Issie and the Christmas Pony

by Stacy Gregg

  Avery seemed surprised. “You’ve got a great seat. You’re a natural rider. I’ve never seen anyone learn as quickly as you did today.”

  “Really?” Issie was thrilled.

  “Here,” Avery said, “let me show you how to dismount properly and then you can put Bert away for me. I need to talk to your mum.”

  Years later, Issie would still wonder what Avery had said to her mother that day. Was it really the way she rode Bert that made him decide to help her? Or was it the fact that Issie and her mum so obviously knew nothing about horses and he could see that they needed him? Issie liked to think that it was because Avery could see into her heart and knew that she loved horses, really loved them, just like he did when he was her age. Whatever it was, by the time she came back from the stable, it had been decided.

  “Tom is going to be giving you riding lessons,” Mrs Brown told her excitedly. “I thought I’d buy you a daily lesson for the next fortnight-you can have it as an early Christmas present.” Issie was thrilled.

  “I don’t usually take on novice pupils,” Avery added, “but you’re not like any novice I’ve seen before, Issie. You’ve got enormous potential. And Bert is the perfect mount for you to learn the basics.”

  There was more news though. “Issie,” Avery said, “I’ve been talking to your mum about buying you a pony and she asked me whether I could sell you Bert.” Issie’s heart stuck in her throat. “You rode Bert very well,” said Avery, “but unfortunately he isn’t mine to sell. Bert’s an ILPH pony and we’ve already found a guardian for him. I can give you some lessons on him over the next couple of weeks, but after that he’s going to his new home.”

  Issie was bitterly disappointed at this news but tried not to show it as Avery continued. “I explained to your mum that finding a good learner’s pony is almost impossible…” He saw Issie’s crestfallen expression. “…almost impossible-but it can be done. And if you’ll let me, well, I’d be happy to help.”

  Issie was stunned. “You mean it?”

  “I do.” Avery smiled at her. “The perfect pony is out there somewhere, Issie,” he said. “And together, you and I are going to find him.”

  6

  Dream Pony

  True to his word, Tom Avery started hunting for a pony for Issie. But, just as he said, the search wasn’t proving to be an easy one. He and Issie had been poring over the Horses for Sale ads in the paper and on the internet, but days had gone by and they still hadn’t actually been to look at a single horse.

  Horse-hunting with Avery was almost as bad as it was with her mum, Issie realised. At least Mrs Brown thought every single horse in the paper sounded marvellous. Avery went to the other extreme. He would vet the ads so thoroughly that it never even got to the stage where Issie had the chance to try the horse out. There was always something wrong with the horses. Avery wasn’t foxed by the cunning way the ads were phrased and would pick up on the truth behind the words instinctively.

  “What about this one?” Issie would say hopefully. “Novice eventer, five years old, has been turned out and is just coming back into work, needs confident rider…”

  Avery would shake his head. “Needs a confident rider? You can translate that to mean he’s a total handful! The fact that the horse has been left unworked probably means he was badly behaved and his former owner lost their nerve. They’re too scared to get back on him.”

  “OK, well, this one sounds brilliant!” Issie moved on to the next ad. “Wonderful first pony-club mount. Would suit learner rider…”

  “Yes,” Avery couldn’t help smiling, “but you didn’t read the next line where it says he’s only ten hands high!”

  It was always the same: either the horses weren’t quite right-too big, too small, too inexperienced, too many problems-or the ones that were all right were simply too pricey and cost an absolute fortune.

  “Eye-catching first pony, three lovely elevated paces…” Issie began to read the ad. “Oops, oh no! Forget it-that one is $12,000!” Suddenly, Issie’s budget of $1000 looked impossible.

  “It’s not much money, is it?” Issie sighed. “I mean, I’ve actually got $1274, but I need some money to buy a saddle and stuff as well, so really I guess $1000 is the most I can spend.”

