Tuesday 20 January 2015

The Intrepid Pony Escapes


Chapter 1      


A dreadful discovery


 

Ignorant of the awaiting calamity, Zoe Stanton leapt off the bus, and jogged past the single file of red brick houses. Elated, she crossed to her tranquil haven.

“In-trep-id”, she called, tying back her long raven hair into a scraggy ponytail. But, for once, her New Forest pony didn’t trot over like a devoted hound.

“In-trep-id, Tre-pid.” No welcoming whinny disturbed the silence. Disappointed, the skinny girl straddled the five-bar gate and shielded her pale blue eyes from the September sun. There were several bays grazing tranquilly in the L-shaped field, tails rhythmically flicking midges away.

She studied each one. The nearest bay displayed its scrawny rump and straggly tail. Monty. He often grazed alongside her stocky Intrepid, whose generous black tail put Monty’s to shame. The next pony had white socks instead of jet stockings. The only other bay stood half hidden behind the huge horse Zoe had nick named Brutus. She craned her neck, considering its merits, until it tossed its unadorned head.

Perhaps Intrepid was hiding in the sheltered corner behind the tangled laurels. Zoe slid off the gate and strolled across the slight incline, carrying her halter. No pony. She pushed the shiny leaves apart and poked her head through the gap. Dappled sunlight lit the empty resting place. Spinning round, she considered the field from her new vantage point. The nibbled grass sprawled to its boundaries, uninterrupted by bushes or other hiding places.

Two greys lazed in the shade of the spreading hazelnut with a coal coloured pony; the oversized horse and the bunch of bays formed a rough diamond in the centre of the shorn vegetation. Her thick set pony with the stunning face eluded her gaze. He must have escaped.

Breathing faster, she scanned the perimeter for damage. Neither the thick wire fence, stretching tautly along the abandoned railway embankment, nor the rustic ranch barrier, preventing the ponies from straying onto the busy road, had any gaps in them.

She screwed up her eyes. The weakest fence, protecting the rear of a Victorian terrace from the field’s residents, wobbled erratically towards the road.

Zoe sighed with relief. Of course - her shameless pony would be feasting on flowers in one of the back gardens.

She jogged over to examine the fence. Long strands of hair adorned the barbed wire, proving that ponies had pushed their heads between the wires to steal greenery from their human neighbours, but the rickety structure survived intact.

In spite of the sunshine, Zoe shivered. The hum of the traffic burned her ears. Intrepid had been stolen! Her hand crept to her mouth and she unconsciously nibbled the skin around her finger nails.

Heart pounding, Zoe gazed around the field again. A bay pony, swaddled in dark blue, lay apart from the others under a weedy hawthorn tree. Autumn had barely begun, yet the first blanket had been employed. She peered at the pony bemused.

“Intrepid!” she bellowed. The bay twisted his head towards her, revealing a double star bang in the centre of his wide brow.

Her heart slowed and her breathing eased. Thank God. Intrepid hadn’t been stolen after all. Anger replaced panic. Nobody had the right to put a blanket on her pony. No wonder she had overlooked him.

Zoe stormed over… and stopped in horror. His engorged hind leg stuck out awkwardly. Stomach churning, she edged closer. A huge raw patch swamped his lower leg, and something white glistened deep within the ripped skin.

Intrepid rested his head on his jaw as Zoe stared uncomprehendingly at the massive injury. An acrid taste invaded her mouth and she spun round gagging, stumbling over a bucket. Water slopped over her trainers and soaked into the spidery cracks in the sun-baked mud as she threw up.

“Zoe! I’ve been trying to contact you!” Mr Craig, the field’s aging owner, plodded across the bald ground towards her, shoulders hunched.

“How did this happen?” The distraught girl dabbed her mouth with a crumpled tissue.

The panting man’s yellowing teeth peeked through his narrow lips as he sucked in air asthmatically.

“I’m sorry you found out like this.” Mr Craig gripped her shoulder in a comforting gesture, supporting himself as he regained his breath. “When I called your flat your landlady said you were away. I kept phoning your place in Rutland, but couldn’t get through.”

His deep-set eyes glistened as he dragged his dirty sleeve across his face. “Your pony escaped from the field and injured himself on a coil of barbed wire. I called the vet to treat the wound, as soon as the girls found him. I’m so sorry.”

Zoe stared at him blankly. Mr Craig gestured towards the prim front gardens of Acacia Close. “Is that Phil’s car?”

She glanced numbly at the red Rover parking by the gate and nodded, relieved her father had arrived.

“I must talk to him,” Mr Craig muttered.

As he walked away, Zoe’s legs buckled and she sank to the unyielding ground beside Intrepid, who remained huddled under the blanket. His ears pricked forward, but his dull eyes remained vacant.

“It’s all right, Intrepid, it’ll be fine,” Zoe croaked. She patted his side, but then broke down and wept into his tangled mane. She took her glasses off and stuffed them in her pocket before laying her cheek against his withers. If only she had been around.

Intrepid must be in a bad way if Mr Craig had put out a bucket of water for him to drink. Surely he could hobble to the water trough.

As she calmed down, she caressed Intrepid’s velvety nose, wondering if he would ever recover. Yesterday she had dreamed of jumping him in competitions, but now she would trade everything for a healthy pony.

Zoe popped her glasses back on to her snub nose and leaned against the narrow trunk, watching the serrated hawthorn leaves overhead. They danced in the breeze, but soon they would wither and die, mirroring her dreams.

Her father padded over and stroked her back, his eyes watering. He assured her: “Mr Craig’s given me the vet’s number, but he’s on his rounds now. He’s due back soon.”

