THE BOG WHICH IS NOT SOLELY MUD + WATER by Megan

 It was a damp, blustery morning, there were storm clouds scudding across

the sky, and the field was a bog. I hasten to add that bogs in fields

where horses are kept are not solely mud and water. Horace was over in

the far corner of the field, and was eyeing me suspiciously. I

surreptitiously hid the head collar behind my back, and called him. He

just looked at me as if to say, "D'you think I'm stupid".

           My pony has attitude-BIG attitude.

  I walked up to him, hands behind my back, just like all the

knowledgeable pony books say. But with Horace, such advice is

irrelevant. With a last glance he wheeled away, head held high,

spattering his skewbald coat, and me, with mud.

  I began the long trek over the field to where Horace was standing, if

he were a person, he would have been laughing. This time though, I

managed to grab a handful of mane before he took off, but wet mane is

slippery, and cold hands do not grip things well. After about three

quarters of an hour I finally managed to catch him. But he wasn't having

any of it, he just stood there, and wasn't moving an inch, not for

anyone. Well, maybe not for anyone else, but I had had my pony long

enough to know all his tricks.

  I wrapped the lead rope round his nose, it wasn't exactly his usual

pelham, but it would have to do. going to stand at his side, I patted

him on the shoulder. He looked round enquiringly, 'any food? ' he seemed

to say. Taking a firm hold on the lead rope I vaulted lightly onto his

back. He jogged about and shied at scary things like leaves and thin

air. Usually I would let him canter, but on the boggy ground he would

probably pull a tendon or something equally bad.

  Suddenly a rabbit shot out of nowhere, and Horace, full of pent up

energy, let out a massive buck. I was expecting that, but.... He was

excited now, and he broke into a fast canter, which soon turned into a

gallop. If he slipped now he would probably break a leg. I struggled to

get him under control, and finally he slowed to a walk. If I thought he

was excited before, it was nothing to how he felt now. He pirouetted,

bucked, and shied at nothing, and finally succeeded in throwing me off.

Into the bog. Into the bog which was not solely mud and water.

   I remained face down in the mud for a second, and then sat up. As I

wiped the dirty water from my eyes I felt something touch my shoulder. I

looked round to see Horace, all shining innocence, standing as if very

concerned for me. So I'll say it again:

         My pony has attitude-BIG attitude.

megan barford [errrmmm@which.net]

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