  “It’s not impossible to find a pony for that price,” said Avery. “It’s just a bit harder, that’s all.” He suggested they look for ponies who were a bit older. “You can find a good learner’s pony who is as old as eighteen or twenty. My first pony Queenie was twenty-two years old and she was lovely. And we might be able to get one at a price you can afford-older ponies are cheaper.”

  Issie wished she could be as positive as Avery. She didn’t want to admit it because he was trying so hard to help her and everything, but she was beginning to despair. It was only another two weeks until school finished, and then it would be Christmas holidays and the pony camp.

  “Don’t worry,” Avery insisted. “I’m sure something will turn up soon.”

  But how? None of the ads in the paper seemed quite right. Avery had made a few phone calls, but he wasn’t satisfied that any of the ponies he’d enquired about were suitable and Issie still hadn’t even tried out a single horse.

  Wednesday’s paper held a bit more promise though. In the middle of the horse section was an ad boxed out with huge bold type: HORSE AUCTION. Underneath the headline the ad read:

  HORSE AUCTION

  Over fifty horses and ponies for sale. All breeds and sizes. Sport horses and pleasure hacks. Auction Saturday 20 th, Mackenzie’s Farm, Lone Pine Road.

  “That’s the weekend before Christmas! I could have a pony in time for camp!” Issie couldn’t contain her excitement. But Avery looked less certain.

  “We’ll definitely go along and check it out,” he told her. “I’ve had a few fantastic bargains in my time at the auction yards. But buying horses that way can be risky. Often the only horses that come up for sale at auction are the ones that aren’t good for anything except the knacker’s yard.”

  “What do you mean? What’s a knacker’s yard?”

  Avery looked serious. “There are some horses that even the ILPH can’t save, Issie. They’re either very old or they’ve been so mistreated by bad owners that they’ve turned wild and uncontrollable. Those horses usually end up being sold at auctions, which is why dealers from the knacker’s yards go along to bid, hoping to pick up a cheap deal.”

  “What happens to horses at the knacker’s yard,” asked Issie uncertainly, not convinced she wanted to know the answer.

  “Well, sometimes they get used for things like-like pet food,” replied Avery gravely.

  “That’s horrible!” Issie said. “Can’t the ILPH stop it?”

  “Not really. These are horses no one else wants,” Avery said. “And honestly, Issie, they’re treated very humanely. Anyway, most of the yards have closed down now. Hardly anyone makes pet food like that any more.”

  Still, Issie felt so sick at the thought, she couldn’t bring herself to feed the cat that evening when she got home. She looked at the side of the pet-food can. “Mum? Do you know what sort of pet food we feed Mitzy?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Mrs Brown.

  “Well…” Issie didn’t know how else to explain it. “Do you think it has ponies in it?”

  “Let me take a look…” Mrs Brown began to read the fine print on the tin. It turned out that the pet food didn’t contain any ponies, which was lucky for Mitzy who was very keen on dinner and couldn’t see what the hold-up was all about.

  That night, before Issie went to bed, she picked up the piggy bank and held it in her hands, trying to gauge how much money was in there by its weight in her hands. She had added another $15 in the past week-pocket money for doing chores. There must be almost $1300 by now. Enough to buy a pony at the auction maybe. After all, it wasn’t like Issie was expecting to get a fancy show pony with papers or anything. All she wanted was a pony that she could ride to pony club and groom and care for. A pony th
at would be her best friend in the world. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Yeah, right, Issie thought. In your dreams. In your dreams…

  The grey road snaked through the fields. On either side were tall trees, their spindly trunks reaching up like bleached bones towards the sky, casting long black shadows in the evening light.

  This is creepy. I want to turn back, Issie thought. But then came a stronger emotion, from somewhere deep inside her. No turning back. You must keep going. You have to find him.

  The fields surrounding the road seemed grey and watery, like a photograph with all the colour drained out of it. Up ahead, the red barn was the one bit of brightness on the horizon. It stood about twenty metres back from the road, accessed through a metal gate. The gate was shut and beyond it Issie could see well-worn tyre tracks that led past an old rusty tractor, with ragwort and hemlock sprouting up between its wheels, all the way to the open barn doors.

