frodobaggins
FRODO'S JOURNAL - A day in the life of a Hobbit of the Shire. (Pre-Quest Years)
Fanciful Farm
lord of the ringsI find myself at my desk again, my journal before me. I just finished rereading the last entry I made, in which I speculated whether or not I would have anything else to write down. Well, as it happens I made no journal entry for yesterday, but it wasn’t from lack of having anything to write about. My laxity stems from ending the day in a state of complete and utter fatigue.
After finishing lunch yesteday, I decided I would relax with a book and a smoke. But, much to my regret I discovered that I was out of pipe-weed. I can’t imagine how I let that happen. There was nothing for it but to purchase some more. It was while I was on my way home from the local smoke shoppe that I again encountered Bennie. She wasted no time in reminding me of my promise to come see her new filly. I stood there listening to her beguiling banter, looking into eyes as deep and blue as any sapphires, while every so often she laid a light hand upon my arm. What can I say? It didn’t take too long for me to decide that this might be a most pleasant way to pass the day.
The stroll to Fanciful Farm, which is the name of Bennie’s breeding farm was actually rather nice. The conversation and the crisp autumn air was quite enjoyable. I refer to it as her establishment, in reality, her father, Bodo is the main source of funding. He has made an art form out of indulging his daughter's whims.
Most of Bennie’s stock was out in the pasture, dining on what was left of the succulent clover. The leaves had already turned and most had fallen from the trees by now. It wouldn’t be long before the ponies would have to forsake the sparse pasture grazing for bales of dried hay.
We leaned lazily over the pasture fence for a few moments watching the ponies frolic in the sunlight. Bennie suddenly put a hand on my arm, squeezing just a little. I would be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy the sensation that caused. No doubt she was very well aware of the effect of that little gesture. Then, just as suddenly, and, I suppose fortunately, she dropped her flirtatious manner and turned her attention to the matter of livestock. Bennie is always quite serious when it comes to ponies
“Come on, the new one is in the stable.” she said, a keen edge to her voice as she began to walk away.
I followed and upon entering the stable I was struck by the neatness of the place. Although there was a definite aroma of pony and the accompanying scents of leather and hay, the building was clean and well kept. In fact, Bennie keeps her stable in much better order than she keeps her Hobbit hole.
“Here she is.” She said putting her hand on a large, velvety, brown muzzle that poked over the stall door. The muzzle belonged a pretty pony filly, who nickered softly as Bennie stroked her.
“What do you think of her?” She stood there waiting for my verdict, as if it counted for something. It wasn't as if I was there to buy the animal. I had no need of a pony that wasn't for sale. Bennie simply wanted to show off her new prize.
“She's very pretty.” I answered, peering over the stall door. Being no great judge of equines, that was about the limit of my expert opinion.
“Yes, she has excellent bloodlines. She’ll make a wonderful broodmare.”
“I assume you are going to put her under saddle too.” I commented, thinking it best to steer the conversation away from topics concerning breeding. “How are her manners?”
“The best!” Bennie affirmed. “Would you like to try her out? We could go for a ride.”
“No thank you, not today.”
Bennie's face took on such a look of disappointment, that it tugged at my heart just a bit and once again, as on the day before, my mouth opened before I could stop myself and I heard the words, “Well....perhaps later this afternoon...” come tumbling out.
She flashed me a winsome smile. I'm sure my own smile was rather simpering at the moment.
“Well at least let me get her out of the stall so you can get a real good look at her.” Bennie suggested.
I found myself nodding in agreement and I watched as Bennie fixed a lead rope onto the pony's halter and lead her out into the stable yard, where she put her through a lively walk, then a trot. I must admit, the filly moved with a grace and beauty that would have made any pony breeder proud. That is until one of Bennie's several hounds that seem endlessly to be underfoot, chose that very moment to come tearing into the stable yard, growling and violently shaking something that I took at first glance to be a dead animal. A second look revealed it to be a gray, woolen scarf. This action served to make the young pony extremely nervous, which was evidenced by much prancing and snorting and tossing of her head.
“Rascal!” Bennie shouted, still holding calmly onto the filly's lead rope. “Drop it! That's the scarf that Grandmother Sapphire knitted for me!”
