by Stacy Gregg
By the time she met Avery back at the barn as they had arranged, Issie was feeling deflated. She hadn’t found her dream pony.
Avery, meanwhile, had found not one horse, but two. “Well, two that have definite potential anyway,” he told Issie. “One of them is a very nice bay with good, solid conformation. He’s thirteen-two hands high which is a good size for you, and he’s eight years old with no vices. He’s being sold by the owners; the girl has outgrown him. The other one that I quite like the look of is a palomino. A very striking twelve-year-old mare with loads of pony-club experience. She’s won a mountain of ribbons, she’s a great jumper and she’d be perfect for you, I think. We could give them both a try now. You could ride them and see what you think, and if you like them then we can bid on both and see which one we get.”
Issie should have been over the moon. The auction had turned up not just one, but two ponies that Avery thought were worth making a bid for. But, thought Issie, they aren’t my pony. They couldn’t be. Her pony was a grey and he must be here somewhere; the only problem was she couldn’t find him.
Avery’s bay was called Juniper. He had a pretty face with ears that pointed in so far when they were pricked forward that they were almost touching at the tips. “That’s a sign of Arab blood; this pony has good breeding,” Avery said approvingly, running his hands over the bay, checking his conformation. He picked up all of Juniper’s feet and examined the hooves carefully before looking in his mouth to confirm that the pony was indeed eight years old. Then he legged Issie up on to Juniper’s back and they took him over to the arena to try him out.
Juniper proved to be a very well-mannered mount. “Give him a light workout to try his paces,” Avery told Issie. She put her legs on and felt Juniper rise up underneath her. “What’s his trot like to ride?” Avery shouted out as she breezed past him.
Issie smiled. “It’s lovely! Really bouncy, but lovely!” Despite the fact Issie was still convinced that her grey pony was here somewhere, now that she was actually on Juniper and trying him out, she couldn’t help but love the bay pony just a little bit.
“Ask him to canter,” said Avery. Juniper’s canter was lovely too. And the pony was a keen jumper. Issie took him back and forth over the trotting poles then tried him over a small jump and Juniper leapt clear with his ears pricked forward, a perfect gentleman.
“He’s brilliant, Tom!” Issie beamed from ear to ear. Maybe her obsession with the grey pony from her dream was just silly. There was nothing wrong with Juniper; he was really lovely. “I think we should definitely bid on him,” she told Avery.
If Juniper was good, then Goldie the palomino proved to be even better. Issie loved the golden mare’s peppy paces. Goldie’s owners showed Issie all the ribbons the mare had won. There were so many, it looked like Goldie had cleaned up at every gymkhana she’d ever been to. “Plus she’s good in traffic and good to float,” Avery said. “A perfect pony-club mount.”
“So which one shall we buy?” Mrs Brown asked Issie and Avery.
“We bid on them both and wait and see what happens,” advised Avery. “Goldie is number 50, so she’ll be in the auction ring first. If we miss out on her, we put in a bid on Juniper, OK?” This seemed like a good idea to Issie. With two ponies to bid on, she was bound to have one to bring home in the horse float at the end of the day.
The auction was already under way and Issie stood at the edge of the ring, watching the horses being led in for bidding to begin. The auctioneer stood on a platform to one side of the arena. He spoke very, very quickly, rattling on to the crowd as he asked them to bid more and more for the horse that was being led around in circles in the ring. “How much am I bid for this bay mare, sixteen hands? Who’ll give me $200? Do I hear 200? I have 200. Who will give me 300?” he called. Only the way he said it, it was all jumbled in a blur of words:
“How-much-am-I-bid-for-this-mare? Who’ll-give-me-two-hundred? Two-hundred!”
Issie watched as horse after horse went under the auctioneer’s hammer. Some of them sold for thousands others for just a few hundred dollars. Lot 42, though, a brown mare, was different somehow. When she walked into the ring it was clear that the horse was very old. She had a ewe neck, a straggly mane and tail, and the bones stuck out on her rump from lack of condition.
