her down, and it seemed to be working. Essie could see the yard, and Moxie was relaxed and walking well. But then the truck engine started, revving loudly down below the trees and Moxie, who couldn’t see it, halted and refused to take another step. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing as she searched for the source of the noise. Cursing under her breath, Essie tried to start walking like she had been, but Moxie refused to come forwards. When Essie finally, frustrated, put pressure on the halter, she reared up, pulling Essie off her feet. Essie fell forwards, landing on her hands as Moxie crashed back down onto four feet and spun, galloping off up the road, halter and lead rope waving around her legs with nothing to stop her.

  Essie scrambled to her feet just as Francesca reached her. “I’m all right,” she assured her, though she was shaken. She turned and ran in the direction Moxie had gone, her heart pounding. Moxie had headed toward the road. Why couldn’t she have just run into the orchard?

  From the end of the street Essie heard a truck horn sound and then yelling, followed by the sound of hooves. Moxie was galloping back towards them. Behind her, Rob climbed out of his truck. He must have turned into the street, spooking her away from the intersection. They moved quickly out of her way, watching the mare coming fast in her panic. She spied the orchard paddock and headed for it, galloping past them, blowing hard, lead rope whipping around. Please God, thought Essie, don’t let it wrap around her legs, and bring her down. Moxie made a sharp spin toward the half-open orchard gate. Percy, trying to push it open for her, couldn’t get out of the way fast enough and the mare, in full flight, brushed past him but was too close, knocking him hard into the gate post.

  Essie gave a cry and Rob shouted as Percy fell to the ground. Rob and Francesca rushed to him, but he was insisting he was all right.

  “I th
ink we need to get you to the hospital for a check-up,” Francesca said, shaken.

  “I’m fine,” Percy insisted. “I fall worse than that at the supermarket,” he said, trying to make light of it.

  “Here, Percy,” said Rob, “let me help you back to the house.”

  Essie noticed there was skin off the knuckles of his poor hand and he was limping slightly.

  “I’m so sorry, Percy,” said Essie, crying, horrified at her pony hurting Percy of all people. She’s out of control and this is all my fault.

  Turning, Essie watched as Moxie lapped the paddock. She had no hope of catching her in flight mode like she was, but the halter couldn’t stay on. Then she stepped on the lead rope, breaking the headpiece and the whole thing slid to the ground.

  Please, Essie prayed, don’t let her run through the fence and cut herself to pieces. As they watched, the panic seemed to leave her. Occasionally she turned and spooked at something, but mostly it seemed like she was now running for the joy of it. Slowly she calmed until she put her head down and started to pick at the long grass, her neck white with sweat.

  Essie went through the gate and picked up the halter, wondering if it could be put back together somehow.

  “I’d leave her alone for the moment,” said Rob, coming back to join them. “I think if you try and catch her while she’s fizzed up, she’ll just run again.”

  “Am I right to go then?” called Nugget from down at the shed, where he’d stopped the truck while Moxie was on the loose.

  “Sorry, Nugget, thank you.” Francesca waved as he restarted the truck and headed out.

  “Is Percy all right?” Essie asked, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

  “He says he’s fine,” Rob said, patting her on the shoulder. “Connie says he’s going to the medical centre for the once-over, just to be sure. Percy says he’s not, but my money is on Connie.”

  “Thank goodness you arrived when you did, Rob,” said Francesca. “That could have been disastrous.”

  “It nearly was,” Rob replied. “She only missed the truck front by inches.”