After finishing lunch yesteday, I decided I would relax with a book and a smoke. But, much to my regret I discovered that I was out of pipe-weed. I can’t imagine how I let that happen. There was nothing for it but to purchase some more. It was while I was on my way home from the local smoke shoppe that I again encountered Bennie. She wasted no time in reminding me of my promise to come see her new filly. I stood there listening to her beguiling banter, looking into eyes as deep and blue as any sapphires, while every so often she laid a light hand upon my arm. What can I say? It didn’t take too long for me to decide that this might be a most pleasant way to pass the day.
The stroll to Fanciful Farm, which is the name of Bennie’s breeding farm was actually rather nice. The conversation and the crisp autumn air was quite enjoyable. I refer to it as her establishment, in reality, her father, Bodo is the main source of funding. He has made an art form out of indulging his daughter's whims.
Most of Bennie’s stock was out in the pasture, dining on what was left of the succulent clover. The leaves had already turned and most had fallen from the trees by now. It wouldn’t be long before the ponies would have to forsake the sparse pasture grazing for bales of dried hay.
We leaned lazily over the pasture fence for a few moments watching the ponies frolic in the sunlight. Bennie suddenly put a hand on my arm, squeezing just a little. I would be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy the sensation that caused. No doubt she was very well aware of the effect of that little gesture. Then, just as suddenly, and, I suppose fortunately, she dropped her flirtatious manner and turned her attention to the matter of livestock. Bennie is always quite serious when it comes to ponies
“Come on, the new one is in the stable.” she said, a keen edge to her voice as she began to walk away.
I followed and upon entering the stable I was struck by the neatness of the place. Although there was a definite aroma of pony and the accompanying scents of leather and hay, the building was clean and well kept. In fact, Bennie keeps her stable in much better order than she keeps her Hobbit hole.
“Here she is.” She said putting her hand on a large, velvety, brown muzzle that poked over the stall door. The muzzle belonged a pretty pony filly, who nickered softly as Bennie stroked her.
“What do you think of her?” She stood there waiting for my verdict, as if it counted for something. It wasn't as if I was there to buy the animal. I had no need of a pony that wasn't for sale. Bennie simply wanted to show off her new prize.
“She's very pretty.” I answered, peering over the stall door. Being no great judge of equines, that was about the limit of my expert opinion.
“Yes, she has excellent bloodlines. She’ll make a wonderful broodmare.”
“I assume you are going to put her under saddle too.” I commented, thinking it best to steer the conversation away from topics concerning breeding. “How are her manners?”
“The best!” Bennie affirmed. “Would you like to try her out? We could go for a ride.”
“No thank you, not today.”
Bennie's face took on such a look of disappointment, that it tugged at my heart just a bit and once again, as on the day before, my mouth opened before I could stop myself and I heard the words, “Well....perhaps later this afternoon...” come tumbling out.
She flashed me a winsome smile. I'm sure my own smile was rather simpering at the moment.
“Well at least let me get her out of the stall so you can get a real good look at her.” Bennie suggested.
I found myself nodding in agreement and I watched as Bennie fixed a lead rope onto the pony's halter and lead her out into the stable yard, where she put her through a lively walk, then a trot. I must admit, the filly moved with a grace and beauty that would have made any pony breeder proud. That is until one of Bennie's several hounds that seem endlessly to be underfoot, chose that very moment to come tearing into the stable yard, growling and violently shaking something that I took at first glance to be a dead animal. A second look revealed it to be a gray, woolen scarf. This action served to make the young pony extremely nervous, which was evidenced by much prancing and snorting and tossing of her head.
“Rascal!” Bennie shouted, still holding calmly onto the filly's lead rope. “Drop it! That's the scarf that Grandmother Sapphire knitted for me!”
I wasn't sure whether she was telling this to me, or the dog. However, Rascal merely ignored her and went on worrying his “prey”. I decided that this large, brown and white, spotted cur had come by his name honestly.
The least I could do was try to help rescue the scarf. “Here, Rascal, nice dog...”, I crouched down and extended my hand. Rascal pulled back his upper lip and growled ominously. I wasn't overly thrilled at the thought of putting my hand or any other part of my anatomy within reach of those sharp, white teeth, so I relented.
“Sorry.” I told Bennie with a regretful shrug.