She looked, Issie thought, like a horse that no one loved. And it turned out to be true. The auctioneer egged everyone on, but no matter what, no one would bid on her. In the end, just one man raised his hand for the mare. He was standing in a row at the back wearing a black jersey and a black hat. He tipped his finger silently to the auctioneer. “I have $50 bid!” shouted the auctioneer. “Going once, going twice…sold!” The auctioneer’s gavel came down and the horse was led out of the ring, but the man in the black hat didn’t even bother to go and inspect his new purchase. He stood and waited for the next lot to enter the ring so he could start bidding again. Issie stared at the man. There was something about him that gave her the creeps.
“Who is he?” she asked Avery, pointing across the ring. “Over there. That man who just bought the brown horse.”
Avery looked at the man in the black jumper. “That’s Nigel Christie,” he said. “He runs the local knacker’s yard.”
Issie had known there would be horse dealers here bidding today, and yet she still wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotions she felt at that moment. She was consumed with a burning anger for men like Christie. How could they do a job like that?
“Can’t you stop him?” she pleaded with Avery.
Avery shook his head. “I wish I could, but Christie isn’t doing anything illegal, he’s just doing his job…” Issie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Well, I think he’s horrible and I hate him,” she said. Her voice was trembling as she spoke. She thought about that poor brown mare that no one loved being bought by Christie and suddenly she could feel tears coming.
“Issie, are you OK?” Avery’s kind tone made it worse. Issie shook her head and then, embarrassed by her tears, she turned on her heels and left the auction ring, running towards the back door. As she ran she choked back her sobs, her breath catching in her chest as she gasped for air. Deep down, she knew Avery was right. Men like Christie were a fact of life in the horse world. But that didn’t change the way she felt and it didn’t stop the tears from coming. She needed to get outside for a moment, get some fresh air and calm down.
As Issie raced out of the back door of the stable she couldn’t hold her sobs back any longer. Her eyes flooded with tears, which she wiped away angrily with her sleeve. Her vision was so blurred from crying that she didn’t see the man coming towards her until it was almost too late.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
Acting on instinct, Issie leapt back and managed to get out of the way just in time as a man leading a horse trotted past, almost bowling her over.
“Sorry,” she mumbled feebly.
“Are you all right?” the man asked. “I didn’t even see you! You shouldn’t be running around like that in the warm-up area.”
“I’m sorry,” Issie said again. She felt like such an idiot.
“No harm done,” the man replied. He turned his attention back to the pony standing beside him. “C’mon, boy.” He picked up the lead rein and set off again at a jog with the pony trotting obediently beside him, heading towards the horse floats at the back of the barn.
Issie was so shaken, it took her a moment to pull herself together. She had nearly been knocked over and it had all happened so fast. She hadn’t been able to get a good look at the man, or more than a glimpse of the grey pony he was leading. Now, though, she looked directly at the pair of them as they trotted away and she was suddenly struck with the realisation that she had seen the little grey somewhere before.
The pony was a dapple-grey gelding, with a sway back and a silvery mane and tail. It was hard to tell at first because he had his rump to her, but then, as the pony rounded the corner, he turned his h
ead and Issie finally saw his face. It was snowy white with those wide-set, gentle, coal-black eyes. Ohmygod! Issie felt her pulse quicken and her heart begin to race. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. This wasn’t just any grey pony, it was the grey pony. It was the horse from her dream.
9
Going Once…Going Twice…
Issie was so stunned by the sight of the grey pony that at first she didn’t react. She remained rooted to the spot, unable to move. By the time she managed to choke out a word, the man and the pony were already almost out of sight behind the horse trucks.
“Wait!” Issie cried. But the man didn’t hear her and they disappeared down one of the rows of horse trucks.
Issie broke into a run, chasing after them. The maze of horse floats, trucks and makeshift horse pens was confusing, but she was pretty sure she knew where the grey pony had gone. She made a left-hand turn at the big white truck where the man and the pony had last disappeared from sight, and began to run down the aisle, looking this way and that, trying to spot them in among the other horses.
