We made it through the gauntlet, and that was the last we saw of the ponies at our campsite for the remainder of the trip. Our friends, however, were not so lucky.
But first, a little background. The year before, their site was pillaged. Apparently, they left their food out in the open on the picnic table. The ponies came, ate and left a mess. This year, they had a plan. They bought big rubber bins with lids that made an authoritative "clunking" sound when snapped into place. I was impressed, and wondered if our groceries would have survived, had we adopted the same equipment.
Confident that no animal could break the seal on the food containers, our friends ate, drank and made merry well into the night. My parting gift was a rum punch that packed a punch. A "kick in the pants" I believe was the term Jeff used the next day to describe the *nightcap* I served.
The following afternoon we dragged our beach chairs and a few small coolers laden with cold beverages and sandwiches down to the beach. This was the best part of the trip. Two nights into the revelry, and everyone had hit their stride. Today was a day to simply enjoy the surroundings, and the company of good friends.
Sometime after lunch, but before dinner, the story came out; in the middle of the night our comrades awoke to the sound of Joker's hoof, pounding and scraping against the lid of their food containers. The two couples clamored out of their tents to see who/what was causing the commotion. Jeff, one of my *nightcap* victims, was so twisted he ran into the clearing completely naked, before he realized that he was not alone.
Quickly covering himself, Jeff shouted at Joker; just as I had done so early in the morning the day before. Meanwhile, Cinnamon figured out how to pry the lid off the food containers. She grabbed a pack of hamburger buns, and lifted them high over her head, shaking the bag triumphantly.
Jill, another brave camper, commissioned some crockery; banging the pieces together to create an awful racket.
"Oh no, you don't!" shouted Jill. She reached up, and snatched the bread bag right out of Cinnamon's greedy mouth.
That did the trick. Joker trotted off abruptly, mercifully Cinnamon followed without protest. And so ends the "Attack of the Hungry Ponies."
1 comment:
Those ponies really DO kick and bite. I had one steal some roasting apples & rum right off the grill, the little bastards. Also, my friend told me the next morning that I was quite a snorer - or so he thought til he realized it was a pony snorting around the base of the tent most of the night. Glad you survived.
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