Summer Pony Read online

  One quart of grain didn't look like much to Ginny. But the manager of the feed store had warned her to be careful. “If this pony of yours is as thin as you tell me,” he had said, “you can be sure she hasn't seen a grain of oats in a long time. If you take a pony in that shape and throw the good feed into her, you'll kill her for sure. What they call killing by kindness. Good hay won't hurt her, and all the fresh, clean water she'll drink. But take it easy with the grain.”

  The pony chased the last oat around the bottom of the feed tub and ate it. Then she waited while Ginny brought her an armload of hay.

  It took forty-five minutes for Ginny to put the bridle on the pony later that morning. Ginny struggled with the tangle of straps and bit. It had looked like a bridle when Mr. Dobbs had handed it to her the evening before. But then she had lifted it down from its hook that morning. Somehow it had become a jumbled handful of leather and buckles.

  Ginny had bridled one or two horses at camp before, but only with a counselor standing beside her. The bridle had been given to her in proper order. The reins were just so. The headpiece was in one hand and the bit hung neatly where it belonged. Everything was different now that she was alone.

  Annoyed with herself, Ginny finally sat on a bale of hay. She put the bridle down and fixed the jumble of leather. Once she had it looking like a bridle again, she remembered how to slip the bit into the waiting pony's mouth. She put the headpiece over her ears. Flushed with pride, she buckled the throat-latch. Then she led the pony out of the stall.

  Her father and mother were waiting to see her off on her first ride. “Don't you have a saddle for the moke?” asked Mr. Anderson. Ginny wiggled up onto the pony's bare back.

  “I didn't see one, so I guess not,” said Ginny. “Unless Mr. Dobbs gave it to Mother when I was holding the pony yesterday.” But her mother shook her head. “I can't see what possible difference it could make, anyway,” said Ginny. “The pony's not about to buck me off or run away with me. I don't think she has that much energy.”

  “Ginny's probably right,” said Mrs. Anderson. “We can always get one later on if she needs one, I suppose.”

  Mr. Anderson gave the pony a friendly slap on her shaggy rump. “On your way, then. Have a good ride, you two.”

  Ginny shortened her reins nervously. She squeezed the pony with her legs. Much to her relief, the pony swung off at a willing walk. Her head was up. Her ears were pricked cheerfully. Ginny didn't dare take one hand off the reins to wave. She smiled stiffly over her shoulder at her parents instead. Then she turned and rode the pony down the drive.

  The pony stopped right away at the road to let a car go by. Then she walked on promptly when she was asked. Ginny began to relax. She was even able to laugh at herself when she saw how tightly her hands had been gripping the reins. In a short time they were in the woods. The paths Ginny had walked so often in the past opened suddenly into a fresh and wonderful world.

  Everything looked completely new and different from the back of the pony. There was cheerful activity in the woods that Ginny had never noticed before. The squirrels and chipmunks went about their busy lives. They were not disturbed by the muffled sound of the pony's hooves on the loamy paths.

  Ginny was glad to see a doe with her young, wobbling fawn. They stood in a sunny clearing. They did not turn away when the pony saw them and stopped. The doe and the pony looked at each other, unafraid. Ginny sat absolutely still. She hardly dared to breathe. She didn't want to make a movement that might startle the deer. Finally the doe turned her lovely head to nuzzle her fawn. She led it into the deeper shadows of the woods without making a sound.

  Ginny and the pony came to the stream that crossed the path. Ginny let the pony stop in the middle to drink. The pony took a few swallows. Then she began pawing the water. Ginny clutched at the reins with alarm. Then she realized with amusement that the pony was just playing with the water. The pony liked the splashing sound and the sprays of water flying from her pawing hoof.

  Suddenly the pony's knees buckled. The next thing Ginny knew, she was standing in the middle of the stream. The icy water was halfway up to her knees. The reins were still in one hand. The pony was lying in the water beside her. She was clearly enjoying herself.

  Ginny squished over to a rock beside the stream. She put her head in her hands. Then she laughed until she cried. Finally she stood up. She pushed her braids back over her shoulder. She wiped her eyes. And she gave the reins a strong tug. The pony blinked and scrambled to her feet. She shook herself like a dog and sprayed water in all directions.