Issie was about halfway down the row of trucks and floats, and almost ready to admit that she had taken a wrong turn, when she came to a dark green, battered old horse truck parked on the left-hand side of the aisle. She couldn’t see any sign of the man, but there was the little grey pony, tethered up to the side of the truck with a hay net and some water. She knew him immediately this time, and she noticed something that she hadn’t seen before. There was a number stuck to his rump: 99. He was for sale!
When he saw Issie, the grey pony raised his head and nickered to her. It was a warm, friendly whinny, as if he was trying to say, Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you!
“Hey, boy,” Issie spoke softly to the pony. Then she stepped in closer to the little grey to give him a tentative pat on his soft, velvety muzzle. The pony, however, wasn’t interested in just a pat. He stepped forward too and pushed his head against Issie, trying to use her as a scratching post. He rubbed his face up and down against her T-shirt and gave grunts of satisfaction as he managed to get rid of that hard-to-reach itch on his muzzle.
Issie giggled as the pony rubbed against her so hard that she almost toppled over. “Hey!” The grey pony’s sudden familiarity had taken the girl by surprise. “Hey, stop that!” Issie giggled again. “We’ve only just met!”
Somehow, though, it seemed like she had known this pony forever. It was as if he was already hers. But that was crazy. She didn’t know anything about this pony. She didn’t even know his name.
His name! If he was for sale then his name would be right there on the paperwork, wouldn’t it? Issie’s eyes scanned the side of the truck, looking for the auction form with all of the horse’s details. She couldn’t see it anywhere at first, but finally she found it plastered to the wall of the truck and hidden beneath the hay net. The ad was brief, only two lines long. It said:
Dapple grey Gelding, 18 years old, 14 hands A one-in-a-million learner’s pony
“It doesn’t say his name!” Issie couldn’t believe it! All the other registration papers had the horse’s name on them. Why didn’t this one?
“Are you interested in buying him?” The man who had nearly run Issie over moments before poked his head out of the horse truck and smiled at her. “Hey, didn’t I nearly knock you over back there? I’m sorry about that.”
Issie smiled back. “It’s OK. It was my fault; I wasn’t looking.”
The man stepped down from the truck and stood next to the grey pony. “So, are you interested in him? You are looking for a pony, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” said Issie immediately.
The man looked doubtful. “Buying him by yourself?” Issie could see from his expression that he thought she was just some kid bothering his pony and not a real buyer at all.
“My mum and my instructor are helping me,” Issie said. “They’re in the barn watching the auction.”
The man perked up a little at this. “OK, well, I’m selling him on behalf of the owners,” he explained. “He’s not mine, so I can’t tell you much about him, I’m afraid. I’m looking after half a dozen different horses for various folk today so I find it hard to keep track. All I know is what it says on the papers.” He pointed to the sheet that was half-obscured under the hay net.
“But it doesn’t say anything on his papers.” Issie was disappointed. “What about his name? Do you at least know what he’s called?”
The man sighed. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ve got it somewhere here. Let me just check…” He rummaged around on the seat of the truck, picked up a manilla folder and flipped through the contents. “Let me see…” he mumbled as he searched. “Grey pony, fourteen hands high, eighteen years old…ahhh…here it is!” He turned to Issie. “His name,” the man said, “is Mystic.”
The auctioneer was up to lot number 48 by the time Issie made it back to find Avery.
“Where have you been?” Avery said. “Goldie is lot number 50. She’ll be in the ring at any moment.”
“Tom,” Issie was panting from running all the way back, “I need you to come now and look at another horse. He’s the one that I want to buy!” At that moment the auctioneer’s gavel came down with a loud crack and Issie and Avery both turned to look at him.
“Lot number 48 is sold for $2300!” the auctioneer shouted. “Can we have lot number 49 in the sale ring please? A piebald yearling, bred out of Majestic, by the sire Everest. Who’ll give me an opening bid of $500…?”
