![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
highlyeccentricAs per votes in this poll, what you desire to know is what to sing to a pony. This is not an old story: this is one which Mum and Dad relayed to me quite recently.
Behold, my family's backyard. Their nearest neighbour in one direction is about half a kilometre away, a farm, where horses are agisted. In the other direction there's two houses very close by (we moved up into the bush to live less than two yards from our neighbours, a fact that amuses mum greatly) and then another four hundred metres or so of book before the tarred road and more houses. In the last of these houses lives a woman whom we shall refer to as Glenda's Person (Glenda was a dog, of uncertain ancestry that definitely involved Australian Cattle Dog and possibly some more recent dingo; Glenda terrorised the tyres of every car to approach the end of the road. Glenda has gone to chase the big car in the sky, but has been replaced by Another Glenda).
Glenda's Person, in addition to rescuing cattle dogs with no self-preservation, rescues horses. She has at least one ex-racehorse at the moment, agisted at the farm further up. And she has Dora. Dora is a small, angry, clever pony, and Dora is an escape artist. She has to be kept separate from the other horses, or she teaches them all how to escape.
One day, my family are innocently hanging out on their back verandah and from the scrub comes a crunch-crunch-clatter and then a clop clop clop of hooves on dry grass. They look out, and there's a pony. This pony, who they will later is discovered to be named Dora on account of her exploratory ways, kicks up her heels and heads for the veggie patch.
Mum and Miss Nine put two and two together and conclude she belongs to Glenda's Person, and decide they should catch her and take her home. Out they go, with a rope and a handful of carrots. Dora is very keen on the carrots, but takes one look at the rope and bares her teeth. She will not be constrained! She does not like strangers!
Miss Nine doesn't like animals, so this isn't working out well for her. Mum doesn't have Glenda's Person's number, but she has the number of another neighbour who's friends with her. Off goes mum to call this neighbour. After some to-ing and fro-ing, it turns out Glenda's Person is out of town. The other neighbour has fed Dora before, so is going to come up and have a go at coaxing her home, but holds little hope.
At this point, Mum looks back out the long window and Dora's gone. Fearing Dora may have set off on another escapade, Mum is about to investigate when she hears Miss Nine calling. She looks out, and there's Dora, on a very short lead, and Dad walking backwards in front of her, singing and coaxing her step by step.
He told me he'd made a noose and laid it flat on the ground with an apple inside, and stepped clear until Dora leaned in to yoink the apple. At which point Dad yoinked the rope up and had her leashed. She fought him, but unlike Mum Dad grew up with horses (with haphazardly raised and poorly outfitted horses at that), and knew to keep the rein short.
And then he proceeded to coax her half a kilometre home to her paddock, singing all the way. The correct thing to sing to a fractious pony, apparently, is blues rock: I believe 'Four Strong Winds', and possibly some Dire Straits.
Of course, under a week later, Dora escaped again. This time, no one knew until the police turned up to accuse Glenda's Person of illegally agisting a horse in the gully. 'What horse?' says Glenda's person. 'My horses are at the farm.' 'Oh really? Well, your neighbours say you have a horse, let's see,' say the police.
Around the back of the house they go, and they do not find Dora in the gully. No, they find her in the shed, where she has nudged open the door and tipped over the feed bins and settled in for a good feast.
This has been: Storytime With Amy. You may also enjoy other Dad Moments, such as how not to file your toenails, and problems of reading the same books as your teenage daughter. Those with flock-access might also enjoy 'with my photo album index of course'.
Behold, my family's backyard. Their nearest neighbour in one direction is about half a kilometre away, a farm, where horses are agisted. In the other direction there's two houses very close by (we moved up into the bush to live less than two yards from our neighbours, a fact that amuses mum greatly) and then another four hundred metres or so of book before the tarred road and more houses. In the last of these houses lives a woman whom we shall refer to as Glenda's Person (Glenda was a dog, of uncertain ancestry that definitely involved Australian Cattle Dog and possibly some more recent dingo; Glenda terrorised the tyres of every car to approach the end of the road. Glenda has gone to chase the big car in the sky, but has been replaced by Another Glenda).
