Issie and the Christmas Pony Page 3

  “Ah-here it is-The International League for the Protection of Horses. There’s a number here for the local ILPH branch.” Mrs Brown dialled the number and held the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing,” she said to Issie. “Quick! Run into the kitchen and get me a pen and paper.” Issie raced off and by the time she was back her mum was finishing up the conversation.

  “Terrific,” she said. “Thank you so much. No, that’s great. We can come to you straightaway. If you give me your address, we’ll be there in five minutes…” She gestured to Issie to hand her the pen and then frantically scribbled something down.

  Mrs Brown hung up the phone. “Well, that was the man from the horse protection league. He was very helpful. Turns out he doesn’t live far from here; he moved to Chevalier Point just a few months ago. I got his details-we can go round there now, fill in the paperwork and file a complaint.” She passed Issie the piece of paper she had just scrawled on. “Hang on to this for me. It’s the address. I’ll just grab my coat.”

  Issie looked at the bit of paper in her hand, deciphering the familiar messy, looped letters of her mother’s handwriting. She had written the street address first: 127 Esplanade Drive. And there, beneath the address, were the words that would change Issie’s life forever: Tom Avery at Winterflood Farm.

  4

  Winterflood Farm

  On the way to Winterflood Farm, Mrs Brown started to have second thoughts.

  “Sweetie,” she said, “I think we have to face reality. I can’t buy you a pony. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I don’t even know what half the words in the ads mean. Look at what just happened! That pony sounded perfect to me and he was a total nightmare!”

  Issie felt a chill run through her as she saw her chances of ever getting a pony slipping away. “You mean I’m not getting a pony after all?”

  “I didn’t say that,” her mum corrected her, “but it’s certainly clear to me now that we can’t do it alone. We need help.”

  “Stella could come and look with us,” Issie suggested.

  Mrs Brown didn’t look impressed. “I was thinking of someone a little more experienced and mature than Stella.” She sighed. “If only Hess wasn’t so busy with the new farm.” She looked at Issie. “I’m afraid we may have to put these pony plans of yours on the back burner again and wait until your aunt has time to help us.”

  “But, Mum!” Issie couldn’t believe it. “It’s nearly the Christmas holidays. I’ll miss pony camp! It’s not fair!”

  “Isadora!” her mother snapped. “You could have been killed today on that half-wild horse. I’m not racing out and buying you a pony until we have some expert advice and that’s final. I don’t want to hear another word about it!”

  Mrs Brown’s mood didn’t improve when they arrived at 127 Esplanade Drive and no one answered the front door. “I don’t get it,” she groaned as she hammered for a third time on the door of the small cottage. “He knew we were coming. I only phoned up ten minutes ago. Where has he gone?”

  Issie looked at the Range Rover and horse truck parked in the driveway. “His car is here so he can’t have gone out. Maybe he’s round the back of the house and he can’t hear us,” she suggested. “I’ll go and look.” The gravel driveway made a crunching sound under Issie’s boots as she walked round the side of the cottage, past the horse truck and the dark green Range Rover, and through a rose arbour that led to the rear of the cream stucco cottage.

  “Hello?” she called. “Mr Avery?” There was no reply. Issie walked down the path a little further. Ahead of her, directly behind the cottage, were five paddocks, all of them neatly fenced by elegant, dark-stained wooden fencing. Running round the perimeter of the farm was a well-trimmed dark green hedge, just like the one that lined the driveway at the front of the house. It all looked very equestrian, Issie thought, like something out of a magazine. There were even a couple of showjumps set up in one of the paddocks.

  In the paddock closest to the house, two horses grazed beneath the shade of a sprawling magnolia tree. One of the horses, a big chestnut with a white star on his forehead and two white socks, stopped grazing and raised her head to look at Issie.

  Imagine…Issie thought as she stared back. Imagine having horses grazing just outside your back window, right next to the house. Issie’s house had a fair-sized back garden, but her mum had planted it with lots of flowers which, as far as Issie was concerned, were just taking up valuable pony space. Issie had gone through the garden one day with a measuring tape and had figured out that if you pulled up all the flowerbeds and put down more grass, you would almost have room to graze a horse. But her mum, for some reason, didn’t agree with this plan.

