Saving a lost Shetland pony.

One day as I was driving my motorhome along a country road approaching the town of Lanjaron in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, south of Granada in southern Spain, I drove around a bend, and I was startled at seeing fifty metres in front of me, a Shetland pony galloping towards me in the middle of the narrow twisting road....! The road was only about 6 metres wide, with steep banks rising up at each side at that point. Fast moving vehicles were rushing past the pony, and the callous uncaring drivers were sounding their car horns and scaring it. It was in a panic. Something had to be done, immediately, or there would be a tragic accident. I love all animals, especially horses, and I didnt want to see this one hurt. So I stamped on my brake pedal, skidded to a halt, and jumped out. As it came nearer towards me, I saw the probable explanation for the pony galloping along there by itself. It had a length of rope trailing from its head bridle, and at the end of the 5 metres long rope was tied a small broken sapling fir tree, which was being dragged along the road behind the frightened animal. It was obvious that it had been tethered to the sapling, somewhere far away, and something had frightened and caused this tough little horse to tug and uproot it. It had then bolted and galloped off .......and now found itself in danger of being hit by a car or a lorry on this twisting narrow road.

I ran towards the pony waving my arms stretched out wide and shouting "whoa....whoa". It slowed down a little, but it started to swerve to one side to avoid me. As its head came close to me its eyes were open wide in panic and its mouth was foaming. I tried to grab the rope, but it dodged and threw its head up and I missed it. Then as its rump and tail went rushing past I leapt sideways, turned halfway around, and landed with both feet on top of the trailing sapling...... with my shoes either side of the knot around the stem........ and then I was facing the rear of this galloping pony. ( I used to be a nimble lightweight gymnast when I was younger ). I teetered and almost lost my balance as I was dragged bodily along, wobbling violently. But I managed to stay upright, and my present 89 kilos weight served as an anchor, and trapped and held the dragging sapling under my shoes, which had the effect of turning its head and bringing the runaway pony to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. Its four legs splayed out and its hooves clattered and skidded in all directions on the tarmac for a moment...... but it stayed there....... and stood quite still gasping and frothing at the mouth. We stared at each other.

Just then three more cars came around the bend. They saw us in time and slowed down, and the people inside them saw me stoop down to pick up the sapling and the rope. Unfortunately they mistakenly assumed that the animal was mine, and as they swerved and went past me several drivers and passengers wound down their windows and bellowed insults at me. Some accused me (unjustly) of being drunk in charge of the horse, and others ( incredibly ) shouted two vulgar street words, implying that I did not have any brains, and that I did not know who my father was ......... and all accompanied by a furious cacophany of loud discordant car horns..!

I speak fluent Spanish, but there was no time to make explanations. They wouldnt stop. So I just stared at them, and changed the expression on my face to one of those pityful resigned expressions that you see on the faces of martyred saints in religious paintings and statues in churches ..... and quickly gathered up the rope and gently tugged it to turn the horse around. Then I led it to the side of the road. The people in the cars continued to hurl insults at me as they accelerated away, outdoing each other in their invective as they disappeared around the bend still sounding their car horns.

As the blaring klaxons faded in the distance I had a closer look at this beast that I had saved from certain injury or death. It was a magnificent stallion. And he was big as Shetland ponies go. His shoulders reached as high as my belly button...! He had a golden coloured coat of shiny smooth short hair, a flaming long blonde mane, and a long blonde tail. He was very clean and healthy looking, and in superb prime condition. He was obviously a well cared for and much loved animal. But who loved him...? Where was his owner....? Where had he come from...? There was not a house in sight in these bleak deserted barren foothills of the Sierra Nevada, a long way south of Granada.

What to do..?

Well ..... I did toy with the idea of leading him into my motorhome through the side door. But quickly dismissed that flawed brainwave, for the same reason that you never take a bull into a china-ceramic shop...! But I had to do something. And I had to do it quickly, for my very wide motorhome was half blocking the narrow road. So I hurriedly led the animal about fifty metres along the road, to a spot where I could see there was a patch of level ground at the side. There I untied the useless sapling and with the rope I tethered the Sheltie to a stout tree trunk. Then I ran back to the van, and drove it on to the flat piece of ground and parked it safely. When I stepped down from the van the horse gave me a little whinny.......as if to say..."Thanks" His eyes were now calm .... but sad...... and they clearly said "What are you going to do with me now..?" Then he hung his head down low. Plainly he wanted to go home.

What should I do....?

The froth around his snout made me realise that he must need a drink of water. So I went into my van and filled a bowl from the tap in my kitchen-galley. I carried it outside and offered it to him, holding the bowl in front of me level with his head. He sniffed it, then dipped his lips in and sucked thirstily. The foam around his snout quickly disappeared.

While he drank I had a long think about what to do next. What I decided to do was to walk this lovable beast into the town of Lanjaron, which I knew was about 2 kilometres ahead .....in the direction from which the Sheltie had come from. So when he had finished drinking, I put the bowl away, locked the doors of the van, untied the rope from the tree, and we started to walk.