Glenda's Person, in addition to rescuing cattle dogs with no self-preservation, rescues horses. She has at least one ex-racehorse at the moment, agisted at the farm further up. And she has Dora. Dora is a small, angry, clever pony, and Dora is an escape artist. She has to be kept separate from the other horses, or she teaches them all how to escape.
One day, my family are innocently hanging out on their back verandah and from the scrub comes a crunch-crunch-clatter and then a clop clop clop of hooves on dry grass. They look out, and there's a pony. This pony, who they will later is discovered to be named Dora on account of her exploratory ways, kicks up her heels and heads for the veggie patch.
Mum and Miss Nine put two and two together and conclude she belongs to Glenda's Person, and decide they should catch her and take her home. Out they go, with a rope and a handful of carrots. Dora is very keen on the carrots, but takes one look at the rope and bares her teeth. She will not be constrained! She does not like strangers!
Miss Nine doesn't like animals, so this isn't working out well for her. Mum doesn't have Glenda's Person's number, but she has the number of another neighbour who's friends with her. Off goes mum to call this neighbour. After some to-ing and fro-ing, it turns out Glenda's Person is out of town. The other neighbour has fed Dora before, so is going to come up and have a go at coaxing her home, but holds little hope.
At this point, Mum looks back out the long window and Dora's gone. Fearing Dora may have set off on another escapade, Mum is about to investigate when she hears Miss Nine calling. She looks out, and there's Dora, on a very short lead, and Dad walking backwards in front of her, singing and coaxing her step by step.
He told me he'd made a noose and laid it flat on the ground with an apple inside, and stepped clear until Dora leaned in to yoink the apple. At which point Dad yoinked the rope up and had her leashed. She fought him, but unlike Mum Dad grew up with horses (with haphazardly raised and poorly outfitted horses at that), and knew to keep the rein short.
And then he proceeded to coax her half a kilometre home to her paddock, singing all the way. The correct thing to sing to a fractious pony, apparently, is blues rock: I believe 'Four Strong Winds', and possibly some Dire Straits.
Of course, under a week later, Dora escaped again. This time, no one knew until the police turned up to accuse Glenda's Person of illegally agisting a horse in the gully. 'What horse?' says Glenda's person. 'My horses are at the farm.' 'Oh really? Well, your neighbours say you have a horse, let's see,' say the police.
Around the back of the house they go, and they do not find Dora in the gully. No, they find her in the shed, where she has nudged open the door and tipped over the feed bins and settled in for a good feast.
This has been: Storytime With Amy. You may also enjoy other Dad Moments, such as how not to file your toenails, and problems of reading the same books as your teenage daughter. Those with flock-access might also enjoy 'with my photo album index of course'.
no subject
Date: 2018-10-18 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-10-18 05:11 pm (UTC)The way it's used in the family dialect doesn't quite match the legal definition (legally, 'illegal agistment' isn't what you get when you stake out your horse on public land - although in some ways that's closer to the medieval definition). I'm not sure if that usage extends beyond our family, but I suspect it might.
no subject
Date: 2018-10-18 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-10-18 05:48 pm (UTC)There's a whole post in itself on 'archaic vocabulary fossilised in my family's dialect', mind you. We have a specialised word for folding socks.
no subject
Date: 2018-10-18 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-10-24 01:47 pm (UTC)I am however very curious about the archaic folding socks word.
no subject
Date: 2018-10-18 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-10-19 09:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-10-19 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-10-19 09:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-10-19 04:08 am (UTC)That said, I feel like you've told this story somewhere else, but I can't remember where! Tumblr? Twitter? In person? Please tell me I'm not imagining hearing about Dora the Exploring Pony?!
no subject
Date: 2018-10-19 09:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-10-24 01:45 pm (UTC)