The Pony Hunt

One of the main reasons people travel to Chincoteague is for a glimpse of the wild ponies. Our search started no different.  We drove to the Natural Refuge, paid our fee, and entered into Pony Land.  But where were the ponies?

They hide, you see, in the marshes and woods, sometimes allowing searchers a glimpse and other times, not.

We drove. No ponies anywhere.  So we got out to hike one of the trails, hoping against hope to see a wild pony or two.

We peered through grasses.


Scanned the marshes.

20160221_101105No ponies, but pony lovers never give up.

All of a sudden – a clue!

20160221_101314Where there are hoof tracks there must be ponies!

Another clue –

20160221_101021Where there is manure there has to be a pony!

Finally we reached the end of the trail!


A pony!

FRIDAY FICTION with RONOVAN WRITES Prompt Challenge #15-A spill occurs.

See Challenge Here

See if you can come in at more than a Word Count of 600. Control your word usage. (SUGGESTED)

Using the above scenario, create a scene about a spill of some kind and what you happens. Is it related to you, to someone around you, the world, love, death, sports. Get creative. (REQUIRED)


Glass splintered along the entire front of the aquarium. For a moment, I hoped, prayed, believed, begged, it would hold, but with a crack it broke, releasing a flash flood of water, glass, colored stones, slimy plants and fish all across the oriental carpet.

Johnny leapt into the room, grabbing for fish.

“Come on,” I growled, “we have things to do.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Johnny barely paused. He had fish cradled in his shirt and was scrambling for more.

“Come on!”

“We can’t!”

I counted to ten. “We have a job, Johnny, let’s go.” Johnny was simple, but he wasn’t dumb. He was a good partner simply because he so rarely questioned his job.

“They’ll die! We have to put them back.” True to his word, he hurried over to the broken aquarium and dumped fish back in, only to watch them seep back onto the floor with the final drips of water.

I thought he was going to cry.

“Hurry!” he cried, scrambling for fish.

“You can’t…” I started then stopped.  If I reminded him he couldn’t put the fish back the aquarium then god knows where they’d end up…. sink, tub, pool….. toilet.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A million dollars in the safe upstairs and Johnny wanted to play Go Fish? The sooner I helped, however, the sooner we’d move on to the job.  How many fish could there be in one aquarium?

Dropping my tool bag, I squished onto wet carpet, heart sinking. Holy Mother, there were hundreds of them, all flopping and gasping.  I began scooping like a steam-shovel, dumping them into a nearby vase, kicking bigger one under the furniture. Out of sight out of…. you know.

Next thing I knew, we were both standing there, soaked, hands full of fish.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He started to run up the stairs, yelling ‘Bathroom,” reversed, almost fell down the stairs and ran towards the kitchen.  Little ole me trotted on behind.

Keep your mouth shut. Keep your mouth shut.  A million dollars. A million. Beach house. Sun. Sand. Umbrella drinks. Swimming in the sea with dolphins or whales or mermaids or whatever the heck was there.

Johnny ran to the sink, started to dump the fish before he saw the pool!  Out the back door, he ran, me at his heels. I started to shout “No!” but too late. Into the chlorinated pool went the fish. After a moment, I dumped my vaseful in as well.  Why not?

I watched for a moment as many of them started to swim sideways, sinking towards the bottom.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“We saved them.”

“Yeah, Johnny, we saved them.  Now can we get back to saving ourselves?”

A throat cleared behind us.

“Mr. Rizzio,” I manged to croak out, turning slowly.  Actually, Mr. Rizzio and five of his men.

Oh, shit. “I’m sure you are wondering why we are here, sir.  You see, we heard the crack of your aquarium breaking and thought somebody must be breaking in. So we…. scaled the fence and….and….found all the fish on the floor and…. brought them out here to save them…..”

He wasn’t buying a word.

“You came here for a million fish?” he asked, nodding to the bag of tools at his feet.

I turned back to the pool, staring down at the tiny floating bodies.  This really hadn’t been what I’d expected when dreaming about swimming with the fishes.







  • A photo prompt and an introductory sentence/ topics to be used as your ‘muse’. They will arrive promptly at midnight each Friday morning.
  • Include the photo prompt and its credits with your story on your blog. Use of the introductory sentence/ topic is optional. Some followers like the introductory sentence ideas.
  • All stories are to be crafted and honed to under 200 words in length.
  • This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Thursday night, March 3rd , 2016.



The opening sentence for the February 26th Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: 

“Nothing is ever as easy as it looks…” 

Children weren’t easy no matter what they said. She’d found out the hard way – by having a child. It would have been easier with a partner, a marriage, and not just going it on her own, but she hadn’t wanted a partner. It wasn’t she didn’t trust men, but she didn’t trust men. She’d been hurt too many times to take the chance, must less expose her child to the possibility of divorce. She might have done things different if she’d known, but she hadn’t.

Her eyes drifted to the toys on the shelf above her dresser. It all seemed so long ago. He’d called last night to say hello, he loved her, but he couldn’t come for her birthday. One of the kids was sick. The other was on her first sleepover.

She understood. She’d never wanted to leave him when he was sick. Now, she was the sick one. She’d taken the move to the facility as well as possible. He’d agonized over the decision as had she, but in the end, she’d made the final decision, removed the burden from his shoulders.

Just like they’d said, you never stopped behind a mother. That, after all, was what mothers were for.