  This is the place, Issie realised. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest as she climbed over the gate and began to walk towards the barn. The sound of her heart beating in her ears made it hard to pick out the hoofbeats at first. Then she heard the unmistakable nicker of a horse calling out and there he was, trotting round the side of the barn to greet her.

  In the fading light it was hard to make him out at first, but as he came closer Issie could see that he was a dapple-grey pony, not much more than fourteen hands high. He had coal-black eyes which shone with a quiet intelligence as he came towards Issie with his head held high. His mane, which was thick and long, was swept back by the wind and his thick, silvery tail trailed behind him. His dapples had faded a bit with old age so that his coat was now snowy white in some places, with dappled patches on the rump and withers. Although his back was swayed from age, he still had good conformation, stocky and compact, and he moved with such grace. Issie thought he was the most beautiful horse she had ever seen.

  The pony kept trotting towards Issie, his stride high and bouncy. Then, when he was just a few metres away, he halted. He looked at Issie, and for a moment the girl and the horse connected, and Issie knew right then and there that she had found him.

  You’re the one, she thought. You’re mine.

  But the grey pony seemed uncertain. He pawed the ground with his front hoof, flicking his head up and down as if he was trying to make his mind up about something. Then he wheeled about on his hocks and cantered off, back round the side of the red barn and out of sight.

  “Wait!” Issie called after him. “Don’t leave!” She desperately wanted to stop the pony, to make him stay with her, but she didn’t know what to do. “Don’t go…” Issie murmured. “Don’t leave…Come back. Please, don’t leave me! How will I find you?”

  Then came the sound of her name, a voice calling to her. “Issie? Issie!” Hands softly shaking her awake. Her mother’s arms wrapped round her. “Issie? Are you OK?” And suddenly she was no longer in the field next to the red barn. She was in her bed and her mum was there too, snuggling her tight, whispering to her that it would all be OK, that it had just been a bad dream.

  “I’m all right, Mum,” Issie managed. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  Mrs Brown looked worried. “Dreaming about your dad again?”

  Ever since her father had left, Issie had been having bad dreams. She would wake up sometimes in tears, not remembering the details of her dream and not knowing why she was crying. Her mum had become used to the nightly ritual of coming into her daughter’s room to settle her down again with reassurances. Tonight, as far as Mrs Brown knew, was the same as any other night. Except it wasn’t.

  “No,” said Issie, “I wasn’t dreaming about Dad this time, Mum. It was about my horse.”

  “Sweetie,” Mrs Brown said gently, “you don’t have a horse.”

  Issie felt confused. It was hard to believe she had been dreaming-the grey pony had seemed so real, as if she could have reached out and touched him.

  “But there was a grey horse…” Issie trailed off. Had it really just been a dream?

  Mrs Brown tucked the blankets in tightly and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Go back to sleep, OK?”

  “OK, Mum.”

  Issie didn’t sleep. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. She didn’t care what her mum said. She knew it sounded crazy, but it had been more than just a dream. The grey horse and Issie were connected somehow; she could feel it. “He’s real,” Issie told herself. “He’s real and he’s mine. All I have to do is find him.”

  7

  The Chevalier Point Pony Club

  Issie’s horse-hunt was going nowhere fast-but at least her daily lessons with Tom Avery and Bert were going well.

  “I’ve never had a student who focused so hard or improved as quickly,” Avery told her, making her glow inside with pride.

  Avery had been giving Issie lessons every day after school in the arena at Winterflood Farm. He was an exacting instructor and would drill Issie as if they were in the army. He was the sergeant-major in the centre of the ring, barking instructions to her as she rode around, concentrating hard on trying to do just as he said.

  On the very first day Avery made Issie ride without stirrups to improve her balance. Issie was terrified at first, but it worked. When she took her stirrup irons back again she found that her position was greatly improved and she was much more secure in the saddle.

  “You should take your stirrups away for five minutes or so at the start of every lesson,” Avery told her. “You’ll be amazed at how good it is for developing an independent seat.”

