Winter Pony

by Jean Slaughter Doty

  Michael stood waiting. His hands were on his hips. He looked very stern and grim. He nodded coldly, just once. Ginny drew Mokey to a smooth stop at the gates. Ginny hoped he might comment on how nicely she’d stopped. In fact, she wished that he’d say just about anything at all. She just wanted him to break the chilling silence.

  But Michael just nodded shortly once more. He stood looking at the tired pony and the uneasy girls in the sleigh. Then he turned and went into the stable without a word.

  Pam sighed. “I have never,” she said slowly, “gotten away with one single thing without Michael knowing all about it. Not in all the years he’s been here.”

  In silence they unharnessed the pony. They threw a cooler over her back. Then they took her inside the stable. They put the sleigh away and carried the harness to the tack room. The harness was covered in sweat. They hung it on the cleaning hook. Then they started working on it with hot, soapy sponges.

  There was no sign of Michael. Ginny scrubbed at the bit. She looked over her shoulder from time to time.

  “Whew.” Pam stopped working for a moment. She pushed the hair back out of her eyes. “There’s a mile of this thing, isn’t there!” Ginny nodded silently. She looped the straps and tucked them into place as they were cleaned. At last the whole harness was done. They hung it back in its place.

  Pam folded the cooler. Ginny bridled Mokey and swung up onto her back. Pam looked around quickly. She opened the door to let Mokey and Ginny walk outside. Then she whispered, “I don’t care how mad Michael is. It was fun, anyway!”

  Ginny waved good-bye. She was grateful to escape without seeing Michael again. Mokey was very tired. As soon as they reached the path through the woods, Ginny got off. She pulled the reins over the pony’s head and led her toward home. It was getting colder and starting to snow heavily again. Ginny made a face at the low clouds. She decided that even she and Mokey had had enough snow for a while.

  Chapter Eight

  “You look worried,” Ginny’s mother said.

  “I am,” said Ginny. She was in the kitchen stirring bran and oats and hot water together. She was making a hot mash for Mokey. She added a little salt. Then she put a folded towel over the top of the bucket to let the mash steam. “Gosh, that stuff has a wonderful smell,” she said. “No wonder ponies love it.”

  She started to cut up a carrot to add to the mash. “I’m worried about Mokey,” she said to her mother. “I can’t understand what’s wrong with her. She’s fit. I feed her well. But her ribs are starting to show a little bit even though her blanket hardly goes around her middle.”

  “What does Michael say?” asked Mrs. Anderson.

  “He just told me she was getting too fat and that I was probably giving her too much hay. But he told me that when he first clipped her. That was before Christmas. So I gave her less hay. Now she looks kind of strange. He went back to England to visit his family for a few weeks. He hasn’t seen her for a while.

  “Thank goodness,” she added under her breath. Nothing had ever been said about the sleigh ride on the road on New Year’s Day. Maybe he would have forgotten all about it by the time he got back.

  “Do you think it might be a good idea to ask the vet to have a look at her?” asked her mother. “Ginny, for goodness’ sakes, don’t give Mokey all the carrots. We need some for the salad tonight!”

  “I’m sorry.” Ginny grinned at her mother. She quickly put the cut-up carrots into the mash. “I’ll go call Dr. Nichols and ask him to come see Mokey.”

  Dr. Nichols came the next afternoon. He left an hour later with a smile and a cheerful wave.

  Ginny stomped into the living room. She forgot to take off her boots. They were covered in snow. She stood in front of the fire. She felt numb.

  “You’ll never guess what,” she said with a croak to her mother and father. Her father put down his newspaper. Her mother looked up from her book.

  “Mokey’s in foal,” said Ginny.

  “In foal?” said her mother.

  “You mean she’s pregnant?” asked her father. Ginny nodded. She was speechless.

  Mr. Anderson folded his newspaper. He began to laugh. Ginny frowned at her father.

  “It isn’t funny!” she said. Then she began to smile. “I guess it is,” she said. “Imagine her being in foal all this time, without our knowing anything about it!”

  “When is she due to have it?” asked Mrs. Anderson.

