Old McDonald had a Farm...

Chapter eight.

“Not bad, not too bad at all, especially handicapped with a trainee”, Bessie chuckled, looking back at the field. “We did more than I thought we would, especially with the weather holding off so helpfully. Now come, hurry it up, or we’ll get wet. I know the local pattern, and when it starts like this, damp and spitting”. She glanced upwards. “It slowly gets worse, rarely better, then before you can blink, it will be chucking it down in buckets!”.

“I am wet, and I’ve been wet for the past ten minutes”, I grumbled from the gateway, assuming that I was the handicap she was referring to. That's not entirely true, but I was certainly damp by the time she’d decided to halt agricultural operations for the day and pack up. Bessie had steered the cart back onto the rough track, and I was assigned to closing the big dilapidated five-bar gate to ‘keep things looking neat’. It had opened easily enough earlier but was being decidedly awkward now we’d reached the closing ceremony stage. Why the hell was she fussing about it being closed anyway? Neat? Given its state, it looked better open and out of sight, nor were the remaining weeds and rocks likely to try and escape from the field en-masse, were they!”

“Oh, do hurry up”, Bessie muttered irritably, casually flicking out with her whip, causing poor Peaches to jump and squeal. A no-win situation for those poor creatures, I thought as I heaved the old gate into place and looped its tatty length of securing string around the post. It was a pointless and unnecessary exercise, given how much effort I’d had to use to get back into the closed position.

“Half of it, a good half and maybe a bit more. Come on,” Bessie declared in a self-satisfied tone, patting the seat as I climbed up beside her. “From the initial state of it, I thought we’d be lucky to get a quarter done today, so we’ve done well. That was the more overgrown part as well, so I think we can allow ourselves a wee dram or two of Scotland's finest when we get back. Help to warm us up as well as celebrate, eh, Laddie? Ready, yes? Okay, hup, hup, you lazy animals.” The whip rose and cracked four times in quick succession.

I glanced back, thinking there hadn’t been much difference; it had all looked the same, then quickly forward again as the whip started cracking. Four female human equines all squealed one after another into their mouth bits as braided leather once more kissed tortured flesh. Bessie’s arm had moved almost lethargically compared to how I’d seen her motivating her charges earlier. Yet, when that whip tip reached its intended target, there was still more than enough force to produce those agonised squeals. Enough so that I winced in sympathy with the poor creatures even though I’d been the one to ensure that two of them were all the more receptive to the painful touch of that leather tip.

I shuddered inwardly, comparing them to the pair Bessie had been working on. If Cream and Damson felt sore and sorry for themselves, then one glance showed the difference between them and the other two ponies. Yes, I’d made my mark upon my pair whenever I felt they needed additional motivation, but it was no wonder that Bessie was impatiently waiting for me at the end of every furrow the way she wielded her whip!

Even if I’d been as experienced as a ploughman, woman, or person as her, she’d still have beaten me every time, nor would swapping pony teams have made any difference. I’d stopped open-mouthed a couple of times just watching her. Jeez, what a hopeless situation to be in. All that energy they expended desperately trying to get away from that whip was so futile, for where they went, the whip followed relentlessly and never missed its target. My two had looked almost fresh compared to the bedraggled, whip-striped, sweat-drenched Peaches and Plumb when we’d harnessed them to the cart for the return.

As I’ve said more than once, I thought I knew Bessie, but I was beginning, indeed, beyond, wondering about that. Pity and mercy were words clearly missing from her personal lexicon as she drove her two human ponies backwards and forth across the field. Did she not see them as I saw them, or was she so single-mindedly focused on the task that their humanity was no longer important? No, that was silly, I’d told myself. It was the very fact that they were human that provided the motive for her cruelty, was it not?

 Bessie was living her long-term dream by the bucketful thanks to the opportunity she and Robbie had seized with both hands when it arrived. It was a dream to her but the worst kind of nightmare for the four shapely female bodies at the other end of the reins she was holding. Could they have imagined being in such a terrible and bizarre situation? I doubted it and likewise suspected that I would not have had the courage and audacity to do what they had done and with not just one as they’d planned initially but seven!

I shook my head again at the thought of it. Seven, and yet they seemed to have taken it in their stride without breaking step, as the saying goes, and so matter of fact about the whole situation. So casual, so relaxed and seemingly indifferent to the poor devils and yet so cruelly aware. The whip rose again and flicked out, but this time merely to crack in empty air over the pony's heads, and I grabbed my seat as the cart swayed sharply. It didn’t need to land on pony flesh. The mere sound was enough to terrify the wretched quartet!