  There was still no sign of Mr Avery. Issie headed back in the other direction, past the rose arbour where she had come in and down the path between another row of hedging where she could see a small block of stables ahead of her. The stables were dark-stained wood, just like the fences. There was a sheltered washing bay for hosing down the horses at the entrance, and then a row of three neat loose boxes, all freshly mucked out with clean straw on the floor, their green double doors hanging open.

  “Mr Avery?” Issie called out. At the end of the stables there was another door which looked like it might lead somewhere. Issie tried the handle and the door swung open to reveal a rather scruffy but professional-looking tack room. There were stacks of hay and sacks of horse feed, and saddles and bridles hanging from racks. On the desk at the end of the room was a computer surrounded by piles of paperwork. But what really caught Issie’s attention was the wall above the desk, which was festooned with satin ribbons, the sort that you win at horse shows. There were loads of them, all strung up together so that they arched in a shining rainbow across the wall with their fancy gold and silver tassels dangling down at each end.

  Issie read the curly writing on the ribbons: things like 1st place Team Area Trials Championship and Eventer of the Year. Hanging on the wall directly beneath the ribbons were framed photos of lots of different horses-chestnuts, bays and greys-but the rider was always the same. He was lean and lanky, with a handsome face and masses of unruly brown curls sticking out from under his riding helmet.

  There was one really old and faded photo of him where he looked almost as young as Issie, smiling for the camera and proudly holding up a wooden trophy covered in little gold shields. In the other photos he looked much older, and he was jumping over really enormous cross-country fences. Issie’s favourite was a framed print of the man riding a chestnut horse and jumping over a giant flower pot. She put out a hand to touch the picture when a man’s voice behind her startled her and made her jump back.

  “You like that one? It’s my favourite too,” she heard him say. “It was taken at the Badminton Horse Trials. Starlight was spooked by the flowers. I had to kick her on to get over it, but she was fine after that and gave me a lovely clear round.”

  Issie turned around to see a man leaning in the doorway behind her. He looked familiar somehow and then she realised why. His face was the same one she had just been looking at in all the pictures. He looked a bit older than in the photographs, but he still had the same curly brown hair which was now trying to escape from beneath a cheesecutter cap. He wore a navy jumper, dark tan riding breeches and a pair of green Hunter wellingtons.

  “That’s you in the photo?” Issie asked.

  “The last time I looked it was,” the man said with a grin. “That chestnut jumping the flowerpot is Starlight. She was a brilliant mare in her day, but she’s retired now. You probably saw her as you came in here-she’s grazing in the magnolia-tree paddock.”

  Issie remembered the horse with the two white socks. It was the same horse in the picture! “You mean you’ve ridden at the Badminton Horse Trials?” Issie couldn’t believe it.

  “Quite a few times actually…” the man said, gazing at the photos, “but I’m like Starlight I suppose. I retired from that sort of thing a while ago.”

  “You don’t look that
old!” said Issie.

  The man laughed. “Thanks!”

  “I’m sorry,” Issie stammered. “I meant you don’t look old enough to retire.”

  “Ah well,” the man said. “There’s a story there. You see, I took a bit of a tumble on the course at Badminton. I was on my favourite horse. His name was The Soothsayer. We were at the Vicarage Vee and he slipped coming into the fence…” He trailed off and didn’t finish the sentence. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. I’m guessing you’re not here to talk about my former riding career. You must be the girl that phoned up about the mistreated horse?”

  “Yes…well, no…well, kind of. It was my mum who called you. We thought maybe you could help us?”

  The man looked at her kindly. “I’m sure I can. That’s what I’m here for…” He paused. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you told me your name.”

  Issie grinned. “I’m Isadora Brown. But my friends call me Issie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Issie.” The curly haired man stuck out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Tom Avery.”

