Ponies

Ponies

Noel Laflin

3-9-18

Peter dropped the entire plate of hamburgers on the shore when he tripped over a rock.

We peppered him with insults as we tried to brush the sand off of the last of our fresh meat.

Having just paddled all day, we ate them anyway.

And even though the sun was setting, it was still a hundred plus degrees.

Consequently, we were a grumpy crew that first night on the river.

Jerry had taken the troop on this canoe expedition for years. But it was my first time - and with the extreme heat and sandy grit still between my teeth, I swore that it just might be my last outing with these guys.

But then, later that night, when the moon was up and the temperature had dropped to a comfortable ninety degrees, wild mustangs came to drink.

I thought I might have been dreaming, but there they were, a half dozen ponies gingerly walking down the hill to get at the river.

I looked about me, and most of the kids were sound asleep. I nudged the Scout beside me and when he sat up, I just pointed across to the Arizona shore where the beautiful creatures lapped at the eddy.

My attitude toward the trip changed in an instant that night.

And even though it's been over forty years now, and I have forgotten just how hot it really was as well as the taste of sand grinding between my teeth, I have never forgotten that marvelous sight of wild ponies drinking in the moonlight.