“Issie!” Avery said, looking serious. “We don’t have time to go and look at another horse now. Goldie is up in the ring after this piebald. If we don’t stay here now, we’ll miss our chance to bid on her.”
Issie bit her lip. Avery was right. If she dragged him off now to look at the grey pony, she would miss her chance to buy the palomino.
“What lot is Juniper?” she asked.
“He’s number 62,” Avery said. “There’s not much time between them. Even if we decided to pass up on Goldie and go and look at this other horse now, we might miss Juniper as well if we don’t hurry back.”
Issie shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Tom. I don’t care if we miss the whole auction. You have to come and see this grey pony. He’s the one. I know it sounds stupid and all that and I can’t explain it, but he is. You have to come and meet him!”
“Issie.” Avery didn’t move. “It’s easy to fall in love with a pony, but really you need be sensible here. If we don’t bid on Goldie and the grey pony doesn’t turn out to be right for you then you may not get a horse today at all.” He didn’t need to add the next half of that sentence because Issie knew what he meant: This is your last chance, he was telling her, your last chance to buy a pony and make it to pony camp.
Issie looked at the auction ring. She could bid on Goldie now and forget about the grey pony. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? Goldie was wonderful after all; there was nothing wrong with her.
But the grey pony was different, he was special. Issie knew at that moment that she couldn’t just forget about him. It was a risk she had to take-she had no choice.
“Come on,” she said to Avery. “Follow me. You’re going to love him. His name is Mystic…”
If Avery did love Mystic then he made a good job of hiding it. “His conformation is sound enough,” he said. “Good legs and hooves, but look at that sway back!”
“Is that bad?” Issie asked.
Avery shook his head. “Well, it doesn’t mean you can’t ride him. A horse with a sway back can still be quite sound and healthy, but it is a sign of old age.” He opened Mystic’s mouth and peered hard at his teeth.
“At a guess, I’d say this pony is even older than eighteen. He might be as much as twenty-five, which is very old indeed in horse years.”
“Does that mean you won’t let me buy him?” Issie braced herself for bad news.
“I didn’t say that,” Avery reassured her. “He seems to be fit enough, and as long as his paces ar
e still OK and he’s not stiff in his joints I have no problem with his age.” He turned to Issie. “What do you say? Want to take him for a test ride?”
The man who had nearly run Issie over helped them to saddle Mystic up. “He comes with all his own tack,” he told them. “Saddle, bridle and a summer rug and winter rug.”
“Who are his current owners?” asked Avery.
“The girl already asked me that,” the man replied. “Sorry, but I can’t tell you. I’m just here to sell on their behalf. You know as much about this pony as I do.”
Issie was nervous as she climbed the mounting block and put her foot in the stirrup. “Do you think he’s safe to ride?” she asked Tom.
Avery nodded. “He has a kind face-I don’t think this pony’s got a nasty bone in his body. And look at the way his ears are pricked forward,” he said. “That means he’s happy.” Avery gave the grey pony a pat. “No, I get a good feeling about this gelding. I think he’s a trustworthy soul.”
Avery was right. From the moment Issie sat in the saddle on this pony, she knew she could put all her faith in him. Mystic didn’t put a hoof out of place. His ears swivelled back and forth as he listened to Issie’s cues, and his paces were so precise, it was almost as if he knew what she was thinking and was anticipating her next move, reacting before she asked him to. His walk was loose and free and his trot had a pep to it that belied his age.
“Try asking him to canter now,” Avery instructed.
The moment Mystic rose up into a canter, Issie’s face broke into a broad grin. “He feels like a rocking horse!” she laughed. “It’s so comfy!”
Avery nodded. “He has three excellent paces, no stiffness and a solid temperament.”
Issie pulled Mystic back up to a trot and brought the grey pony over to Avery. “Does that mean we can buy him?”
“If that’s what you really want,” Avery said. He looked at his watch. “But you need to make your mind up now. Juniper is due to go in the ring at any minute. Do you still want to bid on him as well? If you do, we’ll need to hurry back.”