Rascal growled again and gave the scarf another violent shake, as if to prove a point. Bennie dropped the lead rope and made a dive for Rascal, who yelped like he'd been scalded. The ruckus was too much for the filly. She reared suddenly, then turned and cleared the paddock fence in a single leap. This was the signal for Rascal, bred for the chase, to shimmy under the fence and light out after the pony, singing at the top of his lungs in a high-pitched howl.
Bennie was still holding the mangled scarf when we set off at a run, following the path of the rapidly disappearing pony and dog across the fields and pastures...and the neighbors’ property... After we at last lost sight of the delinquent pair, we abandoned the fields for easier going, taking to the road.
My lungs felt as if they would burst when at last we halted . “Look...we're...never going ...to catch them...” I managed to articulate between gasps for air. “We're going...to need...help...”
Bennie could only nod.
As luck would have it, in that exact instant, I thought I heard my name called by a very familiar and welcome voice. I looked up to see Fatty Bolger trotting down the road , calling to us and waving and pointing.
“I knew as soon as I saw you two running down the road that you must have been the ones as lost the pony!” he began spouting as soon as we were near enough to hear. “She came tearing cross country like a wild thing! She and that dog ran right through Peony Chubb's pumpkin patch. Good thing the pumpkins are mostly done by now. Peony saw her clear the fence and she was off again.”
“It's bad enough that she's trampling the neighbor's property, but...but what if she gets hurt, too?” Bennie said, her voice filled with concern.
“Try not to worry, too much, “ I said, “She's bound to get tired and slow down soon.”
“You'd think so, wouldn't you? But she just keeps on running, lickety-split!” Fatty crowed with a grin.
I'm sure the look I shot him must have been a dark one, for he cleared his throat and took on a serious look. Perhaps his seriousness was in earnest for his next words were, “Umm...Frodo...Peony said it looked as if she was headed toward Bag Shot Row...”
By the time we arrived in the vicinty of Bag Shot Row, the small crowd that had gathered was already dispersing. We heard snatches of what had happened in the surrounding conversations. Fate it seemed had taken an ironic turn. The runaway filly had chosen my cousin Mundee's property to detour through and in the process she had trampled down two small evergreen saplings that Mundee had put out only that spring. She had also taken down Mundee's clothesline. Rascal had taken care of what laundry that hadn't been trampled.
As badly as I felt for Mundee, I couldn't help but feel for Bennie as well. Bad enough that her animals had destroyed someone else's property, but for that person to be someone with whom she had a strained relationship to begin with, despite the fact that Bennie's parents happened to be Mundee's Foster parents, which has something to do with why they don't get along. And, as I stated before, unfortunately, I have a little something to do with that myself. At any rate, I was sure the ensuing confrontation was going to be uncomfortable for all of us.
However, I was in for a pleasant surprise. It seems that Mundee was not angry at all. She felt sorry for the filly.
“Poor little beast, “ she cooed. “She was only frightened, she meant no harm. And that dog chasing after her and yowling only made things worse! Perhaps it would be best to keep your dogs away from your new ponies.”
I sensed that Bennie was about to make a comment that most likely would not be of the courteous sort. Clearing my throat, I succeeded in catching her eye and with the most minute shake of my head managed to deter her retort.
Instead she asked, perhaps not quite as politely as she could have, “Where is my filly? Is she alright?”
“She's perfectly fine. She's at the Gaffer's, Sam is looking after her.”
I smiled to myself, sure that she couldn't have been in better hands.
After seeing that we were refreshed with welcome glasses of water, Mundee walked to the Gaffer's with us. I'm sure that Bennie would rather not have had the pleasure of Mundee’s company, but she said nothing.
Sam was waiting for us on the porch, scratching Rascal behind the ears. He took Bennie to see her filly and it was decided that the pony would stay the night in the Gaffer's shed to recuperate from her ordeal. Sam even offered to deliver her back to her mistress in the morning.
I heard later from the Gaffer, (although I'm not sure how he found out), that Bennie actually offered to reimburse Mundee for damages. I must say that I'm rather proud of her. I really hadn't expected that from Bennie, being a bit spoiled as she is. As to whether or not Mundee will take her offer, I don't know the answer to that. Perhaps even Mundee doesn't know, yet.
The least I could do was try to help rescue the scarf. “Here, Rascal, nice dog...”, I crouched down and extended my hand. Rascal pulled back his upper lip and growled ominously. I wasn't overly thrilled at the thought of putting my hand or any other part of my anatomy within reach of those sharp, white teeth, so I relented.