‘All in the wrist movement’, she’d shouted across the ploughed furrows to me more than once as I applied the necessary motivation to my team. ‘Don’t strain your arm, Laddie. Let the whip do the work!’. Each time, I’d shake my head, thinking the same thing. How long had she had them, four…four and a bit months and yet she used the horrible thing in her hand with all the skill of a pre-civil war Southern cotton plantation overseer who’d been doing the job for decades. I doubted she’d spent any time honing her skills on a dummy or inanimate object either!

No, one only had to look at the quartet trotting before me to realise that. I’d seen the scars and marks last night in the stable, but today, in the open under natural light, the latticework of scars was far more extensive and prominent. My friends hadn’t wasted any time when it came to training and breaking their acquisitions, nor had they differentiated between mothers and daughters, for all were equally marked and scarred.

Equally scared, come to that, and of Bessie, not me. I was the unknown quantity, the newcomer they’d briefly looked to with a pathetic hope quickly crushed. Our little excursion to that weed-strewn field had dispelled any remaining optimism they may have retained after I’d exited the stable last night. I shook my head again at that thought. How the hell did they feel being harnessed, helpless and put to work like that as nothing more than dumb, mindless draft animals to toil under the threat of their owner’s whip?

They had toiled, hadn’t they, and the whip had done more than threaten. No wonder they were so terrified of the woman sitting next to me. Who wouldn’t be under the circumstances? I’d always known there was a sharp side to her; she’d been a successful businesswoman, and you don’t get to the top as a marketing executive by being Mrs Nice all the time, not in the cut-throat business world that makes up the London city and banking district nor in any similar global financial centre. 

‘Elbows’ she’d once told me gleefully over dinner. ‘It’s all about elbows and using them to force everyone else aside so you get to the front of the queue’, she’d laughed and mimicked the action she meant much to the bemusement of a passing waiter.

‘Feet too,” Robbie had added with a chuckle, partly on account of the expression on the waiter's face. ‘Having elbowed them out of the way, it helps if you can trample a few underfoot hard enough to ensure that they  never get up again and my Bessie’s got huge ‘plates of meat!’

Bessie had given him a hard look at that point, and I doubted his use of cockney rhyming slang had upset her. Robbie had laughed again and hastily explained. ‘Speaking figuratively, Laddie. She’s got dainty feet, but I was referring to the opposition when it comes to trampling, and they never stood a chance of catching up, eh, love?’

I recall Bessie nodding and smiling as he’d said that, and it was a smile that stayed in my memory, for there was nothing remotely nice about that smile. Her lips moved, her neat white teeth gleamed, and it seemed no different from what I had seen many times and yet, I shivered. Something about that smile and the look in her eye lingered in my mind for a long time. Fortunately, we worked in different fields and levels, so there was no chance of me being caught by those ruthless ‘elbows’!

The cart had momentarily stopped, and Bessie pointed out something in the distance with her whip and then at another feature of the landscape, seeming oblivious that the descending grey dampness was becoming decidedly damper! My brain wasn’t concentrating on local topography, though and remained focused on Bessie, the ‘not so nice little woman’ concept. She hadn’t batted so much as a single eyelid earlier, had she when I’d ‘had Cream ‘before’ rather than ‘in’ my coffee’ as she’d calmly put it! My mind continued to ignore the topographical briefing.

*****

“You’re sure you want that one? Bessie had pointed, looking quizzically at me after we’d parked, if that’s the right expression, our teams by the cart. It was the second time she’d asked, and I nodded, wondering if I’d done something wrong. However,  she just gave me a big smile and bent down to unclip the leash from Bozzo’s collar, releasing him from the cart, briefly ruffled his hair, snapped her fingers, and brusquely ordered him to “Present”.

The unhappy human hound cast a quick, woe-begotten look in my direction and then lowered its head to the ground while raising its bottom high, but not high enough for Bessie, who shook her whip and snapped her fingers again. “Up, get that rump up, UP! Bury your fucking snout in the dirt, dog, and push with your hind legs, UP!”

 I closed my mouth, realising it had once more fallen open in disbelief as I watched this latest little cameo by her captive human dog. Bessie leaned forward and grasped the short tail that protruded from the creature's anus, twisted and pulled hard. The fat butt plug supporting the tail parted company with an audible plop accompanied by a painful whine from Bozzo, who immediately shook his rear end from side to side several times till Bessie’s curt “STAY, still!” accompanied by a swift kick stopped him. Relief from that internal monster or the sheer pain of having it ripped from his anus ring like that, I wondered.

