We lived on a farm, in Prince Edward Isle,
Depression days....devoid of cash or style!
But, we had an old pony and Baby was her name,
What happened to her was such a shame!!
My dad lost his job and although he was "charming",
He sure didn't know a darn thing about farming!
He'd worked with horses...pacers and trotters, for years,
Now, his poor farming tactics, brought us more fears!
Don't laugh! We existed on potatoes and sprouts,
Mashed, boiled, fried, baked...year in and year out!
An Island Scot, too proud for "Relief",
An honest man....no chance to be thief!
Just potatoes and more potatoes, that we must eat,
No fancy items! No meat! No treat!
In summer, off to Charlottetown I went,
For a vacation with my aunt....away from discontent,
When I arrived home, on the train, my Dad said,
"Baby died from the bloat!"....I ran to my bed!
I cried and cried, because she was gone,
But, life on a farm, just goes on and on!
Until one day, my cousin said, in a playful way,
"How did Baby taste, when you ate her that day?"
I finally learned the truth, about what happened! Yes, sir!
My uncle had killed Baby and then butchered her!
Now, everything fell into place....it was true!
Last winter, we'd eaten lots of Beef Stroganoff stew!
BABY, my pet, the one I loved so....
Had kept us from starvation! It's true! I know!
But, I never mentioned it to Mom and Dad,
No need now, to make them feel sad!
Besides, they'd have sworn, that it wasn't true,
They weren't the kind of folks.......
Who would want to hurt you!

Pauline Banning  W3-915-97-D8

It is true, that life is not always as perfect as we would wish it to be. I
can truly relate to this story.....can put myself in the shoes of the
child, who loved her pony and feel the loss and the horror, when she
discovered, that the family had actually eaten her pet.

I had many pets, as a child....dogs, cats....and even a pony. So many happy
childhood memories. My father would hitch up the little sleigh, behind the
pony, on a crisp, snowy day in winter and we would go "clippety-clop" down
the road. The pony trotted along, tossing snow back at us. We were not
rich. My father was a small town barber, who had been raised on a farm,
working hard with his brother, to clear the farm of debt and help to secure
all of the lives, of his sisters. He loved horses and I shared his love of
animals.

When I taught music in Grade One, I remember introducing the song, "Polly
the Pony", by telling the children about my little pony.....and their eyes
would light up. The words to the song, reminded me of the rides I had with
my dad......"Polly, the pony is lazy and old....hates to go out in the rain
and the cold....tail is bedraggled and ears are a flop....walking so
slowly, I fear she will stop......" and then, the next verse...."Turn her
about and a change you will see....Polly is lively and young as can
be....No need to coax her or use the whip....Homeward she goes, with a zoom
and a zip....etc."

It was the very same, with my pony.....leaving the warm stable was not her
favourite thing....but, coming home to oats and a carrot, made her move
very fast. It was as if we had a new pony and not the old, lazy one. Like
all of us, this pony enjoyed "Going Home"!

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