Aliens, Critters, and Dinosaurs

The Sad Little Pony

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The Sad, Little Pony

Panda was perfect in every way, except one. That one problem made him very sad.

Panda was a small Welsh and Shetland pony with a golden-brown tail and mane and a coat, shiny as Cinderella's glass slipper. So, you see, he was a very pretty pony, a palomino, you would call him. He was oh, so sweet. He loved people and enjoyed nothing more than having a child petting him or playing with him, or even up on his back, so he could gallop over the meadow.

Panda lived out in the pasture of an old, deserted farmhouse. It was a very nice pasture with lots of tall, green grass, a small brook with fresh water, and a huge shade tree with heavy, rough bark where he could leisurely scratch his back.

But, remember I told you that he had a problem? Poor Panda was alone. No one ever came out into the pasture to brush his beautiful coat or to give him juicy carrots. No one ever spoke to him or petted him or patted his shiny neck. So Panda drooped his head, stared at the ground, and cried.

Panda spent most of his days beneath the strong, dark walnut tree. He stood there, beneath its shadow, and sighed heavily, wishing someone loved him, wishing someone cared. The flies came and sat on his rump. He hated that. He switched his tail back and forth. He stomped his feet. He snorted rudely. But flies are like that when nobody takes care of a pony. They like nothing more than making neglected, little ponies even more miserable.

(I'm afraid that I must warn you that this tale gets even sadder now. I hope you will not cry. You won't, will you?)

One day when Panda was feeling even worse than usual, he saw a lovely eight-year-old girl playing in her swing out on the porch of the old, deserted farmhouse. Panda got very excited. He whinnied loudly. He galloped across the field, charging at the gate, sending clouds of dust halfway to the top of the fence. But the little girl did not look up.

Panda pawed the earth. He neighed even louder. But still she did not notice him. She got off the swing and went inside.

Panda was so angry about her ignoring him, he bucked and kicked the air. He reared and charged the walnut tree, slamming his heels into the turf inches from its lowest branches.

Why had that little girl not looked up? What could he do to get her attention?

Panda thought and thought. He munched on some tall weeds next to a boulder. He rubbed his back against the tree trunk. He shook his head and nodded it up and down. Then, because he still could not decide how to capture the little girl's attention, he rolled around in the dirt, coating his lovely golden coat with a thick layer of dusty, old dirt.

Ponies like to roll. Some ponies sink into the soft, padded grassy strips that lay in shaded areas. Others like to scrub their back on small pebbly dirt, rolling and scratching, and rolling some more. But, Panda? Panda was one of those ponies that loved to roll in mud. So after he finished scratching his back in the dust and dirt, he rose up, shook a little of it off, and walked down to the creek.

Now, remember how I told you that Panda was a pretty pony? Perhaps I was not as truthful as I should have been. You see, Panda was not a pretty pony -- he was a beautiful pony! His golden coat -- don't forget how I told you that his coat was as shiny as Cinderella's slipper -- that part was quite true. However . . .

You guessed it! For after Panda walked down to the creek, he found a lovely mushy section of mud, and he rolled and splashed and got his coat thoroughly horrible-looking. Then, my friends, sad to say, he was no longer a beautiful pony. In fact, he wasn't even pretty. He was nasty-looking! The mud was so thick all over his coat, you never would have recognized him! He was that terribly, terribly dirty.

But Panda didn't care. Nobody wanted to pet him. Nobody wanted to ride him, and nobody loved him!
He stamped his left front hoof, lowered his head, and he sobbed some more.

I bet you've never heard a pony cry before, so you wouldn't know what it sounds like. It's the most awful sound in the whole world. It's more terrible than a squeaky door. It's more dreadful than a rusty wagon wheel. It's even worse than the sound your teacher makes when she scrapes her fingernail across a blackboard!

Just at that moment, the little girl came running out of the house. She saw the miserable, little pony, and she cried out, "Stop that noise, pony."

Panda shut his mouth and sniffled quietly, but he felt even worse then, because the little girl had gone back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Panda 's head dropped so low, his nostrils blew dust with every breath. He didn't dare blubber again, but he snuffled and sniffled and made all kinds of noises that one makes when they're trying hard not to cry.

(Poor Panda. I would have petted him. I would have brushed his long, golden mane. I would have loved him. Wouldn't you?)

But then, the farmhouse door flew open, and the little girl came running out with a carrot in one hand and a big brush in the other. She dashed out to the pasture, climbed the fence, and jumped down.

"Poor little pony," she said. "I will make it better. I will give you a carrot, and then if you like, I will brush your long mane and tail."

Panda lifted up his head. He whinnied softly, watching as the girl came closer. His muzzle lowered to her hand, and very carefully, he nibbled at the carrot she was holding out.

And because Danny (whose real name was Danielle) had just moved into the old, deserted farmhouse, she began to care for the pony. Everyday she brushed his coat until it shone tiny mirrors across his back. She cleaned Panda's hooves. She petted his neck, and she brought treats of apples and carrots.

Her parents were very, very happy that Danny had made friends with the little pony. They encouraged her to visit him every day, and her father, who knew all about horses, showed Danny how to groom Panda correctly. (In fact, he was the one who showed Danny how to clean Panda's hooves, which is a very important part of taking care of a horse or pony.)

From that day on, Panda and the little girl became the best of buddies. Eventually, when the father had time, he even taught his daughter how to ride, and then Panda and Danny had even more fun!

So the days passed, as long summer days do. Panda grew sleek and happy, and the girl learned how special it was to be best friends with a pony.

Together the two galloped across the meadows and fields, neighing and laughing in delight. And, although Panda and Danny went on to have many wonderful adventures, I cannot tell you those right now, for they belong to another story.

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