dimanche 17 juillet 2011

In praise of Pen the mare



On the way to the Royal Oak in Cardington, Pen’s happy to be out, but more interested in checking out every gate we pass than in keeping up a good pace. Her ears twitch in response to Will’s commands, delivered in the good-natured tone of long acquaintance: ‘Steady now; you’re going to slip on that road.’ ‘Car coming, Pen: get to the side.’ ‘Come on, now: third gear.’

Enthroned on the surprisingly comfortable trap, we move through a landscape of patchwork fields, their colours drained by the gathering dusk, and sheep scattered like points of light piercing the flanks of ancient hills. Walking on the down slopes, trotting on the level and cantering uphill, Pen steams us towards Cardington’s picture-postcard prettiness, friendly pub and collection of cockle-warming single malts.

On the way home, there’s no stopping her. Radar ears set towards Kenley, she knows exactly where she’s going: the powerful hindquarters are positioned by her internal satnav well before I tweak the reins for a right turn. (To make the treat complete, Will has let me drive on the last leg; Pen takes it in her eager stride.) As we round the bend for the home straight to the farm, she waits a fraction for our verbal encouragement before eating up the final hill at a merry gallop. It’s a gradient I have been struggling up with the bike, with only my own bodyweight in tow.

Pen the pony: a sweet beast and the best possible lift to the pub.

http://myweb.tiscali.co.uk/parkgatefarm/

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