A PONY COLT

INDIAN ponies roamed everywhere, for there were very few fences. One day early in spring Father had been out around the place and came home carrying a tiny baby pony colt in his arms! Its mother had deserted it. We named her Bird and taught her to drink milk from a pan. She followed us around everywhere like a faithful dog and would even slip into the house when she found the door open. As she grew older, she didn't forget that the contents of a pan tasted good, and when we wanted to catch her, we would go out on the hills where she could see and hear us, and pound on a tin pan. She would come flying and investigate the pan. It was only a moments work to slip a rope around her neck, and she was a captive. We rode her to Sunday School, three and a half miles away, but if she didn't feel religiously inclined or her pony mind had other plans, she simply turned around and carried us back home, and no amount of persuasion or switching could change her mind.

One day Bird found the cellar door open, and calmly walked in and drank all the milk on the shelf - pan after pan she drank, until all the milk was gone, and Bird's sides stuck out as if she were stuffed – which she was indeed – with milk.