  On the second day Avery gave Issie a short, round wooden stick which she had to hold in both hands as she rode, bridging across the mane so that she would learn how to keep her hands even and steady when she held the reins.

  On day three Avery turned up with a book tucked under his arm. “What’s that for?” Issie asked nervously.

  “Oh, this?” said Avery casually. “I want you to ride around the arena with it balanced on top of your helmet to make sure that you’re keeping your eyes up and straight ahead.”

  Issie boggled at this. “Really?”

  Avery grinned. “No! Of course not. I’m just joking.” He held up the book so that she could see the cover. “This is my old pony-club manual,” he said. “It’s essential reading for riders who are ready to sit their first club certificate.” He passed the book to her. “I thought you might like to have it.”

  Issie didn’t know what to say. Finally, she managed an embarrassed “thank you” and took the book.

  “So,” Avery said briskly, “you can take it home with you. You won’t have time to read it now. Today we’re practising our transitions from walk to trot and we’re going to learn how to change the rein in trot!”

  Issie loved Avery’s lessons, but they always left her utterly exhausted. “You’re quite fit,” Avery would say, “but riding uses different muscles to any other sport, and you have to become horse-fit.”

  He was right, Issie realised. When she got off the horse at the end of the lesson her legs and arms would ache from using muscles that she never knew she had. Avery would make her do the same things over and over again until she got it right, and after a couple of weeks of Avery’s tuition, Issie realised she had actually become quite confident in the saddle-and in the stable. Avery insisted that Issie learn how to do all the grooming and tacking up as well, so that she was quite capable of looking after Bert all by herself, as if he were her own pony.

  The only problem was, Bert wasn’t hers. He belonged to the ILPH which meant that one day soon he would have to go to the new guardians who had been chosen to care for him.

  “Next week!” Issie was shocked when she arrived at Winterflood Farm one day after school for her regular ride and Avery broke the news. “But that’s so soon!”

  “Issie,” Avery reasoned, “you always knew this was going to happen.”

  Issie sighed. “I know, I know, it’s just that Bert and I were just starti
ng to click-you said so yourself!”

  Avery looked thoughtful. “I can’t change the fact that Bert is leaving,” he said, “but how would you like to do something really special with him before he goes?”

  “Like what?”

  “I thought you might want to take him to pony club. There’s a rally this Sunday,” said Avery.

  Issie was stunned. “Really? But that’s only a couple of days away. Do you think I’m ready?”

  Avery nodded. “Absolutely. I was planning to go along myself anyway. Chevalier Point’s head instructor has just left the club so I’m going to be taking over as of this season.” Avery had been keeping very quiet about this development so this was all news to Issie.

  “My best friends Stella and Kate both go to that club!” she said excitedly.

  “Excellent!” Avery said. “Well, no doubt I’ll be meeting them this Sunday.” He smiled at Issie. “So, how about it? Are you keen to come along? Bert floats well, so it would be no trouble to load him into the truck. You’ll need to become a club member of course-I’ve got the paperwork around here somewhere; we can fill it in. The club uniform is a navy knitted jersey and a red tie with a white shirt, but since this is your first time, they won’t expect you to be in uniform. Just wear something tidy with your best jods.”

  Issie couldn’t believe it. Her first club rally.

  “Excellent!” Avery said. “That’s settled then. Be here at 6 a.m. on Sunday morning and we’ll head off.”

  “Why do these horse things have to be so early?” Mrs Brown stifled a yawn. It wasn’t even light outside yet and they were driving towards Winterflood Farm to get Bert ready for the rally day. “6 a.m.!” Mrs Brown groaned. “Even the birds aren’t up yet!”

  Ever since Issie had started her lessons at Winterflood Farm, her mum had been driving her back and forth each day after school to ride. Mrs Brown said she didn’t mind, but Issie wished she had a bike. It was only a ten-minute trip to Winterflood Farm, and if she had her own bike she’d be able to go and visit Avery and the horses any time she liked.