The muddy booted foot moved again, pushing rather than kicking against his side this time. “Now scoot, go on, do your business, boy, and do it good. If it pisses down later, I won’t be taking you for evening walkies, so you’d better go now. We don’t want any more of those smelly accidents in the house, do we!?”

“Smelly accidents?” I queried, joining her as that incredible figure waddled away on its short, stumpy legs.

“And don’t do it near the damn cart, either! Bessie shouted after him before turning to me. “This fucking smelly muck”, she held up the short doggie tail. It was semi-solid looking, curved and looked to be made of rubber and bounced or wiggled of its own accord as she held it up for my inspection. The muck she referred to was smeared all over the fat butt plug, my nose telling me what it was even before my eyes confirmed it. Bessie was gingerly holding the short tail by the middle, and I could have done it without it being thrust in my face. Business end first!

“Hey, watch it!” I shouted, jumping backwards as the tail part wobbled violently, and something flew off the internal end in my direction.

“Sorry”, Bessie apologised with a non-too-sincere grin. “It's got quite a strong spring inside. It wiggles very effectively, though. Looks cute when he shakes his butt and wags it for me!” She bent down and wiped the plug backwards and forwards on a tuft of grass, then tossed it into the back of the cart.

“Very effective”,  I muttered sourly, that foul smell fresh in my nose and looked towards its owner, still frantically scurrying away as if it could find freedom from Bessie and her whip. Not a chance, though, for the only opening to this field was where the cart was parked and neglected as the surrounding dry-stone walls were; there was no way Bozzo would get over them, not in that restrictive doggie suit. Besides, even if there was a gap, where the hell would he go? At that pace, it would probably be a fortnight and more before he could have reached the village where I’d left my car. Wishful thinking on his part, for I doubted he could go more than a mile or so on knees and elbows before collapsing from exhaustion! I was amazed he could move until Bessie's whip caught my eye. Question answered!

“Maybe I should change his diet. He stinks the whole house out when he does what he shouldn’t and was stupid enough to try and hide it the last time. Stupid mutt, how the hell can you hide a stench like he makes, anyway, coffee or fuck?”

“Eh?” I shook my head and forgot about the unusual dog. Bessie waved a thermos flask at me, twisting it backwards and forwards in one hand.

“You wanted to fuck Cream. Now or after you’ve had a hot coffee, that’s if you want one.” She smiled. “I’m desperate for one. I put a wee dram of something else in to keep us warm, and I have a tin of shortbread biscuits to nibble along with it; however,” she nodded towards the waiting ponies.

I grinned at her, suddenly conscious of the sizeable boner that had been making my pants so uncomfortable for the last two hours. I had it for so long that I’d almost got used to it, but now relief was at hand. I grinned back at her. “Fuck the coffee, I mean…..”

Bessie laughed. “I know what you mean, young man! Come on then, let's get the lucky animal unhitched. My cuppa will be all the better if I’ve something to watch, and Cream is always a good watch,” she chuckled and winked.

If Cream thought she was being lucky, then the poor creature was hiding that very effectively, I thought as I helped Bessie free her from the plough and lead her towards the empty cart shafts where Bessie’s beckoning finger indicated. It was so easy to forget that these were intelligent human beings who could understand every word being said and not dumb, mindless animals. The woman had wriggled, squirmed and even tried to kick me a few times as I hauled her along, making me wonder how I was going to do what I wanted to do. My first sexual experience with a captive human equine, so why hadn’t I chosen one of the more docile ones?

“I see you’ve done this before,” I said a few moments later between clenched teeth. Cream was being decidedly ‘troublesome’ to use Robbie's term. I’d grabbed a handful of her hair, twisted it severely and forced her head down, making her bend almost double, whimpering with pain as I threatened the roots of her mane and nudged her forward with my knee.

“Boy scout motto”, Bessie laughed as she gave one final push to the piece of wood she’d busied herself with. “Be prepared, but I’ve failed that one today. I left my toys at home because I knew you would accompany me and I’m a little shy! Working these animals good and hard always makes one so randy,” she winked, dusting off her hands. “Never mind, I can wait till we get home; they’re not going anywhere, are they, especially that ill-disciplined one?” she finished with a giggly laugh and pointed to her handiwork.

While I was initially struggling forward with my reluctant, very reluctant prospective ‘fuckmate’, Bessie had leaned into the cart and emerged with a thickish-looking pole pointed at one end and a rough wooden crutch at the other. “A crude bit of DIY by yours truly”, she’d shouted, waving it, “but it does the job as Madam Creamy there can tell you!”