“Sorry.” I told Bennie with a regretful shrug.
Rascal growled again and gave the scarf another violent shake, as if to prove a point. Bennie dropped the lead rope and made a dive for Rascal, who yelped like he'd been scalded. The ruckus was too much for the filly. She reared suddenly, then turned and cleared the paddock fence in a single leap. This was the signal for Rascal, bred for the chase, to shimmy under the fence and light out after the pony, singing at the top of his lungs in a high-pitched howl.
Bennie was still holding the mangled scarf when we set off at a run, following the path of the rapidly disappearing pony and dog across the fields and pastures...and the neighbors’ property... After we at last lost sight of the delinquent pair, we abandoned the fields for easier going, taking to the road.
My lungs felt as if they would burst when at last we halted . “Look...we're...never going ...to catch them...” I managed to articulate between gasps for air. “We're going...to need...help...”
Bennie could only nod.
As luck would have it, in that exact instant, I thought I heard my name called by a very familiar and welcome voice. I looked up to see Fatty Bolger trotting down the road , calling to us and waving and pointing.
“I knew as soon as I saw you two running down the road that you must have been the ones as lost the pony!” he began spouting as soon as we were near enough to hear. “She came tearing cross country like a wild thing! She and that dog ran right through Peony Chubb's pumpkin patch. Good thing the pumpkins are mostly done by now. Peony saw her clear the fence and she was off again.”
“It's bad enough that she's trampling the neighbor's property, but...but what if she gets hurt, too?” Bennie said, her voice filled with concern.
“Try not to worry, too much, “ I said, “She's bound to get tired and slow down soon.”
“You'd think so, wouldn't you? But she just keeps on running, lickety-split!” Fatty crowed with a grin.
I'm sure the look I shot him must have been a dark one, for he cleared his throat and took on a serious look. Perhaps his seriousness was in earnest for his next words were, “Umm...Frodo...Peony said it looked as if she was headed toward Bag Shot Row...”
By the time we arrived in the vicinty of Bag Shot Row, the small crowd that had gathered was already dispersing. We heard snatches of what had happened in the surrounding conversations. Fate it seemed had taken an ironic turn. The runaway filly had chosen my cousin Mundee's property to detour through and in the process she had trampled down two small evergreen saplings that Mundee had put out only that spring. She had also taken down Mundee's clothesline. Rascal had taken care of what laundry that hadn't been trampled.
As badly as I felt for Mundee, I couldn't help but feel for Bennie as well. Bad enough that her animals had destroyed someone else's property, but for that person to be someone with whom she had a strained relationship to begin with, despite the fact that Bennie's parents happened to be Mundee's Foster parents, which has something to do with why they don't get along. And, as I stated before, unfortunately, I have a little something to do with that myself. At any rate, I was sure the ensuing confrontation was going to be uncomfortable for all of us.
However, I was in for a pleasant surprise. It seems that Mundee was not angry at all. She felt sorry for the filly.
“Poor little beast, “ she cooed. “She was only frightened, she meant no harm. And that dog chasing after her and yowling only made things worse! Perhaps it would be best to keep your dogs away from your new ponies.”
I sensed that Bennie was about to make a comment that most likely would not be of the courteous sort. Clearing my throat, I succeeded in catching her eye and with the most minute shake of my head managed to deter her retort.
Instead she asked, perhaps not quite as politely as she could have, “Where is my filly? Is she alright?”
“She's perfectly fine. She's at the Gaffer's, Sam is looking after her.”
I smiled to myself, sure that she couldn't have been in better hands.
After seeing that we were refreshed with welcome glasses of water, Mundee walked to the Gaffer's with us. I'm sure that Bennie would rather not have had the pleasure of Mundee’s company, but she said nothing.
Sam was waiting for us on the porch, scratching Rascal behind the ears. He took Bennie to see her filly and it was decided that the pony would stay the night in the Gaffer's shed to recuperate from her ordeal. Sam even offered to deliver her back to her mistress in the morning.
I heard later from the Gaffer, (although I'm not sure how he found out), that Bennie actually offered to reimburse Mundee for damages. I must say that I'm rather proud of her. I really hadn't expected that from Bennie, being a bit spoiled as she is. As to whether or not Mundee will take her offer, I don't know the answer to that. Perhaps even Mundee doesn't know, yet.
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