It was a pleasant walk. We stayed on the left side of the road facing the occasional traffic coming towards us. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. Passing cars slowed down and gave us a wide berth as they went by. Children in the cars waved at us. The horse obediently followed as I led it along by its long rope over my shoulder. And although the thought did cross my mind that the beast was strong, and could- just - bear my weight for a short distance ...... I resisted the temptation to jump on his back and ride him. Bare-back horse riding is for experts only. I have had enough troubles in the past riding horses with saddles, stirrups, and reins. So I - we - walked.

Occasionally I felt a tug of the rope. And when I looked around I saw that my horse was nibbling at some bush or plants. But he didnt linger for long, and we continued. He seemed to trust me and he was happy. And so was I, as I contemplated that Gerald Brennan must have walked this way about 90 years ago, and then wrote his famous book "South of Granada".... which was made into a charming film a few years ago. I also remembered Chris Stewart who lives around here and wrote that best seller "Driving over Lemons".

We passed by many lemon tree orchards, and eventually we came to the edge of the town of Lanjaron. I knew that it is famous as a Spa town. Natural mineral spring water gushes out of the ground there in great health-giving profusion, and hundreds of people are to be found in the many spa hotels in Lanjaron, all of them there for a 'cure' by 'taking the waters'. The first large building that we came to was a 'Balneario' spa hotel. There were dozens of elderly people sitting at tables on the terrace overlooking the road .....all quietly and unenthusiastically sipping big glasses of mineral water. They all stared in front of them.....at nothing. They were silent, sullen and morose, and looked as if they were bored out of their minds. Some were in need of entertainment I suppose, because suddenly a man stood up, pointed, and mockingly called out in Spanish......." Mira que caballo mas pequeñito"....( Look at how tiny that horse is ) and quickly the cry was taken up by many others who jumped to their feet, pointed at my horse, and in ridiculing tones shouted " Que pequeño"......"Que pequeñito" ..... and other similar remarks voiced loudly in scornful tones..

I felt a tug from the rope, and looking around, I saw that my horse had stopped again. From the look in his eyes I could see that he understood and resented the remarks. He was born in Spain. All Spanish horses are haughty and proud. They are the noblest of all animals, and they know it. Of whatever breed they might be, any Spanish horse will refuse to admit to any incompleteness of stature. Pequeñito indeed...! Then he showed his displeasure and disdain at the insult ....by lifting his long blonde tail and defecating a big pile of steaming droppings in front of the water-swilling invalids....! Then he walked on with his head held high and swished his magnificent tail from side to side. The water imbibers hooted with laughter.....and above the guffaws I heard an elderly lady croak "Muy bien hecho caballito" ......( Well done little horse ) ..... and then she cackled and cackled as the others all continued laughing, as we two disappeared around the next bend in the road.

Soon we were in the centre of the town. I asked some people in the street for directions ..... and quickly arrived outside the Police Station. I tethered my friend to a lampost and went inside. A bored looking Sergeant seemed very uninterested about my wish to report that I had found a lost horse. He started to make some notes, but didnt even bother to raise his head to look out of the window at it. But just as I began to elaborate my story again in the hope that he would do something positive...... a Guardia rushed in from the street, and with a stern face demanded of me......" Did you bring that horse here...? " And when I confirmed it, his face broke into a smile. Then he said " I have just been speaking to a man who has reported to me that his Shetland pony has disappeared. He lives with his family in a farmhouse on the edge of Lanjaron ......and right now they are all rushing around the countryside searching for the missing animal." The Guardia had the owner's mobile phone number, and quickly a call was made. Ten minutes later a car pulled up, and a man and a lady, and a tearfull little girl aged about ten, jumped out of the car. They were the owners, and they were all re-united with their beloved pony. The little girl threw her arms around his neck... and with tears of joy cried out..."Ay mi Samson...... mi Samson...... como te quiero" ( Oh my Samson.... how I love you)

I was taken to a nearby pavement café-restaurant and refreshed with a cool drink, and Samson got another bowl of water. It was lunchtime, and they invited me to be their guest and eat with them right there. While we all ate it was explained to me that the little girl, Carmen, had that morning gone for a ride on Samson to the farm of a friend, tethered her mount to a small young tree in the middle of a patch of long green grass, and took his saddle, stirrups, and reins off. While Samson nibbled the grass Carmen went inside the house with her friend. Then a big dog had appeared from nowhere and started barking at the tethered pony. Before Carmen and her friend could rush outside and chase the dog away, Samson had yanked the sapling out of the ground..... and galloped away in a panic...... pursued by the barking dog.They were last seen far away in the distance, until they disappeared over a hill. The dog was an unknown wandering stranger, and was never seen again.

After long explanations by me as to where and how I found Samson, and after another cool drink, it was time to say goodbye. We all went out to the car, and the lady gave me a hug and two Spanish kisses on my cheeks, and her daughter Carmen, now with a very happy smile on her face, gave me two more kisses. Mother and daughter then started walking Samson home, and I was given a lift by dad in the car to my motorhome two kilometres away.

As I continued my journey I was feeling very pleased about my 'good deed for the day' ...... and I wondered where I might find a travel companion who will share my travel adventures with me...???

Do you know of anybody who might like to travel with me around Spain, and later all Europe, in my 7 metres long motorhome...? If you do, please put her in touch with me.
John Francis.... age 65.