Madam Creamy couldn’t have told me anything, at least not coherently, with that cruel bit in her mouth. Still, her body language certainly could, and her very struggles suggested that her sexy, mature body was shouting at the top of its voice. In the position I was holding her, she couldn’t see much, but she could hear, and as Bessie had suggested, I knew the struggling woman was far more aware of what was happening than I was. Perhaps being ‘troublesome’ had more drawbacks than any short-lived satisfaction she might gain from such foolish behaviour.

Bessie had lifted the nearest shaft of the cart, the ones the ponies were harnessed between, and lifted it, placing the shaft into the crutch of the short pole she was holding and thrusting the pointed end into the ground using the other end of the shaft as a sort of diagonal T handle to twist and push it into the damp earth.

“Much easier when the dirt’s wet underfoot like today”, she grunted. “A bit on the squidgy side. The first time I did this, I could have used one of those, what do you call them, things you see road mender guys with them? Hear them as well, those noisy drill thingies that work off air!”

“Jack Hammers, for concrete and similar, I believe”.

“Yes, that’s the boy. They were always digging the road up outside our place when we lived in London, bloody noisy things! Now then, that should hold the silly animal while you have some fun with it,” Bessie grunted, using her entire body weight to drive the post another couple of inches deeper into the ground. “Fetch her over here now that I’ve prepared the matrimonial bed!” she hooted with laughter at that last part, and Cream seemed to double up her efforts to escape suddenly.

Fat chance, I thought, as if I’d allow the bitch to do that the way I was feeling. Hell, forget talk about Jack Hammers; in fact, forget Jack completely, for my cock felt far more like a giant beanstalk! Given the way my pants were bulging, someone could have climbed up the bloody thing. I’d had hard-ons in my pants before; what red-blooded male hasn’t, but this one felt a right monster and an exceptionally hungry and impatient one at that!

“Move, you lazy bitch”, I screamed, hauling her upright by her hair and thrusting her forward the last couple of yards to where Bessie waited. My host with a huge grin, splitting her face as if she knew what I was thinking and how frustrated and eager I suddenly felt. A fact immediately confirmed.

“My, you look just like Robbie did that first time we tried out the ploughs. Only back then we had to improvise; we weren’t so sophisticated equipment-wise”, she chuckled, pointing to the crude pole. “The back of the cart was too high, so I bent the pony over that shaft and held her head down, Peaches, if I recall correctly, while Robbie relieved himself of all that excess pressure via the other end. Push her over the shaft, no, not there where the support is, further up nearer the cart; otherwise, she’s liable to catch it with a flailing hoof and kick it out of the way. You don’t want her falling flat on her face and you along with her when you are all the way up, do you? Could be painful on the old pony prodder!”

Cream was being decidedly uncooperative doubtlessly because she was fully aware of what would happen to her, and it probably wouldn’t be the first time either. Hadn’t Robbie said she was one of his favourites, or was that her sister? I shook my head. It didn’t matter one jot. It was a case of too much information, too soon and a little overwhelming, not that I cared. In what, less than twenty-four hours, I seemed to have adjusted remarkably quickly to the incredible situation.

Bessie had far less patience than me, for she suddenly snorted, then reached down and grabbed another handful of pony hair, savagely twisting Cream’s head as she bent forward and hissed. “Behave yourself, animal, you’re starting to piss me off big time, and you know what I do to disobedient, unruly ponies, don’t you” she shook the ponies head hard enough to make her squeak into her bit. “My guest wishes to fuck your pony cunt or maybe”, she paused and looked up at me, giving a little giggle “, or maybe that deliciously tight little asshole of yours, but one way or the other, YOU TAKE IT ANIMAL!” she screamed and then released Creams head and patted it gently her voice dropping to a gentle whisper. “Piss me off, Creamy girl, and you’ll spend an hour dancing to the beat of the stable cane as soon as we get back, and we both know how much you love doing that as well as what sort of effect it has on me!” She shook the pony’s head again. “So behave unless you feel up to a double dose of fun!”.

The change of attitude in the pony was immediate, almost miraculous, or would have been had I not seen Bessie and her whip in action earlier. Rebellion to sheer terror in one swift move as Cream sagged in my hands, and I could feel her entire luscious body trembling and the sound of muted sobs escaping her mouth bit. What was that expression Bessie used, ‘No half-measures’? Sheesh, these poor creatures didn’t receive even the barest fraction of a measure from their owners, did they?

