Preston's Pony

         This story was initially inspired by a Writer's Cramp prompt:  "You are mistaken for a horse.  Write about the experience and/or how/why it happened."  Out once I started writing, however, the story took on a life of its own.  When I reached a stopping point, it didn't exactly fit the prompt anymore, and it was far too long for the contest so I didn't enter it.  I liked what I had written, though, so I saved it here and plan to make it the first chapter of a children's book with Preston as the main character.

         This is a work in progress with a major edit going on.  It has not yet been finely edited or polished. 

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Preston

         Preston is a little boy much like any other little boy you might know.  He loves to play in the sandbox with his trucks.  He loves to ride on the swings and teeter-totter at the park.  He loves to play games with his friends.  But Preston is different from other little boys, too.  Preston is blind; he was born that way.

         Preston can walk and talk and play just like other children.  He uses a long white cane to help him see where he was going.  Preston's parents are saving money to pay for a special dog for Preston.  The dog will help him get safely where he needs to go.  Preston rides the school bus into town and attends school with the other children from his neighborhood.  They are all his friends.


Something to Look Forward To


         One day Preston's teacher, Mrs. Holloway, announced a class fieldtrip.  "We're going to visit a farm to learn how our food is grown."

         "Will there be tractors there?" Jamie asked.

         "Yes," promised Mrs. Holloway.

         "Will there be a barn?" questioned Becky from the back of the room.

         "Of course," Mrs. Holloway assured her.

         "Do they grow corn there?" Justin wanted to know.

         "How about apples?" Andy pondered.

         "Or bananas," giggled Melissa.

         Mrs. Holloway laughed.  "Yes, yes, and no," she ended sadly.  "Bananas don't grow in this climate, I'm afraid."

         Preston had been thinking all of this time, imagining the farm as best he could.  "Will there be animals there?" he wondered aloud.

         "Yes, Preston, lots and lots of animals," Mrs. Holloway chirped.

         "Horses?" Preston pressed.

         "Yes, horses and cows, sheep, chickens, goats, dogs, cats, and bunny rabbits.  Just all kinds of animals, children!" she exclaimed, excited that the children were excited.

         "When do we go?" several children asked together.

         "The day after tomorrow," Mrs. Holloway said.

         That afternoon Preston could hardly wait until he was off the bus to tell his mother the news.

         "Mommy!" he called out as he heard the door open for the sixth time.  Preston counted the number of times the doors of the bus opened and closed so that he knew when it was his turn to get off.  "I get to go to a farm!"

         All the way home Preston told his mother about the farm his class was going to visit.  "Mrs. Holloway gave me a note for you," Preston explained, fishing a crumpled piece of notepaper from his pants pocket.


The Day Finally Arrives


         "This has been the longest two days of my life," Preston told his mother excitedly at breakfast.  "Today we go to the farm!"

         "Promise you'll be careful," his mother worried protectively.

         "I will," Preston promised, grabbing his backpack and white cane.  "I hear the bus."

         The yellow schoolbus bumped along the country road towards the farm.

         "Here we are," Mrs. Holloway sang out as the driver parked and opened the doors.

         The children cheered and scrambled from their seats.

         The farmer, Mr. Burton, was waiting for them with his dog.  He introduced himself and welcomed them all to the farm.  "What kinds of food do you children like?" he began.

         The children listed many different fruits and vegetables, such as potatoes, corn on the cob, apples, and grapes.

         "We grow all of those fruits and vegetables right here on this farm," Mr. Burton said proudly.

         A small voice from the back of the group piped up, "I like bananas, but they come from South America.  My Mommy told me."

         Mr. Burton let out a hearty laugh.  "Your Mommy is right," he replied, and Melissa flashed a shy smile.


The Animals


         Preston waited patiently while Mr. Burton told the children about the fruits and vegetables, the tractors, and all of the other farm equipment.  By lunch he was worried they would never have time to get to the animals.

         "When can we visit the animals?" he asked, crumpling his napkin and stuffing it in his pocket.

         "Right now!"  Mr. Burton answered.

         Mrs. Holloway and a Mr. Burton helped the children into the wagon and the driver pulled away from the picnic shelter as soon as everyone was seated.

         At the enclosure Preston heard sounds he had never heard before.  While Mrs. Holloway and several farm hands led the other children into the pen to pet the baby animals, Mr. Burton brought out a small squirming creature and placed it in Preston's arms.  "What do you think this is?" he asked.

         Preston felt the animal.  "It has four legs," he began, "so it must be a horse."

         Mr. Burton smiled.  "Do you like horses, Preston?"

         "I don't know.  I've never been around a horse, but I know they have four legs."

         "They do, indeed, have four legs, but horses are much larger."  Mr. Burton placed Preston's hands on the animal's round snout and helped him find its curly tail.

         "Weeee, weee," the animal cried, squirming to get free.

         "It's a piggy!" Preston cried.

         "That's right.  How about this one?" he led another animal over to Preston.

         Preston moved his hands over the animal.  It was much larger than the piglet, and it had four legs.  "It's a horse!"

         Mr. Burton helped Preston feel the depth of the animal's wool.

         "Baaa, baaa," the animal said as it softly nuzzled Preston's cheek.

         "It's a sheep!"

         "Good."  Mr. Burton led Preston to another animal and helped him feel its hooves, its beard, and its horns.

         "It's bigger than the last one, but horses don't have horns," Preston said, bewildered.

         Naaaa, naaaa, naaaaa," the animal replied.

         "Is it a goat?" he asked.

         "Yes, it's a goat," Mr. Burton answered.