  “Dr. Nichols says it’s hard to tell with horses and ponies. Especially with a first foal. But he thinks around the end of March or the beginning of April. She was probably bred just before she came here. It takes eleven months until the foal is born.” Ginny shook her head in wonder. “I can’t really believe it yet. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

  She looked down at the snow from her boots. It was melting on the living room rug. “Help!” she said breathlessly. “I’d better get out of here. And I’ve got to call Pam!”

  Pam was wild with excitement and envy. “I’ve always wanted to raise a foal!” she said.

  “You can share Mokey’s,” said Ginny. There was a short silence. Both girls tried to picture Mokey with a foal. Ginny found it impossible.

  “I can’t wait to tell Michael,” Pam said with a giggle. “Mokey sure fooled him! I bet this will be the biggest surprise of his life!”

  But Michael took the news quite calmly when he came back from his vacation. It was a chilly, cloudy afternoon. Ginny rode over to the Jennings place on Mokey. It had started to rain. Then the rain turned to sleet. Ginny put Mokey into the extra stall. Then she went into the tack room with Pam to welcome Michael home and to tell him the news.

  Michael nodded as Ginny told him. “But she did fool you, didn’t she, Michael?” said Pam.

  Michael smiled at her. “Miss Pam, a lot of horsemen have been taken by surprise by a lot of mares for a lot of years. When I was just a lad, I worked for one of the best trainers in England. He knew more about horses than anyone I’ve ever met, before or since. He had a young filly run a great race one afternoon. She either won it or came in second. I can’t remember. When they went to see to her the next morning, there was a foal at her side. It was standing up and nursing just as bright as you please. It took some time for him to live that one down, you can be sure.”

  “You mean the filly was racing fit and still the foal didn’t show?” said Ginny. “Oh, come on, Michael, that’s hard to believe!”

  “Any harder to believe than that a pony you’ve cared for all these months has kept her foal a secret from you?” asked Michael.

  “I see what you mean,” Ginny said.

  “I can name two ponies in the show ring today that were just as big a surprise to their owners when they were born. One is a show hunter and one is a jumper,” said Michael. “Sometimes a dealer will breed a flighty mare to settle her down. Then he’ll sell her quickly without telling anyone what’s been done. Sometimes the breedings are an accident. A fence gets broken down. Or a stall door is left open at the wrong time. The mare or the stud gets loose. The boy in charge of the horses sends them back to their stalls. And who’s the wiser? He’s not going to admit he was careless and risk losing his job.”

  “Were there any stallions at that awful place where you got Mokey?” asked Pam.

  “Oh, sure,” said Ginny. “There was at least one. A chestnut, with a lovely head and a narrow white blaze. He nearly bit Mr. Dobbs, which would have served him right. There might have been some others, too. Mr. Dobbs didn’t say.”

  “Well, there you are,” said Michael. “Not really such a surprise, is it? A man like that doesn’t care one way or another about his ponies. He probably turned them all out together without a second thought. Ask your vet, Miss Ginny. He’ll tell you this kind of thing happens all the time.”

  Dr. Nichols agreed with Michael. He stopped by a few days later. He had a vitaminmineral supplement for Ginny to give Mokey in her feed.

  “But it still seems kind of unreal,” said Ginny. />
  “Don’t put Mokey’s blanket on tonight before you feed her,” Dr. Nichols said. “Very often you can see the foal kick when the mother drinks water or eats her grain. A blanket would hide this. Put your hand on her flank, if you want to be sure. You can feel the foal move, even if you can’t see it.”

  Ginny fed Mokey early that evening. Mokey stuck her muzzle into the fresh grain. Ginny felt a little foolish. But she put the palm of her hand on Mokey’s flank, just in front of the pony’s hind leg. Just like the doctor had told her to do.

  She felt a sudden flutter under her hand. She jumped back as though she’d been stung. Feeling even more foolish, she put her hand back on the pony’s flank again. This time she held it there. The flutter ended in two strong bumps against her hand. Then it stopped.

  Mokey turned her head to look at Ginny. Ginny looked back at the pony in a haze of delight.

