"I'm going riding" I announced to the now camera-shy dogs. They didn't object.
I caught the horse, scraped the mud off the bit where the saddle goes, tacked up and heaved aboard. She didn't seem impressed but I was showing no mercy - fresh air was calling despite some ominous black clouds. We headed for the river, a small brown pony in our wake.
Small brown pony, also known as Sunny (OK, Bow Bells Safari Sunrise - you forced that out of me), is meant to be for the grandkids, but mostly he hangs out with me and my mare Gladys, getting in the way, biting my good saddle when my back's turned, grabbing Gladys' reins when I'm riding and generally being annoying, but too cute to smack.
When we go riding, Sunny follows.
He at least was keen on an outing so we headed upstream on the riverbed, where there was an overgrown track I wanted to find.
Gladys claimed she was hungry, she was tired and we were going the wrong way. Turning around and going home was the right way, she maintained. Plunging upstream in chest-deep water and stumbling over river stones were against her principles.
Sunny, on the other hand, frolicked in the water, rolled in the sand, pawed in the mud and ran to and fro past us, mane flying. Why can't you be more like Sunny? I asked Gladys.
It took ages to get to where I thought the track started, but when I got there it didn't. The riverbank was a mass of blackberry, willow and convolvulus. Maybe it was a little farther along.
It wasn't. But I saw a spot where I could perhaps make my own track. It would involve scrambling up a bank, so I waded into the river for a closer look. That was when the thunder happened.
It was a good crack - Gladys leaped forward and landed with an almighty splash, in water up to her neck ... and my waist. It wasn't warm.
But I had a close-up view of the bank I'd been eyeballing. It rose from the water looking more like a cliff. No, I decided and was turning to take my chances on a riverbed in a thunderstorm when something brown dog-paddled past ...
Sunny. He'd decided against the riverbed and was making a beeline for the bank/cliff. There was a lot of skidding and scrabbling until eventually he peered down at me and Gladys. I told him that, in fact, we were going back the way we'd come.
Gladys was pleased to be exiting the cold river. My legs had gone numb so I was OK either way. Halfway to shore I looked over my shoulder to make sure the small brown pony was going to follow and yes, he was sliding down the cliff/bank on his wee bottom and - plop. He slid into the water with barely a splash. Under he went and it closed over him.
All I could see of my pony was the dull glow of the white bit on his face.
I was a bit bothered. Do ponies float to the surface if you dunk them? Would he pop up again or ... what?
It seemed ages until Sunny broke the surface. He didn't look very cheerful.
I was cheerful. In fact I was in hysterics.
We turned for home and Gladys skipped along, tossing her mane, pleased to be going in what she considered the right direction. Sunny stomped behind, occasionally pausing to shake water from his ears. "Keep up," I told him, "At least you're clean. Look, Gladys is happy, why can't you be more like her?"
-Rachel Wise is a lifestyle block owner and community newspapers editor.
-Eva Bradley is taking a break. Her column will return on January 16.
