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equus · 02-22-2006, 10:02 AM

RAGG N BONE! RAGG N BONE!!

The shout was loud, clear, air cutting, it arrived before the trap and pony came in sight. I was like a dog waiting for the postman, when I heard the shout I just ran and I never seemed to have my bloody shoes on!!

I'd run to the big corner by the dump and the shop that sold everything from toilet paper to bubble gum and dolls that came in boxes. As Ragbone got louder I'd squint and stretch to see the pony coming. They wouldn't stop on that street unless somebody brought out an old fridge or piece of pipe.

The pony had a long, quick trotting stride - all fluffy hoofed with loud claps and scrapes as worn metal shoes hit tarmac. The man on top would shout and smile and see me waiting. I'd wait to get as close as I could, then run alongside.

I'd run till my lungs burst as he egged the pony on, unless there was someone with an old fridge, then if I'd still kept up I could go and hold the pony. Not so much hold the pony as it knew the routine, more watch my feet didn't get trodden on while I gawped, holding a rein and sometimes touched him. Old fridges or not I'd run, from as far as I dared go to wait for him till the newspaper shop where he always stopped.

It was a marathon, a race, there was never time to put on shoes, he'd never wait for me like the people who had a fridge or a bit of piping, but I was faster barefoot anyway.

I earned my trophy many times and watched my feet and I dreamt.

02-22-2006, 10:02 AM	#1 (permalink)
equus Member Join Date: Oct 2004 Location: uk Posts: 3,055	Rag bone! RAGG N BONE! RAGG N BONE!! The shout was loud, clear, air cutting, it arrived before the trap and pony came in sight. I was like a dog waiting for the postman, when I heard the shout I just ran and I never seemed to have my bloody shoes on!! I'd run to the big corner by the dump and the shop that sold everything from toilet paper to bubble gum and dolls that came in boxes. As Ragbone got louder I'd squint and stretch to see the pony coming. They wouldn't stop on that street unless somebody brought out an old fridge or piece of pipe. The pony had a long, quick trotting stride - all fluffy hoofed with loud claps and scrapes as worn metal shoes hit tarmac. The man on top would shout and smile and see me waiting. I'd wait to get as close as I could, then run alongside. I'd run till my lungs burst as he egged the pony on, unless there was someone with an old fridge, then if I'd still kept up I could go and hold the pony. Not so much hold the pony as it knew the routine, more watch my feet didn't get trodden on while I gawped, holding a rein and sometimes touched him. Old fridges or not I'd run, from as far as I dared go to wait for him till the newspaper shop where he always stopped. It was a marathon, a race, there was never time to put on shoes, he'd never wait for me like the people who had a fridge or a bit of piping, but I was faster barefoot anyway. I earned my trophy many times and watched my feet and I dreamt.