Mutely, Zoe nodded, then filled the bucket from the trough, tear trails marring her pale cheeks. At least she could help Intrepid by replacing his water.

As they waited Shirley, Zoe’s riding companion, sidled over.

“I’m so sorry about Trepid.”

“Who put this blanket on?” Zoe asked.

Shirley fluttered her sandy eyelashes. “I did. He felt cold so I dug it out for him. Nan bought it for my birthday, but you can use it until he’s better.”

“Oh! Thanks,” Zoe muttered. “That’s kind of you.”

Shirley bit her lip and twiddled with strands of carroty hair which had escaped from her pert ponytail.

“Oh, I gave Trepid a few pony nuts, too.”

Zoe nodded, feeling remote, as if she was watching a video.

Brutus snorted and clomped past, nose hovering over the ground, searching for grass, but Intrepid’s cheek flopped onto the mud defeated. Zoe tensed, ready to chase the bully away, but for once he didn’t try to bite her helpless pony.

Haunting strains of Mozart drifted from one of the houses and a couple of boys kicked a ball around the close.

“I hope he recovers soon,” Shirley mumbled, avoiding Zoe’s gaze by staring over her shoulder at her grey pony.

A white van swung into the close and pulled up behind the Rover.

“The vet’s arrived,” Phil remarked.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Shirley fled, relief flooding her vapid expression.

Zoe commanded herself to be brave but couldn’t stop her legs trembling. A baby-faced man, wearing a pristine white coat, carried a rucksack across the field. So this was the vet. He didn’t appear old enough - and surely he should have a doctor’s bag.

She slid Intrepid’s halter over his ears and tightened it with shaking fingers, but he remained crumpled on the ground like a discarded coat.

“Mr Stanton?” the vet inquired.

“Yes,” Phil replied.

“The tendon escaped most of the damage,” the vet explained in a quiet professional manner. “But the muscle tore badly. I stitched most of it back together, but some skin had withered before I arrived, making full closure impossible. Several hours might have elapsed before I was called.”

Several hours! Zoe blinked fearfully at the wound. The pale bone lay exposed within a rough rectangular hole. Neat stitches sealed a vicious gash, zigzagging up the inside of Intrepid’s leg. He must be in agony. She stepped back and nibbled her fingers despondently.

“Tissue will grow back over the bone, but your pony might never be sound enough to ride,” the vet was saying. “To aid a full recovery you must prevent the wound from infection.”

Tears welled up anew in Zoe’s eyes as she nodded to show she understood.

The vet gave Intrepid an injection in the shoulder. The pony convulsed, heaved onto three shuddering legs and lunged forward, scrambling to escape. Zoe hung onto the halter.

“Steady, Intrepid, steady,” she pleaded. He stood trembling, forelegs splayed, injured leg raised, eyeing the vet through his tangled fringe. Zoe stroked his neck reassuringly but his eyes were dilated with fear.

“The vet is trying to help you,” she cooed.

“Now he’s up can you please lead him round so I can check his mobility.”

“Come on, Intrepid!” She pulled gently on the halter rope and clucked encouragement like an egg-bound hen.

Moments passed, and then the pony lurched erratically on three legs, the injured one hooked away from the ground. The vet squirted the wound with purple powder from a white plastic bottle.

“At least there is no sign of infection,” he remarked brightly. “You must spray the wound twice a day with this antiseptic powder until it heals over completely.”

“Doesn’t it need bandaging?” Zoe quavered.

“No, it’s best to let the pus drain away.”

“Does he need the blanket?”

“It will keep him warm until he is more mobile.”

The vet passed her the powder before striding back to his van and driving off.

Phil steered her to the car and drove back to Horsebridge. When they arrived Zoe stared dismally at the slender Georgian town house.

“Come on, Pet,” her father urged.

Zoe trudged up the narrow stairs, longing for home. The rented bedsit, with its bare walls and cheap furniture, offered no comfort or escape from reality. The springs of the sole armchair squealed in protest as she dropped into it.

Phil threw his briefcase beside his bed and bustled into the tiny kitchen. Within minutes he placed a plate into Zoe’s hands and settled on the wooden chair at the table-cum-desk to eat. Zoe stirred the beans and nibbled at her toast but the luminous sauce repelled her.

“I feel sick.” She slid out of the arm chair, shoved her plate in the sink and stomped to her Zed bed.

Phil wisely left her alone, taking refuge in his seafaring novel after washing up.

She lay supine, staring through the tiny window etched into the steeply pitched ceiling. The inky square of sky reflected her mood. Her friends lived far away and she subsisted cooped up in an attic. She had owned Intrepid for just 33 days. She longed to wake up and discover it had been a terrible nightmare, after all being 16 was supposed to be about parties, friends and fun.

Eventually Phil brought her a drink. He lowered himself onto on the Zed bed which creaked like a despairing field mouse.

“I’ll drive you to the field first thing,” he stated, stroking her hand.

“Thanks, Dad,” Zoe whispered.

“We’ll have to get up early.” Phil studied her face. “But you'll have to catch the bus to school.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m late,” Zoe muttered. Phil’s brow furrowed, so she pulled the dividing curtain across her corner of the bleak room. “I’m going to bed now.”

“I’ll set the alarm for 6.15. By the way I tried phoning your mum, but the phone’s still out of order.”

The Zed-bed became an instrument of torture, developing lumps overnight. Zoe tossed and thumped her pillow, eventually finding a position without a spring digging into her back.

“Please Lord don’t let Intrepid get beaten up by Brutus or infected,” she prayed. If that happened...he might have to be put to sleep. She pushed her nose into the pillow and wept silently.



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