  “That was silly!” gasped Ginny. She was laughing and shivering. She tried to dodge out of the way of the drops of water. “Cut that out, you idiot pony! That water is cold.” She flung herself onto the pony's wet back. She urged her into a brisk trot, then into a canter. They burst out of the woods into the warmer sunlight of an open field. Ginny was still laughing. She pulled the pony back to a walk. Then she patted her on the neck.

  They walked and dried out in the sun. A few minutes later, Ginny realized that she wasn't nervous anymore. She had forgotten to worry about her riding. She would get along very well. If she remembered to keep the pony moving when they crossed a stream, she told herself with a grin.

  Ginny and the pony drifted across the field. They were enjoying the warmth of the spring sun. The whole golden summer stretched ahead. Ginny was a little bit stiff and sore, but she felt calm and happy. She turned her pony's head toward home.

  It took three soapy baths in a row, and many heavy buckets of warm water, to get the pony clean. On the first warm Saturday morning, Ginny carried the buckets down the kitchen steps. The pony was tied under the flowering branches of a small apple tree. Ginny rubbed the suds into the pony's coat and mane and tail. Then she rinsed her off and washed her again. Ginny was soaking wet. Her shirt and blue jeans and sneakers were splashed with suds and water. But she didn't mind.

  The pony looked much better as she stood dripping in the sun. A lot of her shaggy winter coat had come out with the scrubbing. Her white markings were now spotless. The brown patches were beginning to shine a warm chocolate color as she dried.

  Ginny sat down to catch her breath on the bottom kitchen step. But she jumped to her feet a moment later. She was startled to hear someone calling her name. “Ginny? Hi! My name is Pam Jennings. Our place isn't very far from here. Did you know we're almost neighbors? May I see your new pony?”

  And it really was Pam Jennings coming around the corner of the house. She was holding an apple in her hand.

  Ginny would have known Pam anywhere from watching her ride her beautiful pony at so many shows. “Hi. Oh, gosh, I'm a mess. I'm Ginny Anderson. How nice of you to come.” Ginny stumbled over the words. “The pony's not really mine. I just have her for the summer. She's kind of a mess, too, right now. I've just given her a bath.”

  “She looks lovely.” The dark-haired girl held the apple out to the pony. The pony bit into it gently. “She has nice manners. Are you planning to show her this summer?”

  Ginny just shook her head silently. Wild pictures raced through her mind. She saw rows of elegant show ponies in a ring. Everyone was laughing at her thin, shabby, strangely marked pony beside them.

  “That's too bad.” Pam stroked the pony's wet head. “It would be fun to have someone to go with. But at least we can ride together, can't we? There's no one nearby who has a pony. I was so glad when the feed man told Michael there was finally another pony in the neighborhood.” She rubbed the pony's wet ears. “Michael takes care of Firefly, my pony. And of my mother's and father's horses.” Ginny had no idea what to say, so she just nodded.

  “What do you call her?” asked Pam.

  “Her name is Mokey.” There. It was said, out loud. The nickname had stuck. For days, everyone in the family had called the pony “the moke.” Then, one day, she was Mokey.

  Pam gave the wet pony a final pat on the shoulder. “Goodbye, Mokey. I have to go now. Mother is waiting in the car. Do you
want to meet tomorrow morning at my place for a ride, Ginny? About eleven o'clock?”

  “Okay,” Ginny said faintly. Pam hurried away. Ginny fell again onto the bottom of the kitchen steps. She had her chin in her hands. She stared at her spotted pony half asleep under the tree.

  “It will be a lot of fun,” she said to herself firmly. “But oh, dear, Mokey, I wish you were just a little bit more elegant.” She made a face at the idea of Mokey plodding along behind the graceful Firefly. Pam would be riding so beautifully in her well-cut breeches and shining brown boots, while Ginny rode bareback in blue jeans and sneakers.

  At the same time, Ginny knew she was being unfair. Pam really had seemed very nice. Ginny loved riding alone with Moke. But it would be nice to have company once in a while to share some of the fun. She got up and unclipped the rope from Mokey's halter. Then she turned Mokey loose to graze on the lawn.

