Mindy Hammond
Every week in S Magazine When it comes to 30-something ponies, you’ve got to let them make hay while the sun shines
There’s a saying, “no teeth, no horse” – and as the owner of two 30-something geriatric ponies, neither of which have their full complement of molars, that saying is a particularly relevant and scary one.
Having tried to feed Megan, the old Welsh pony, her Cushing’s medication by mixing it in tasty feed with added mint and garlic, hiding it inside carrots and other tasty morsels, and even mixing the crushed tablets with water to syringe the stuff into her mouth, we finally agreed the process was causing her too much stress. She was categorically not going to take her tablet – if she didn’t point-blank refuse to eat it, even when disguised, she would somehow manage to remove the pill from its hiding place and drop it out of her mouth on to the floor. And when syringed into the side of her mouth, she would simply wait until we stopped holding her head in the air and open her gnashers to drain the nasty liquid out.
The daily attempt at dosing Megan caused her to fear our approach so, even though we knew the medication was important to prolong her life, we agreed to stop putting her through the rigmarole. At her age she was entitled to make her own decision and we would abide by it.
As her lack of teeth made eating hay and hard feed impossible, and even gruel had become difficult for her, we had made a paddock to enable her and her best friend, Musca, to live out at grass – which we knew she could manage to eat.
It was wonderful to see Megan put on a little weight and trot around with her Eeyore-esque friend. We had enclosed their patch with electric fencing powered by a car battery that ticked away in one corner, its current to ‘remind’ Musca of his boundaries.
But a few weeks ago, Izzy woke from her slumber, glanced out of her bedroom window and smiled to herself, “Aww… look at Meggie and Musca grazing by the big pond – don’t they look cute?”
Then she snapped wide awake. What were they doing there? Their paddock was several fields away!
I was in the kitchen when a text pinged through, “Megan and Musca have escaped – they’re by the pond.”
While Willow set off with a bucket of treats and two headcollars, I went to investigate the fencing. Sure enough, it was adrift from the plastic stakes in several places, some of it lying on the ground where they’d made their escape.
It took Willow a while to catch the naughty pair – Musca was a lamb, happy to munch on treats as his headcollar was put on, but Meg? She had mischief in her eyes and trotted off with her head in the air several times (possibly fearing Willow was armed with those nasty tablets) before finally agreeing to be caught.
There had been a thunderstorm the night before and Izzy was worried they’d broken out in fear, but there was another explanation – the battery had gone flat. There was no charge in the fencing and those wily old ponies knew it!
After changing the battery and returning them to their proper place, Willow and I followed the fugitives’ tracks to unravel their nighttime adventure. At first, it seemed they stayed very close to their paddock, but then they’d trotted down to visit Rosie the donkey, before heading off along the track to the stable yard. There, they paid a visit to Max, Romeo and Star. They had also eaten all of the treats in a bucket left hanging on a hook, knocked over a broom, munched on the hay net intended for Max’s breakfast, then wandered around Chicken Woods. Finally, they’d set off for the pond, stopping en route (according to the telltale hairs) to scratch themselves on the corner of my shepherd’s hut. Both had rolled in the long grass and then munched their way around a quarter of the pond’s circumference.
A fun night out for the little tinkers! What Megan lacks in teeth, she makes up for in mischief and long may our ginger old lady continue to surprise and delight us. Age is just a number and a night out flirting with the boys is back on her agenda!