The pony grabbed the bag of carrots and ran across the field with it in her mouth, tail in the air, munching on the entire thing, including, of course, the plastic.
She was so pleased with herself there was no way I was getting near her. She ran around in circles, bucking and cavorting and flinging the bag about in her mouth, stopping occasionally to chew, as I ran one way, then another to try to catch her.
Mothers nowadays do notapprove of their children beingflung about like rag dolls
‘No no no no no! I can’t take any more!’ I begged her, because the spaniel is under the vet with suspected ‘about to fall of her perch’itis. I’m calling it that because she’s old.
She’s eating and going for walks and quite chipper. She’s enjoying what will no doubt turn out to be her last days. She’s on steroids, prednisolone, and the effect varies. Some days she is so talkative she refuses to sit still or stop demanding things, and then other days she just wants to lie on her back with her legs in the air snoring.
I had to rush her to the vets dehydrated after an upset tummy. I didn’t know if that was the end when I left her with him. He called me a few hours later: ‘Well…’ he paused and my heart stopped, ‘she’s pulled two drips out, but we got the third one in. She doesn’t appreciate our hospitality. You can come and get her.’
She keeps rallying. I’m rather taken up with it. The last thing I need is for one of the other creatures to colic itself. So I begged the pony: ‘Please! Don’t swallow that bag!’ And I darted this way and that as she ran me around.
The pony is a genius at finding and stealing things.
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