  “But don't you lie down and roll and get yourself dirty,” Ginny told the pony. “You may not be beautiful, but at least you can be clean.”

  Mokey did roll, of course. She loved the feeling of the sun-warmed grass on her drying coat. She got up and shook herself proudly. She had grass stains all over the white parts of her coat. There were also some in her mane. She needed another bath. The backyard looked like a battlefield when they were finished. The lawn under the apple tree was a small sea of soapsuds. Great chunks of earth had been scooped up out of the lawn where the pony had rolled and dug her hooves into the ground.

  Ginny walked Mokey dry. She tied her up in her stall. Then she looked at the torn-up lawn gloomily. This was going to be one of those days she would be glad to see end.

  Of course Ginny's father was mad about the holes in the lawn. Her mother was annoyed at the splashes of soapy water on the kitchen floor. As soon as she could, Ginny bridled her pony and set off down the driveway at a brisk trot. Mokey swung along cheerfully. Her head was up and her ears were pricked. She was as glad as Ginny to be out for a ride.

  When they got home, Ginny slid off Mokey's back. Her father was waiting and smoking his pipe. Ginny was glad to see that he looked much more cheerful than he had earlier, rolling the lumps out of the lawn.

  Ginny brushed the mud and dust off Mokey's legs. Her father was holding the pony's reins. Ginny noticed with surprise that he was patting Mokey's neck.

  “I thought you said you didn't like horses,” said Ginny with a smile.

  Mokey nudged Mr. Anderson's arm with her soft muzzle. He began to rub her behind the ears in her favorite spot. “I don't like horses and ponies in general. But I think I like this one,” said Mr. Anderson. “And I'm glad you're having such a good time with her. But, Ginny, keep her off the lawn! You know that big oak tree down the hill beyond the house, just where the lawn ends? Why can't you tie her to that tree with a rope? You can let her eat the long grass down there.”

  “I think that's a wonderful idea,” said Ginny. Her father got a rope from the garage. The two of them led the pony down the hill. They tied one end of the rope to her halter. They tied the other end around the trunk of the tree. The grass was lush and tall. Mokey started grazing happily.

  Ginny and her father walked back up toward the house. They turned for a moment to enjoy the sight of the pony. She was calm and happy. She grazed quietly under the tree.

  Suddenly Mokey seemed to go crazy. She flung herself into the air on her hind legs. Then she crashed to the ground. She staggered to her feet. Then she fell again. Ginny started to run toward her as fast as she could.

  She didn't hear her father shouting or his footsteps running to catch up with her. She reached the thrashing pony. But her father's strong hand on her shoulder threw her backward. She tripped and fell. “Let me go!” she yelled at her father. “Something awful's the matter with Mokey!”

  “Stay away from that pony!” her father shouted. “Stop it, Ginny! You can't go near her now! She's in such a panic. She'll kick you to pieces!” Ginny struggled to her feet. She stood still for a moment. She was gasping for breath. They could see now what had happened. The pony had moved at the end of the long rope and the rope had twisted around her hind legs. It had scared her into a panic. She had fought the rope wildly. Then she had been thrown down on the ground. She was foaming with sweat from fear and tiredness.

  Now the pony was lying still. Only her sides were heaving. She gasped for air. “Move quietly,” Ginny's father said in a low voice. “I don't know much about horses. But panic is pretty much the same in any living thing. Go to her head, Ginny. Stay out of the way of her hooves. Talk to her. See if you can keep her quiet. I'll get a knife to cut the rope.”

  Ginny knelt in the grass by the pony's head. Ginny's common sense was slowly coming back. She knew her father was right. She was ready to jump to her feet and out of the way if the scared pony started to fight again.

  But Mokey seemed almost unconscious. Her eyes were glazed. Her breath rasped in her throat. She didn't try to move even when Ginny's father came back. He started to cut the tangled rope with a sharp knife.

  The rope finally lay in pieces on the ground. “Why doesn't she get up?” said Ginny. Her voice was shaking. “She's free now, but she doesn't seem to know it!”

  Mr. Anderson pulled a last piece of rope away from the pony's front leg. “I wonder if she's in some kind of shock,” he said. “Ginny, talk to her. Try to make her get up.”