  “It’s real,” said Ginny. “I felt it, I really did. It’s true.” Mokey sneezed and went back to her grain. Ginny went to get the blanket. Then she stopped to give her pony a hug. She pressed her face into the white shaggy mane. The sun set behind the ridge. The stall filled with twilight shadows. Mokey finished her grain and turned to her hay.

  Ginny gave Mokey a final hug. “I don’t even care whether it’s a colt or a filly, or how many silly spots it has,” Ginny said. She finished buckling the blanket into place. “But, Mokey, it would be nice if its eyes matched!”

  Chapter Nine

  As the first weeks of early spring went by, the frozen ground began to thaw. The icy ruts of the lanes and paths turned into deep and heavy mud. The red sleigh was put back in the old hay barn. The silver sleigh bells were taken from the harness. They were polished one last time. Then they were stored away in their gray flannel bag.

  The days grew longer and warmer. Ginny heard the call of mourning doves when she fed Mokey in the mornings before she left for school. Snowdrops bloomed in the sunny corner beside the kitchen steps.

  Ginny rode over to Pam’s one day and the blacksmith took Mokey’s shoes off. He trimmed her feet. Then he tossed the shoes into the back of his truck.

  “Good little mare,” he said to Mokey. “Had us all fooled, didn’t you?” Mokey closed her eyes dreamily. The blacksmith and Michael traded stories about surprise foals.

  “Are you sure it’s okay for her not to wear shoes?” Ginny asked the blacksmith. Michael went to bring Firefly from his stall.

  “The vet says she’s getting near her time, doesn’t he?” said the blacksmith. “Then no more shoes for a while. An unshod hoof does a lot less damage if a mare steps on her foal by accident.”

  Ginny shuddered. She watched while the restless Firefly was shod. He was then turned out into a white-fenced paddock to buck and play in the light spring wind.

  “I’m glad I’m not on him today,” Pam said. “He gets higher than a kite when the wind blows like this.” She and Ginny walked back to the stable. Mokey trailed along behind at the end of the reins. “How much longer can you ride Mokey?”

  “Dr. Nichols says she should be exercised,” said Ginny. She looked back at Mokey with doubt. “But she’s getting really big. Maybe she’s going to have twins.”

  “Can horses have twins?” asked Pam.

  “I think so,” said Ginny. “Let’s ask Michael.”

  Michael said that horses and ponies could indeed have twins, but that it didn’t happen very often. It was rare for twins to live.

  “One’s enough,” said Ginny, making a face. “I just wish it would hurry up and come. All this waiting makes me nervous.”

  “I don’t really understand what all the fuss is about, anyway,” said Pam. “Ponies have foals all the time. But this one is pretty special, I guess, because it’s Mokey’s.”

  “There you are,” said Michael. “That’s it exactly. Everything looks different when you come down to each mare.”

  Ginny looked upset. Her eyes filled with tears. “I wish all this had never happened,” she said in a shaking voice. “It seemed so wonderful at first. But now I’m scared. What if something goes wrong?”

  “Wild ponies have foals all by themselves, without anybody around to help,” said Pam.

  “That’s true,” said Michael. “But some of those mares die. And some of those foals as well. It may not matter in the long run to the survival of a wild herd. But it can matter a lot when it’s one Thoroughbred broodmare that is foaling what may be the future winner of the Derby. Or when it’s your own pony having her foal.”

  Ginny nodded. She was speechless.

  “It would be wrong for me to say that you shouldn’t worry,” said Michael. “A little constructive worry never did any harm. Chances are, nine times out of ten, Mokey won’t have a bit of trouble. But the thing to do is keep an eye on her. Call the vet when she first goes into labor. The foal will probably be born before he even gets there. But if the mare’s in any trouble at all, he’ll be there in plenty of time to help.”

  Ginny sniffed. She felt a little better. “I was starting to feel sort of stupid,” she said. “Everybody keeps telling me I’m making too big a thing of this.”

  “I never told you that,” said Michael. “And neither did Dr. Nichols, I don’t think.”

  “That’s true,” Ginny said. “He’s told me all kinds of things to do and not to do. But he’s never said I could just forget about it.”

