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Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
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by LeAnn R. Ralph Smoky Joe was the prettiest little pony I have ever seen. Black, glossy hide glittering in the sun. Long black tail sweeping the ground. Little tulip-shaped ears poking up from the top of his thick forelock. Always carrying himself with a proudly arched neck - But Smoky Joe was also the most ORNERY little pony I have ever seen. The neighbors who lived on the farm next door to ours when I was a kid bought Smoky Joe for their children. They purchased the farm and moved there from the Twin Cities, in part, I think, because they wanted their six children to experience "country living." And of course, part of living in the country included buying a pony for the kids. Unfortunately, they got hold of the wrong pony. Smoky Joe was tiny even by Shetland pony standards. But what he lacked in size, he made up for in spunk and sheer cussedness. Oh, the kids TRIED riding Smoky Joe. He'd go along for a few steps, and then he'd buck, toss his rider, and gallop off through the garden, reins flapping as he trampled pea plants, tomatoes, cucumbers and carrots. Then he'd exit the garden, dragging a pumpkin vine or two that had gotten wrapped around his legs. Or he'd go along for a few steps, toss his rider, and then head through the flower beds, mashing petunias and marigolds. Occasionally Smoky would decide not to toss his rider. Instead, he'd beeline for the nearest tree or fence post and lean against it, making sure his rider's leg was all-but bleeding by the time he walked away. After all the kids in the family had been treated to Smoky Joe's little tricks, none of them wanted to ride him anymore. (Can't say as I blame them, either.) Soon, I found myself being called in as a consultant because I had a pony of my own and because I was a little bit older than the neighbor kids, too. The father of the family decided Smoky's antics were nonsense, and he was going to teach the little guy some manners. My job was to watch and give him pointers. "Okay," Dick said, leading Smoky Joe by the bridle. "We're ready." He looped the reins over the pony's neck, and then he climbed aboard. It didn't require much effort on his part. He merely swung his leg over the pony's back and sat down. Both his feet touched the ground. Smoky stood there for a few moments. Then, with what appeared to be hardly any effort at all, the pony gave a short buck. Dick sailed through the air and landed on the lawn a few feet away. He stood up, groaning a little and rubbing his back. As soon as Smoky had tossed his rider, he dropped his head and started grazing. "Why, you little..." Dick muttered. He limped over to the pony, grabbed the reins and mounted again. A few seconds later, Dick found himself sitting on the lawn once more. "Maybe he doesn't like the weight," I said. "He's used to being ridden by children. Want me to try?" "Wouldn't want you to get bucked off," Dick said. "I don't think he'll buck right away. He usually doesn't buck your kids off until he's gone a few steps. It's not far to fall, anyway." I hopped on the pony. My feet didn't touch the ground, but I did have to be careful not to kick him in the shins. "Let's go, Smoky." The pony turned his head and sniffed my leg. I pulled his head around, nudged him with my heels, and Smoky started walking. A few times he tried to veer off toward the garden or the flower beds, but I pulled his head back before he could act on the notion. We went around and around the lawn, and he behaved himself pretty well. "I can't believe it," Dick said. All the kids had watched me ride their pony without coming to any harm, and now they were eager to try again, too. One of the kids stepped forward. I hopped off and handed over the reins. Once again, Smoky turned his head and sniffed his rider's leg. I grabbed his bridle, and after we'd gone a few steps, I let go. They made it about halfway around the lawn. Then Smoky stopped, gave a little buck, tossed his rider, and the next thing we knew, he was gleefully galloping through the garden, flinging shredded tomato plants in his wake - And he was such a PRETTY little pony, too... (Note: Eventually the neighbors sold Smoky Joe. The children were content to ride my pony, Dusty, whose only bad habit was making a bee-line for the lawn where she'd put her head down and start grazing, completely ignoring the rider on her back. I'd know when Dusty had done this because I'd hear a chorus of "LeAnn, come help us!" I'd pull up Dusty's head and get her going again on the driveway until the next time she decided she needed a little snack.) |
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