  “Maybe her legs are broken,” sobbed Ginny. The tears she had been holding back poured down her cheeks at last. “I've never seen anything so awful in my life! Get up, Mokey, get up!”

  But the pony just lay flat on her side. Her legs were limp. Her head stretched out on the ground. Ginny became dimly aware that her mother was standing beside her. “I saw it from the house,” she said. “John, do you think the pony could have broken her back?”

  “If she hasn't, we're lucky,” Mr. Anderson said. “Come on, old girl. Try to get up.” He gave the pony's halter a gentle pull.

  Mokey moved. She blinked. She lifted her head. Slowly and with great effort, she put out one foreleg. Then another. “That's it! Good!” said Mr. Anderson. “Stand away from her now. Give her room.”

  The pony rested for a few minutes. She turned her head weakly. It was as though she were finding her way back from a dream. Ginny could see blood on the pony's legs. It was just above her hooves and behind her knees. She took a deep breath but kept still.

  Suddenly the pony pushed herself to her feet. She wobbled a little but stood on all four legs. She took one step forward. Then another. The pony put her head down. She shook herself like a dog. Then she started to graze.

  Ginny burst into tears again. “I never saw anything so stupid!” she said. “Five minutes ago we thought she was dead. Now she's eating like nothing happened at all!”

  Mr. Anderson shook his head. “Amazing,” he said. “I'm beginning to think that caring for a pony is not quite as simple as one might imagine.”

  “Bring her along up to the house, Ginny,” said Mrs. Anderson. “She's got some pretty bad rope burns on her legs. We'll have to take care of them. I have some healing ointment that should be just right.”

  Ginny sighed. Her knees were still shaking from her fear and the relief of knowing her pony was going to be all right. “We've got an awful lot to learn, Mokey,” she said. “I hope you can live through it.”

  Since Mokey was very stiff and sore, they slowly made their way back up the hill.

  Mokey's legs were painfully swollen the next day. Both Ginny and her mother looked closely at the rope burns in the brighter light of morning. They agreed that they did not look any worse than they had the night before.

  They put more ointment on every sore place they could find. Then Ginny led the pony slowly down to the long grass near the oak tree. She let her graze in the sun.

  Ginny glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven o'clock. She remembered with horror that she was supposed to meet Pam for a ride. Mokey would not be hurried back up the hill to the stall in the garage.
It hurt her too much to walk fast. She didn't want to be shut up, anyway. Ginny finally eased her into her stall. She rushed to the telephone.

  Pam had left the house by then, of course. Ginny groaned under her breath. “It is very important that Pam gets this message,” Ginny said. “I was supposed to ride with her today, but …” She stopped. She was too embarrassed to admit what had happened. “Could you just tell her, please, that my pony is a little lame this morning? I'll call her again sometime soon.”

  The polite voice on the other end of the phone said that the message would be sent to the stables right away. Ginny hung up. She felt both guilty and relieved. Maybe by the time she saw Pam again, Mokey would be all better. No one outside the family would ever have to know how dumb she had been to let her own pony get hurt.

  It was a few days before Mokey could walk easily again. “The only reason she's not lame,” Ginny told her mother, “is that all her legs hurt so much. She doesn't know where to limp the most.” Ginny led her pony at a slow walk for a half hour twice a day. Slowly the swelling went away and the burns began to heal.

  Ginny saw Pam in town one morning. They both smiled politely at each other. They said “hello.” But neither girl said anything more. Ginny's mother gave her daughter a quick look. “Wasn't that the Jennings girl?” she asked. “I didn't know you knew her.”

  “I don't. Not really, I mean,” said Ginny. She didn't try to explain about the ride that had been forgotten in the worry over Mokey. It all sounded too stupid, she thought angrily. The whole thing had been dumb. She simply didn't want to talk about it.

  Mokey was much better, anyway. That was all that really mattered. The last of her shabby winter coat had finally shed out. It left her smooth and shining, though to Ginny's worried eye she still looked thin. Mokey's black tail was now free of mats and burrs. It grew long and full. Her white mane and black forelock at last gave up their tangles to Ginny's careful brushing.