Four Ducks on a Pond Read Online Free Page B

the question of grooming Corrie.
Grandpop says she should be thoroughly groomed daily, as his horses had always been, but Puddy says that his horses lived in stables, whereas Corrie, living out, needs the grass and mud that her
coat collects to keep her warm. So Puddy only gives her a light grooming every day, to get rid of the loose hairs of her winter coat, which, now that it was spring, Corrie was shedding.
    I asked Corrie which of them was right, and she said both were. A stable-kept horse needs thorough grooming: a horse that lives out requires only a brush-up, though of course the same care must
be taken of the feet, whether in the stable or not. So remember that – if you are lucky enough to have a horse of your own. Corrie doesn’t wear shoes, as she had particularly hard
hooves, but Kaya used to call regularly to pare her hooves and rasp them, and check over her feet.
    Kaya, with his round, good-natured face, his wide blue eyes and sturdy Highland figure, was a remarkable person, and one very useful to have in the district, for I think there is nothing he
can’t do. He helps build houses, mends fences, repairs roads, digs ditches, traps rabbits and even cuts hair. But here we know him best as our blacksmith, and very able he is too. It is a
long time since a proper blacksmith worked here – I have already told you that the smithy is falling down – but Puddy says that so long as Kaya is about, she won’t worry. And
knowing what a worrier Puddy is, I think Kaya must really be good.
    Corrie was back in her field now, rewarded with oats. Don’t think that Corrie is fed entirely on oats, which would be most unsuitable for her, considering the little work she does. She
only gets a handful occasionally, in a bucket, which makes her very happy without making her frisky.
    Inside the house, the family were settling down for tea. Kitten had made potato scones, and Fionna’s chin was shiny with butter when I arrived at the dining-room window. Fionna is not at
all greedy in the ordinary way, but when there are potato scones I notice she eats very fast and has one eye on the plate on which the scones are piled. They don’t stay piled for long! All
the family love potato scones, but Kitten can’t eat them, because if she does she gets indigestion and has to drink hot water and bicarbonate of soda. Bicarbonate of soda is a great medicine
with the family, as a gargle, as a poultice or anything else at all. And very good it is too, and cheap.
    It was John who noticed me first. ‘Oh, Nicky, poor liddle cat!’ he said, and came over and opened the window, so that I climbed with dignity onto the big oak chest, studded with
brass, which is just below the window, and gives me a good view of the room, at the same time enabling me to keep out of the way of any teasing ideas Carla may have.
    The new hen-house was finished, and the question was how to induce the hens to use it. Hens are creatures of habit, and it was going to take some skill to break them of their custom of sleeping
where they had always slept. Everyone had different ideas about how to do it, but in the end it was Puddy who went out and caught each one in turn, all ten of them, plus the cock, and dumped them
one by one in their new home. I’ve always thought that hens are the most unintelligent creatures of my acquaintance, and now I know it. They twittered away most indignantly, despite the fact
that they now had a huge house with southern aspect, light, airy, and beautifully furnished with perches, laying boxes, a grain hopper and a water trough. It was far, far superior to their old
home, and indeed, to any hen-house I have seen. It then occurred to me that my presence at Puddy’s feet might have something to do with their fussy protests, so I slipped off back to the
house, arriving there just as Johnnie-the-Postman came slowly up the drive, weighed down, as he always was, by his haversack of letters.
    Carla was barking as if we were being