A Pony to School by Diana Pullein-Thompson

Author:Diana Pullein-Thompson [Pullein-Thompson, Diana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jane Badger Books

13

Chapter 13 by Christina

When Mrs. Thorndyke rang up, my parents and I were watching a film which Daddy had made in the Easter holidays. It was of a horse show and most of the riding club members were in some of the shots, and suddenly I gave a shriek and said could Augusta and I show it at our party? Daddy said yes, and as he spoke the telephone bell rang. Walters answered as usual and then called me.

Mrs. Thorndyke explained the situation in a few words and presently my parents, O’Neil and myself were well on the road to Bumpers, with two colic drinks in the car. It was an incredibly lovely evening and, as we drove through the quiet country, between the dim, sleepy banks, the moon rose and gilded the dew on the hedges silver; and somewhere high above our heads a nightingale poured forth his song, and the rabbits scuttled from the road back to the sheltered fields and their burrows, and even the uglier cottages became pleasantly beautiful. I felt that this drive was strangely like a description I had read in a book, in which a nightingale had sung from branches tipped silver by the moon.

Daddy did not seem to realise the need for urgency and, carried away by the loveliness of the night, he suggested that we should stop awhile and listen to the song. But O’Neil and I were firm and soon we saw the tiles of Bumpers, and then, turning the corner, the stable light and figures in the yard. O’Neil was out of the car first and at Clown’s side in a moment. After taking a look at the pony’s eye, noting his heavy breathing and frequent glances towards his flank and stomach, O’Neil said:

“Put ’im in the box and we’ll give him a drench.” Ten minutes of struggling followed, for Clown had no intention of swallowing the colic drink—a mixture of turpentine, linseed oil and, I believe, chloric ether, which O’Neil had got several months before from some vet or other. I stood on a bucket trying to keep Clown’s head up, while Augusta tried to keep his quarters against the wall and O’Neil attempted to drench him from the manger. We managed to make him swallow twice, but a large quantity of liquid seemed to ooze out between his teeth and whenever I let him lower his head, he released an absolute flood of it. And then, suddenly, he decided that he had had enough and stood straight up on end. Mummy, who was in the doorway, shrieked: “Oh, darling, do be careful! Take care! He’ll hit you with his fore feet.” And Daddy said: “I think we had better call in the vet.” But O’Neil was calm. “Keep his head down, Miss,” he advised, continuing operations—though unsuccessfully, for a moment later Clown reared again.

“He can’t be feeling very low if he can stand up like that,” Daddy remarked.

“It’s spasmodic,” explained Augusta; “one minute he seems better and

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