         The farmer and his dog led Preston down a row of stalls.  "Let's see if you can guess this one," he encouraged, placing Preston's hands on the side of a very large animal.

         Preston felt the animal breathe in and out.  It was a huge animal with a coarse coat.  Its feet felt hard, like the goat's hooves, only much larger.  The animal licked him with its wet tongue.

         After a moment Preston said, "This has to be a horse!"

         "Why do you think that?" Mr. Burton asked.

         "It's much larger than any of the other animals," Preston replied.

         "Yes."

         "It has hooves like the goat but bigger and stronger."

         "True."

         "It's so tall I can't reach its head to tell if it has horns, though, but I don't think it does.  Horses don't have horns."

         "Here," Mr. Burton said, placing Preston's hands on the animal's tail.  "What kind of a tail does a horse have?"

         "One with lots of hair, I think."  Preston felt the animal's tail.  It was smooth and long, with lots of hair at the end.  In his mind he imagined it was braided and wrapped with ribbon, like horses he had read about in his Braille books of stories about knights and castles. "Is this horse going to be in a parade?" he asked excitedly.

         "Hmmm."  Mr. Burton took Preston's hands and placed them lower on the animal.  This area didn't have the stiff hair that covered the rest of the body.  It was smooth and warm and kind of squishy, like a water balloon or a pool toy without enough air in it.  "Any ideas?" he coaxed.

         Preston shook his head, fascinated by the animal.  "It's not a horse?"

         "No, Preston.  It's not a horse."  Moving Preston's hands even lower he supplied, "If you squeeze right here, just right, you can get milk from this animal.

         Preston's expression lit up as he squeezed and heard a stream of fluid hit the floor.  "It's a cow!" he cried.

         "That's right," Mr. Burton commended.  "It is a cow."

         "Moooooooo," exclaimed the cow, expressing her thoughts about the whole adventure.


Fiddlesticks


         A little further down the aisle the trio stopped at another stall.  Inside, Preston laid his hands on an animal that was smaller than the cow, but it had a long tail with lots of hair, a smooth silky coat, long hair on its head and down its back, and smooth round hooves.  It didn't have horns like the goat.  It didn't have wool, like the sheep.  It didn't have an udder filled with milk, like the cow.  Preston petted the animal's head and it rubbed its soft velvety nose against his cheek and whinnied softly.

         "Neigh, neigh," it repeated.

         "It's a horse," Preston proclaimed.  "It has to be a horse."

         Mr. Burton beamed.  "You're right, Preston.  It's a small horse or a pony.  We call him Fiddlesticks."

         "That's a funny name," Preston laughed.

         Mr. Burton gently secured a halter around Fiddlesticks' head and handed Preston the lead.  "Let's take him for a walk," he suggested.

         As they walked, Mr. Burton told Preston about the care of horses.  Fiddlesticks happily clopped along behind them, his hooves making a soft clip-clop sound on the hard-packed ground. 

         "This is the stable," Mr. Burton announced.  Preston heard the sound of a door unlatching and the creak of the hinges as it swung open.  The sweet scent of fresh hay spilled out into the yard.  "Down this hallway is the tack room, where we keep all of the equipment needed to ride and care for the horses."

         Mr. Burton helped Preston brush Fiddlesticks' smooth coat.  They combed his mane and tail until they were tangle-free.  Mr. Burton even helped Preston feel around the bottom of the pony's hooves and clean the caked mud from the shoes.  Finally, he threw a blanket over Fiddlesticks' back and helped Preston tighten the saddle strap under the pony's belly.  All the while, Mr. Burton's dog sat paying close attention but stayed out of the way in the corner of the room.

         "He's ready to go," Mr. Burton said, "but you're not."  He helped Preston put on a helmet and clasp the strap beneath his chin.  "Much better."

         Mr. Burton taught Preston where to put his hands and feet in order to mount the pony.  Fiddlesticks was well-trained and stood perfectly still while Preston attempted to mount.

         "Good job." Mr. Burton patted Preston on the shoulder.

         Preston smiled, breathless.  "I'm riding a pony," he shouted joyfully.

         "You sure are, son," he said with tears in his eyes.  Mr. Burton snapped his fingers and extended his hand.  His dog immediately stood with the leash in his mouth and pressed his muzzle into the farmers hand.  With Fiddlesticks' lead in one hand and the dog's leash in the other, they headed for the oval track just beyond the stables.

         After circling the track three times, Mr. Burton helped Preston dismount and lead the horse back to the stables.  Preston could hear the chatter of the other children approaching and knew it would soon be time to leave the farm.  He stroked Fiddlesticks' soft muzzle.  "I'll miss you," he whispered in the pony's ear.  Fiddlesticks nuzzled his cheek and pawed at the straw-covered floor as if he understood.

         As Preston said good-bye to Fiddlesticks, Mr. Burton was having a discussion with Mrs. Holloway.

         "Oh, the children had a wonderful time," she told him.  "How did Preston do?"

         "He is a great kid," Mr. Burton responded.  "Please be sure he gets this packet of information to his parents for me.  I've included a note telling them that Preston is welcome at the farm any time, and Fiddlesticks will always be ready and waiting if they call ahead."

         "How kind of you, Mr. Burton," Mrs. Holloway replied sincerely.  She accepted the bright green folder with the title Burton's Brookside Farm and Riding School for the Blind inscribed on the front.  The title was embossed in Braille underneath.  "I will give this to Preston's parents myself," she promised.

         The children clamored back into the bus and waved from the window, "Thanks, Mr. Burton," they called.

         Mr. Burton waved as the bus drove away.  With his white cane in one hand and his dog's leash in the other, he headed toward the barn to complete his daily chores.