  5

  Bombproof Bert

  It turned out that as well as being a champion rider, Tom Avery made a very good homemade chocolate slice. He served up a plate of it with afternoon tea, and Issie gratefully munched down three big pieces while Mrs Brown filled in all the official ILPH paperwork and Avery explained what would happen to Apache.

  “Now that you’ve made a complaint, I’ll visit the horse myself and see what condition the animal is in-to establish whether he’s really been mistreated. After what you’ve told me, I think it’s highly likely this horse will get signed over into our care. We have a strong case here to remove him from the current owner and relocate him. We’ll take him to an ILPH farm, get him healthy again and they’ll reschool him and find him a new home.”

  “Will he be OK?” asked Issie. “He looked so miserable. He was really skinny and covered in mud…”

  Avery nodded. “You’d be amazed at the recovery that some of these horses can make. But it takes time…”

  “Is there any chance he’d be OK in time for pony-club camp-it’s in three weeks!” Issie blurted out the words and then instantly regretted it. She sounded so selfish!

  Mrs Brown explained. “Isadora really wanted to go to pony camp and we were trying to buy a pony before the Christmas holidays so she’d be able to ride with her friends…”

  Avery shook his head. “Well, you certainly won’t be going to pony camp on Apache. From what you’ve told me, that horse will need quite a while to recover. He’ll have to be properly fed and retrained. It could take as much as two or three months to get him back in shape. Even then, I doubt he’d be a suitable mount for a young rider like yourself who’s just starting out.”

  Issie tried not to look too disappointed, but inside she could feel her heart breaking. She knew that Apache wasn’t the right horse for her, but she wanted a pony so desperately.

  “Are you looking at any other ponies?” Avery asked Mrs Brown.

  Mrs Brown sighed. “Apache was the first one and he was a total disaster! I was just saying to Isadora on the way here that we might have to give up on the whole pony business-for a while at least.” She stood up to leave. “Anyway, we shouldn’t take up any more of your day. Thank you for all your help and for the tea, Tom.”

  “Yes, thanks,” Issie said. “I’m so glad you’re going to help Apache.”

  Avery looked at the crestfallen expression on Issie’s face. “Listen,” he said, “do you have a bit of time before you go. While you’re here, I think you should meet Bert.”

  Bert turned out to be a stocky strawberry roan with a hogged mane and a short cropped tail that he swished back and forth vigorously whenever he moved.

  “I was out the back in the arena behind the stables with Bert when you arrived,” Avery explained. “Bert’s an ILPH rescue horse. I’ve been reschooling him for the past few months here and he’s just about to go to a new home.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Issie whispered as she stepped forward to pat Bert’s velvety muzzle.

  “Bert’s not the best name in the world-but then I didn’t come up with it,” said Avery.

  “I think Bert is a lovely name.” Issie felt that she had to stick up for the pony.

  “He’s a good-hearted sort, aren’t you, Bert?” Avery gave the pony a pat, then he turned to Issie. “So how about it? Do you want a ride?”

  Issie felt her heart skip a beat. “Really? Would that be OK?”

  “Absolutely,” Avery said. “That is, if it’s OK with your mother.” He looked at Mrs Brown.

  “Please, Mum!” Issie pleaded.

  “Is he safe?” Mrs Brown asked. “After that other horse today I’m really not sure…”

  “Bert is bombproof,” said Avery.

  Mrs Brown looked terrified at this. “Who on earth would let off a bomb next to a horse?”

  Avery grinned. “Bombproof just means that a horse is unfazed by anything and is excellent to handle under any conditions. Just like Bert here.”

  “Ohh!” said Mrs Brown.

  “You don’t know anything about horses, do you?”

  “Not a thing,” Issie’s mum admitted. “Just my luck to end up with a horse-mad daughter.”

  “Well, Amanda,” Avery smiled at Mrs Brown, “you’ll have to trust me. I would never put your daughter in any danger. She’ll be fine on Bombproof Bert.”