  She wiggled up onto Mokey’s back. She pushed a stray lock of the pony’s white mane over onto the right side. She waved good-bye and started the ride home. The bridle paths were so muddy that Ginny went home on the road instead. Mokey’s bare hooves made a soft, pattering sound. She walked quietly along the side of the road. A motorcycle went by with a shattering roar. It trailed a thick blue plume of smoke. Mokey shook her head and shied a little.

  “It’s a good thing you’re not like Firefly,” Ginny said to her pony with a giggle. “You’re so round right now I can barely stay on you at a walk!”

  A few days later, Ginny opened the stall door that led out into the paddock. Mokey came out with her head and tail in the air. She trotted lightly across the muddy ground. Ginny stared at her. She was confused for a moment. Then she peered into the stall.

  Dr. Nichols had told her that the pony was not yet ready to foal. But maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe Mokey had fooled all of them again. Ginny felt a guilty flash of relief. She wanted to see the foal born. But it would be wonderful to have all the waiting and worrying over and done with.

  She looked carefully in every corner. But there was no spotted little foal curled up anywhere in the stall.

  She went outside to look at Mokey again. She couldn’t understand it. Mokey had been moving so heavily for the past few weeks. Now she was trotting around almost like her old self. But she was still huge and round. As Ginny fed the pony, she could see the foal moving and kicking.

  Puzzled, she called Dr. Nichols. “That’s fine,” he said. “We’re making progress. The foal has changed position. It’s moving down. Mokey feels less pressure. It’s getting ready to be born.”

  “But I’ve got to go to school today!” Ginny said with a wail. “Will it be born today?”

  “Today, tomorrow, or three weeks from now,” Dr. Nichols said cheerfully. “It still may be quite a while. Tell your mother to let me know if she thinks she needs me at any time.”

  It was agony to get on the school bus that morning. Ginny’s mother had promised she would not leave the house. She said she would check Mokey every hour through the day until Ginny got home from school. This helped a little. But Ginny had an awful day. She called home at recess and at lunch. Her mother told her that Mokey was just napping quietly in the sun in front of her stall as she always did at noon.

  By the time Ginny got home that afternoon, she was frantic and out of breath. She had run all the way from the bus. But nothing had happened. Mokey was just as fat and cheerful as ever.

  “I’ll go get some work done,” said Mrs. Anderson to Ginny as she cam
e into the house. “Now you’re here to keep an eye on things. We’re all going to have to change our schedules for a while, I can see that! It won’t be long. I don’t want to miss the big day either!”

  Chapter Ten

  The last few days of school dragged by very slowly. Then spring vacation started at last.

  “It’s just as well,” Ginny whispered to Pam that night. “I can’t remember one single thing I’ve read in the last two weeks. Except the foaling chapters in the vet books I got from the library.”

  Pam just mumbled a sleepy answer. She had come to spend the whole vacation with Ginny. That way she could be there to see the foal born. She was almost asleep in the other bed in Ginny’s room. Restlessly Ginny slipped out of bed and went to the window.

  It was very late. The night was crisp and cold. Ginny pulled on her bathrobe and tiptoed downstairs. She slipped her bare feet into her fleece-lined boots. She put her ski jacket on over her bathrobe. Then she made her way down to the stable.

  Mokey had been clipped. But she could not wear her blanket this close to her foaling time. Dr. Nichols had told Ginny’s father to hang a few heat lamps high on the walls of the stall. The soft red glow from the lamps spilled out of the window. It had looked kind of spooky at first, almost as though the stall were on fire. But everyone soon got used to it. The lights kept Mokey warm.

  Ginny looked through the window into the stall. She tried not to disturb her pony. The heat lamps gave enough light for her to see that Mokey was lying down. She looked as though she were sound asleep. But the pony heard Ginny. She always did. She got to her feet. She stretched. She yawned. Then she came over to the window. She pressed her muzzle against the wire mesh that protected her from the glass.

  All was well. Ginny said a soft “Good night, Moke” and went back up to the house.

  “I don’t see how anybody survives all this,” Ginny said crossly a few days later. “Mokey’s going to foal at any moment. Pam and I are taking turns getting up every two hours all night, every night. Neither of us feels as though we’ve slept for a month. It all seems hard to believe. The waiting is terrible.”