Pony on the lam

Yesterday I met my Bloganonymous Neighbour (BN) at the end of the drive just as I was going out on the bike. I had just said hello to her daughter who was walking the Shetland Pony along the lane.

"Ah", I said. "You have ordered the sheep." She had the look of a woman who has just ordered a sheep and I told her so. 

She laughed, and said that they are now on a plateau animal-wise and are likely to stop at the current 17 or so. But I know that she desperately wants a sheep. No, I have no idea why.

I should have said (but didn't) that this is no plateau but merely base camp. Her younger daughter is a strategist of epic talent and staggering persuasive powers, and has been gradually acquiring pets on an ascending scale of size. She has been planning the pony for a year.

Anyway BN wanted to talk bikes as her abused bike is always suffering. If it were a person it would whimper continually, and if it was a horse, you would feel kind in having it shot.

So we chatted bike rescue for a bit.

And then she said that she wanted to apologise for the pony. (Why do I always want to call it a horse ?)

It turned out that on Wednesday this week, the horse dentist had visited to do something to the horse's teeth as it had clearly been a stranger to dentists in the past. The horse did not take kindly to this dental assault, and made a bolt for freedom, ending up playing hide and seek in my garden with the said dentist and anyone else who had an hour to spare.

I had not seen any of this kerfuffle at all.

But it did remind me of the day I woke up to find a dozen cows doing a sort of chorus-line tap routine all over the garden. Cows are much beefier (oh dear) than Shetland ponies, and make a huge mess hoof print-wise. They had got in in the night, and had established camp and set to eating a magnificently varied breakfast, starting on shrubs and flowers and leaving the lawn till last. When they had done it looked as if we were living on a set for some muddily surreal film about the first war.

BN felt better about the pony after hearing about the cows and went off happy, and armed with some tips on How to be Nice to Bikes.

The great thing about all of this is seeing BN's daughter so blissed out with undiluted happiness. It's amazing that a pony could make such a difference. The girl is likely to expire of sheer delight if she is not careful.

Apart from sheep, BN doesn't really care much for pets, but has a home full of them. Garrison Keillor comes to mind again:

Nothing you do for children is ever wasted.