Post by idris on Apr 17, 2015 20:04:38 GMT
Pony Poets - The Wheel Story
"Daddy," said the tiny filly, as she watched events unfold in front of her.
"Yes poppet," said Glyn leaning hard against the carts side and lifting it off the ground.
"Mummy said we could make up another poem." She turned to Sam, studying her mother as she lifted the wagon wheel back onto its axel and deftly refitted the thrust washer and peg. "You are so strong mummy!" she said with a gasp.
Glyn laughed as he lowered the cart back to the road. "I had the lions share of it," he said with twinkling eye. But his daughter was right, his special pony had the muscles of an ox under that salmon coat. She had been named after her colour, her parents originally drawing up a long list of names ready for her birth. As soon as they had seen her, they had screwed it up and thrown it into a bin. With a coat like that she had to be named Salmon, or Sam for short.
He grinned before reciting, "I'm lifting up this heavy cart, straining hard, trying not to F?"
"Noo!"screeched Sam, before rolling around on the grass and laughing with her hooves in the air. "Not another word Glyn, or we'll be back at the school house trying to explain why our daughter has again said something inappropriate to her age."
His daughter was bright, intelligent and a fast learner, but had also inherited her parents' wicked sense of humour, and was no better than them at keeping a low profile when required. "Okay, okay, what is our poem to be about then little Fish? Is it to be about farming or being a traveling sales pony, moving from town to Town?" He asked his favourite filly.
'Fish' was her nickname, because of her capability to fall into water at any given moment. Following in the footsteps of her mother she had been named after her colour, another list of baby names landing in the bin. Her soft light grey coat had given her the name cloud.
She put her head on one side, staring at the water filled rut in the road. "Do we know any sales pony's?"
Sam grabbed her attention before her daughter could make a move forward, "He's teasing you," she chuckled. "You wanted it to be about us, and we grow things, so it's a farming work. How about; The sun warms our crops to grow, between the winters snow?"
The stallion cob rubbed his front shoulder with a rear hoof and eyed his mare carefully. "I'm more for something like; we can rest ourselves from dusk until dawn, after that lift," he said.
A little voice piped up "We can deliver these turnips in the morn'."
Every pony laughed at this, but it had to be today. They reloaded what had fallen off, Sam lifted Fish onto the cart and Glyn poked his head through the neck collar, ready to haul their produce the remaining distance to market.
As the wheels rolled up the miles, they giggled as they set out the second line of their family poem. By the time they walked into the market yard they were pleased with; "We rest ourselves from dusk till' dawn, ready to work in sunlights morn'."
Upon arrival they were met by a very smart stallion, dressed in a tweed coat and holding a note pad. He stood and counted the load off, while everypony else available made to offload the wagon before home time.
"I can't believe you can pull that around on your own," said a grey mare, removing the last turnips in the front corners. "James' farm have two stallions pulling theirs and they still complain!"
"Who'd listen?" said Glyn. "And I've got the hottest mare in the land to impress, so I have to grin and like it," he smiled.
"Daddy," said the tiny filly, as she watched events unfold in front of her.
"Yes poppet," said Glyn leaning hard against the carts side and lifting it off the ground.
"Mummy said we could make up another poem." She turned to Sam, studying her mother as she lifted the wagon wheel back onto its axel and deftly refitted the thrust washer and peg. "You are so strong mummy!" she said with a gasp.
Glyn laughed as he lowered the cart back to the road. "I had the lions share of it," he said with twinkling eye. But his daughter was right, his special pony had the muscles of an ox under that salmon coat. She had been named after her colour, her parents originally drawing up a long list of names ready for her birth. As soon as they had seen her, they had screwed it up and thrown it into a bin. With a coat like that she had to be named Salmon, or Sam for short.
He grinned before reciting, "I'm lifting up this heavy cart, straining hard, trying not to F?"
"Noo!"screeched Sam, before rolling around on the grass and laughing with her hooves in the air. "Not another word Glyn, or we'll be back at the school house trying to explain why our daughter has again said something inappropriate to her age."
His daughter was bright, intelligent and a fast learner, but had also inherited her parents' wicked sense of humour, and was no better than them at keeping a low profile when required. "Okay, okay, what is our poem to be about then little Fish? Is it to be about farming or being a traveling sales pony, moving from town to Town?" He asked his favourite filly.
'Fish' was her nickname, because of her capability to fall into water at any given moment. Following in the footsteps of her mother she had been named after her colour, another list of baby names landing in the bin. Her soft light grey coat had given her the name cloud.
She put her head on one side, staring at the water filled rut in the road. "Do we know any sales pony's?"
Sam grabbed her attention before her daughter could make a move forward, "He's teasing you," she chuckled. "You wanted it to be about us, and we grow things, so it's a farming work. How about; The sun warms our crops to grow, between the winters snow?"
The stallion cob rubbed his front shoulder with a rear hoof and eyed his mare carefully. "I'm more for something like; we can rest ourselves from dusk until dawn, after that lift," he said.
A little voice piped up "We can deliver these turnips in the morn'."
Every pony laughed at this, but it had to be today. They reloaded what had fallen off, Sam lifted Fish onto the cart and Glyn poked his head through the neck collar, ready to haul their produce the remaining distance to market.
As the wheels rolled up the miles, they giggled as they set out the second line of their family poem. By the time they walked into the market yard they were pleased with; "We rest ourselves from dusk till' dawn, ready to work in sunlights morn'."
Upon arrival they were met by a very smart stallion, dressed in a tweed coat and holding a note pad. He stood and counted the load off, while everypony else available made to offload the wagon before home time.
"I can't believe you can pull that around on your own," said a grey mare, removing the last turnips in the front corners. "James' farm have two stallions pulling theirs and they still complain!"
"Who'd listen?" said Glyn. "And I've got the hottest mare in the land to impress, so I have to grin and like it," he smiled.