  After the disaster with Apache that morning, Issie was totally expecting her mother to say no. So she got quite a shock when Mrs Brown looked Avery in the eye as if she was about to make a very serious decision, paused and then finally nodded and said, “All right.”

  “Thanks, Mum!” Issie couldn’t believe it.

  “On you hop then,” said Mrs Brown. “Quickly, before I come to my senses!”

  “Come on,” said Avery. “Let’s take him into the loose box and I’ll show you how to get him tacked up. Then we’ll find a helmet to fit you and we can get started.”

  Once Bert was tacked up, Avery gave Issie a leg up on to his back and led her through to a small, bark-covered outdoor arena at the rear of the stable block.

  “Have you ever had a riding lesson before?” he asked. Issie felt a bit embarrassed to admit that she hadn’t. She had never done anything much more than walk on a horse before and now she was being taught to ride by someone who’d got a clear round at Badminton!

  “Don’t be nervous,” Avery said. “We’ll just do the basics today, OK?”

  He spent the first couple of minutes adjusting Issie’s stirrups, showing her how to sit in the saddle, how to hold the reins so that the leathers ran through between her bottom two fingers and up again, pinned underneath her thumbs.

  “Your heels must stay down,” Avery said. “Put all your weight into them.” He adjusted her grip on the reins. “And your hands must stay still and not jerk the horse in the mouth. Now look where you want him to go. You’re going to ride him forward towards those trees over there. Just give him a squeeze with your legs, not a kick, and ask him to walk on. OK? That’s it! Excellent! Well done!”

  Issie tried her hardest to concentrate and listen to every word Avery was saying. It wasn’t easy. Sometimes he would tell her to keep her heels down and her hands steady and her back straight and her eyes up and she felt like her brain was going to burst thinking of so many things at once. But Avery spoke calmly and quietly to her and never lost his temper when she got something wrong. And Bert was such a good horse. When Issie asked him to trot by giving him a gentle tap wih her ankles, the pony sprang instantly into a steady stride, bouncing her around in the saddle.

  “That’s it!” Avery called out. “When his trot throws you up out of the saddle like that, just go with the movement and rise up in the stirrups with the beat. When I call out I want you to rise…and up…and up…and up…”

  Issie couldn’t believe it! She was posting! She had learnt how to do a rising trot just like that!

  “Are y
ou ready to try a canter?” Avery called out to her as Bert circled at a trot. Issie felt her tummy fill with butterflies. A canter? Even Stella and Kate were only just learning to canter! Issie swallowed her nerves. If there was one thing she knew about horses, it was that they could tell if you were nervous. She tried to stay calm and focus on her instructor’s advice.

  “You’re going to put your inside leg forward at the girth and your outside leg back,” Avery said. “Then you’ll pick up your reins a little and sit heavy and ask him to canter. OK? Are you ready? Canter!”

  Bert struck off immediately into a canter and Issie couldn’t believe it. All her life she had loved ponies to pieces. She loved to touch them and brush them and care for them. She felt connected to them. But now that she knew what it was like to actually ride one-to canter on a horse-it was beyond anything she had felt before. It made Issie feel complete somehow, as if she had finally found the one thing in her life that she wanted to do for ever and ever. Cantering on a horse had to be the best feeling in the whole world!

  “And steady down, Bert…” Avery’s voice was deep and slow as he spoke to the pony, asking him to slow his stride. Bert instantly responded, going from a canter to a trot and back to a walk. “Good boy…good Bert. And halt! That’s a good boy!”

  Avery walked out to the edge of the arena and took the roan pony by the reins. “How was that?” he smiled up at Issie. It was at that moment that Issie realised she was just sitting there with a big dumb grin on her face that wouldn’t go away.

  “I loved it,” she said. “Thank you.” She patted the roan pony. “Bert is so cool!”

  Avery looked intently at Issie. “Was that really your first time on a horse?”

  Issie nodded. “Well, Stella and Kate-they’re my best friends-they’ve let me sit on their horses and led me around and stuff. But I’ve never actually ridden one by myself before.”