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The Wild One

"The Wild One" they called him. A big brown, muscled gelding, standing a full 16 hands. No-one could do anything with him. He would lash out, rearing high, showing his power. Hooves cutting the air, eyes rolling, ears laid back, forcing most of his terrified handlers to take cover.

Wild neighs would ring out, as teeth showing, he stood ready to take a bite from anyone too slow or unsuspecting.

But when left alone, if looked at closely, there was a sad look in those big, brown eyes; a "help me" look. They mirrored many past wrongs and hurts. Injuries and scars inflicted by rough, thoughtless people who knew little of riding or training a horse.

Old scars bore the proof of where spurs had dug in and where whips had cracked him. Proof of ignorant humans, who thought cruelty was the answer to breaking a horse. But it had only served to make him wilder, more difficult to handle and enhanced his name of The Wild One.

How he longed for even just one kind word. Someone to be gentle, kind; to understand that he wasn't bad - just made bad by people. Instead of a carrot, he'd always been given a sharp slap or a harsh word.

No wonder the poor misjudged horse had a dislike for humans. No wonder he reared in defence. It was only natural.

Time however was running out. If nothing could be done with him he was to be "sent away" - whatever that meant. The fact was, he no longer cared.

He was tired of it all. Tired of all the ill-treatment, the nasty words, the raised voices. Often the frustration would overwhelm him, making him buck and kick out until he was exhausted or someone appeared to "deal with him", when all he really needed was a little kindness.

As if by magic, his rescuer appeared, an elderly man in soiled moleskins and a dirty flannel shirt, with scuffed boots and thinning hair. Understanding eyes looked straight into those of the The Wild One, penetrating his thoughts. To The Wild One it appeared that at last perhaps here was someone who might understand. Someone who could communicate, glimpse into a haunted past. The Wild One gave a little nicker of greeting to this welcome friend and stretched out his nose.

His owner, the rough voiced man, raised his hand , ready to strike the horse, but was stoppped by the kind old man, who grasped his arm in a grip that had strength to it. The old man gently stroked The Wild One's nose and began talking to him gently. The horse could hardly believe it!

He hadn't felt a gentle pat or heard a kind word spoken for years! Instinctively he backed away, suspicious. What if this was a trick? Was he finally being "sent away"? The old man spoke to the owner as the horse stood watching nervously. The two men finally shook hands and the owner disappeared, fetching a halter and leadrope, which he handed to the old man.

Inside the dark, damp shed in which The Wild One spent most of his long lonely days, the old man approached quietly. He put the halter on and the horse calmly followed him out to whatever fate awaited him.

He followed the kind stranger onto the trailer and, with no regrets, left his home forever. Ears pricked and eyes full of uncertainty, the horse wondered where he would now end up. The trailer rocked gently, lulling him into a sense of calmness he'd never felt before.

At last when the vehicle stopped and the ramp was let down, the horse was led out. A large paddock, dotted with a few horses greeted him. A neat row of box stalls suggested a general air of cheerfulness he'd never before experienced. He was led into a clean roomy stall with an overflowing haynet. He even had a view over the paddock from his half door.

The old man watched smiling. From his long experience with horses he knew this was an intelligent animal only in need of a little kindness and understanding. The perfect recipe to erase all the hurts and make a good horse.

With time and perseverance, the horse would become devoted to the wise old man, gradually sharing his trust and confidence. Both horse and trainer were to become well known and admired at many local shows and events. Understanding, patience and the skill of a good horseman had given The Wild One a new life. A good formula for any partnership.

The End

A Terrible Tuesday!

by

Kaitlin Jones

Hi, my name is Kerry. I go horse riding at Barnet Riding Stable. I keep my own pony there called Misty. My friend, Becka, has a horse called Brandy. We both work here at Barnet Riding Stable. It 's hard work but I still enjoy it.

Today is Tuesday and that means I have to get up early and make my way down to the stable. I got down there early and did all my work. I then had to lead a hack. I had to take everyone into the fields.

I got every horse that I needed tacked up. Everyone got on and made their way with me to the fields. Everyone had a good canter. But unfortunately one pony got left behind and has now got lost! I have to get everyone back to the stables.

I told a sensible looking lady to get everyone back to the stables while I stayed and looked for the pony who's name was Puss. I looked everywhere and finally found him grazing while her rider was hanging on to a low tree branch!

The End

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I was lost and it was raining. Miserable and furious with myself, I sat down on a rotting log and shivered, looking around at the dense bushland. "Stupid", I muttered, thinking now of how angry and upset I'd been as I stormed out of camp away from my friends and the campsite. It had been such a trivial matter, but an argument had erupted and now here I was stranded all alone.

Or was I? A soft whinney broke into my thoughts and I looked up, expecting to see one of my friends on their horses, coming to find me. Instead I saw a bay gelding of about 15 hands, a well worn stock saddle on his back. As he stood there, the misty rain falling about him, his brown eyes seemed to look right through me, compelling me to mount.

Following what seemed to be unspoken orders from the horse, I mounted and gathered up the reins. Unaided, he started picking his own trail through the scrub. I let the reins hang loose as he didn't seem to need any guidance and besides, I didn't know my way back anyway! The stock saddle was comfortable as I sat ducking my head at times and pushing branches aside to avoid being knocked out of the saddle. To my untrained eyes there appeared to be no trail at all, just the usual ferns, trees, and old stumps of the bush. To reassure myself, I patted the horse's warm neck and spoke softly to him. He responded with a flicker of an ear and broke into a trot. Up ahead a shape gradually revealed itself to be a small hut. A wooden lean-to, like those built in the olden days. At the door the horse neighed and pawed at the ground. Then he turned his head toward me and again those eyes seemed to compel me, this time to dismount.

I was startled by the old man standing in the doorway. I hadn't expected anyone to be there and begun explaining my situation, and how I'd ended up here. I turned to find my rescuer, the bay horse, gone. It was as if he'd totally vanished. "Come inside youngster," the old man said kindly. "You look like you need a mug of warm tea." Over a boiling hot mug of black tea, I listened as he spoke of 'Rainbow' his bay gelding who used to hunt out lost people in the bush. He'd always bring them back to the hut where the old man would care for them until they were fit to return home. A message would be sent to say that they were safe. "Yes and when Rainbow went, I stopped my work. Now his ghost has taken over. Good old Rainbow has never let me down yet," the old man mused, his eyes dreamy, lost in memories.

The next day I was back in camp, Rainbow having returned and taken me back to the edge of our campsite. When I dismounted, he'd gone, just as quickly as before. I sent a silent 'thank you' to him as I walked towards camp to be greeted with cries of relief. By now the ranger had been sent for, and he too was relieved to see me. I told them my story of being saved by Rainbow and the old man, but my friends thought I'd been dreaming. "No, it's true alright", said the ranger. It wasn't the first time a lost person had come back telling of being saved by the bay gelding. "Funny thing that old man living out there all alone," I said. "What old man?" said the ranger. "He and old Rainbow are both long gone. Both ghosts, but still out there for lost souls in need of help. I guess they'll be there forever."

The next day I took them in search of the hut and finally came across it empty, and cob webby. Obviously it hadn't been lived in for years. I couldn't believe it as I thought of the old man and my mug of hot tea and Rainbow. "Thank you, both of you," I said standing there in the empty hut. I knew then that whenever they were needed, Rainbow and his master would re-appear once more. Working together to save yet another life.

Missing!

by

Emily Lawty

Part One

I dropped down from Ebony's back to lead her through the gateway. The farmhouse squatted in the distance; plumes of smoke curling from a fat chimneystack. I took my reins over Ebony's head, ready to lead her back up the long lane to the yard. The sun was setting, lighting the sky with crimson flame. I shivered, and pulled the zip of my fleece right up to the neck. It was December.

The month had been mild but now the sun was sinking behind the purple hued hills of Briars Wood, the wind was crisp and there was a definite nip in the air. Ebony's ears pricked up at the sound of a car engine. We moved over on to the grass verge and saw a police car making its way cautiously up the rutted lane. Ebony's liquid eyes rolled as the car slowed to a stop next to us.

"Is this The Apple Trees?" An officer in the passenger seat called out of the open window. "We couldn't see a sign." My heart lurched. What were the police doing here? Had we been robbed? The yard equipment alone was worth thousands. Surely no-one would be low enough to steal someone's horse?"

Realising both men were now looking at me I cleared my throat, "Yes," I squawked. "The sign was blown down last week; the new one's on order." "Right." The car moved off. "Wait!" I walked Ebony forward to the open window. "Why are you here?" The first policeman looked out. "Not for you to worry about love, just get that pony of yours home." Ebony snorted, probably protesting being called a pony. At an impressive sixteen hands my coal black Trakehner certainly didn't fit into that category! "Please, it's my mother's yard. I have to know! If it's the horses . . ." I trailed off. Losing any of the horses was too awful to even contemplate.

The man grimaced. "Sorry pet, but that is the problem," He picked up a notebook. "Fifteen point three hands. Sorrel. Breed is, erm, Bud-something." "Budyonny!" I felt like I couldn't breathe. He'd just described Drop Dead Red, my other horse. "That's Red! Oh no, Red!" The policemen stared as I flung the reins back over Ebony's head and used the post and rail fence to boost myself into the saddle. Without taking my stirrups back I urged Ebony into a pounding trot, turned her into the field and galloped up towards the farm.

When we reached the yard Ebony was hardly blowing at all. She was a gorgeous horse who we'd adopted from The Horse and Pony Sanctuary, not far from the Apple Trees. She had been mistreated and neglected, but after endless months of training and special diets she was fighting fit and held a fragile trust in the humans who cared for her. I'd owned Red for three years. We'd won countless rosettes for dressage events and we'd been in riding magazines and the local paper more times than I could remember. Everyone around knew how talented he was, and how valuable.

It was eerily quiet. The livery owners, clearly shaken, secured their own mounts for the night. "I'll walk Ebony round the school for you Em, till she cools down. You go inside." Louise looked up at me from the ground, taking Ebony's reins at the bit. "I'll just take her saddle off." I nodded silently, slithering down to the ground. I couldn't feel my heart beating. What would happen to Ebony? She idolised Red. Following him around the paddocks, calling to him in winter when they were stabled next to each other, and refusing ride in the horsebox without him. Ebony was going to wither away without my poor little chestnut horse around.

The kitchen was cosy, but I couldn't feel the heat. My heart was cracking into two and my eyes were stinging from holding back the tears. There was a knock at the heavy front door and I soon heard the policeman's voice in the hall. Boots thumped along the wooden floor into the kitchen. "Em?" My mother asked, taking my frozen hands into her warm ones. "You've heard?" I hiccupped, then gasped for air. "Red." It was little more than a whisper. "You think he's been stolen." Policeman Number One prodded. "But this is a busy place and it's daylight. No one could smuggle a horse out without someone seeing something." He pretended to be deep in thought. "Insured for a lot, was he?"

I stood up and walked back outside. I couldn't face them; they were accusing us, like I knew they would. Red was insured for thousands of pounds. He was an up-and-coming purebred German Trakehner, but we didn't see him as a profit-maker. We loved him. I loved him. "We'll find him." Louise insisted. I couldn't believe it. If Louise the Pessimist could think that, maybe there was hope.

TO BE CONTINUED .............