“Wait one sec”, Bessie cautioned, putting a restraining hand on my arm. She produced Bozo’s dog leash from her pocket, clipped one end to a D ring on Creams bridle, then tossed the other end over the cart shafts. “Now push her over, just there where I showed you. That’s a boy, and hold her down till I secure the other end.  

I shoved Cream forward as Bessie walked around the cart. The animal, the woman, wasn’t keen; she was stiff and tense, sobbing quietly but didn’t resist. I could feel her body shaking, but my overriding, urgent, primitive need overrode any feeling of sympathy I had for the poor woman. Bessie might see her otherwise, but for me at that moment, regardless of harness and tack, Cream was all woman and a readily available receptacle to relieve that painful pressure in my pants. Any feelings she had were irrelevant!

Indeed, so great was my eagerness that one hand was already fumbling for my belt buckle as I roughly thrust her over the wooden shaft, causing Bessie to snort with amusement as she took up the end of the leash, pulled it tight, then looped it several times around a convenient plastic cleat. Too convenient to be an accidental addition, I thought as Bessie giggled, saying, “That’ll hold the animal in position, and if she tries that stupid legs together crap, use your whip on her good and hard. I find a few hard stripes across their rumps invariably unlocks the doors, back or front,  so to speak!”

I didn’t need a whip and had no recollection of the next few minutes. I couldn’t even remember entering the door, the front one in this case.  One second, I’d been shoving Cream forward while fumbling with clumsy, over-eager fingers, trying to undo my belt and drop my pants, half listening to Bessie. The next, or so it seemed,  I found myself standing half naked in a muddy field, cruelly gripping a captive, helpless woman around the waist while relentlessly pounding her shaven cunt with my rampant cock. It was one of those ‘here-to-there’ moments you sometimes experience while driving, at least I do. Suddenly, I’m conscious of being ten miles or so further on without seeming to have noticed anything in between!

Cream was moaning constantly into her mouth bit, and I knew instinctively it wasn’t with pleasure as she wriggled and writhed across that rough wooden shaft with every forceful thrust of my hips. The thought of ‘splinters’ briefly popped into my mind, only to be immediately discarded. Not my problem, and there was no way I was about to stop fucking her; I was way too gone even to contemplate that or anything else. Besides, what was a tiny sliver of wood compared to the savage whip stripes she already carried on her luscious body? I’d never had an experience like this before, and the sensation was as much in my brain as my groin. Raw sex combined with utter primal power over the helpless woman was a heady and nigh-on unstoppable combination!

I’d always tended to be a touch overly vigorous in my lovemaking, which wasn’t necessarily appreciated by my various bedmates. I usually made a conscious effort not to be so, so what…. primitive, maybe, but there was no need for that now. No soft, ecstatic voice telling me to go slower, be careful, not so hard darling, no voice at all, and if there was, it was muted. Cream might have been protesting into her bit, but I was beyond hearing that.

A little warning bell sounded at the back of my mind, but there was no way I would sound the recall and haul the old John Thomas out of that delicious, warm, accommodating cave till my rampant cavalry charge was over. It was pounding ever harder, deeper into that warm, tight and, thankfully, wet orifice. Was Cream a natural slut, or was it a defence reaction triggered by her hopeless situation? I’d had a girlfriend once who was invariably bone dry no matter how much I worked on her during extended foreplay sessions so that the scented lubricant she always carried in her bag on dates wasn’t just helpful but a practical necessity.

I knew what that little bell was vainly trying to tell me, but even had I been mindful of its message, I was too far gone to pay any attention to its message, let alone listen to reason. Yes, I knew without my conscience butting in that this was rape, plain and simple. Very plain and very simple and with an outsize capital R. I might be innocent of the original kidnapping of the woman I was violently raping, but that wouldn’t cut any ice with judge and jury should it come to that. I was an accessory to the crime, an accomplice now, wasn’t I? No, more than that for, well, did it matter! I was undoubtedly guilty of sexual assault plus physical assault with a rather nasty weapon, if you could call a whip a weapon and now plain old-fashioned rape.

Worse, I was very much enjoying it, and with every vigorous thrust of my rock-hard manhood into my unwilling victim, I enjoyed it that bit more. I wasn’t the only one, for I’d momentarily forgotten that I had an audience. It was a first for me, although that aspect didn’t occur to me until later. I’d initially been too preoccupied, but the sensation was so delicious that I was determined not to let the succulent bitch’s pussy empty my balls before I’d had time to enjoy the novel experience thoroughly. I mean, it was my first rape. Now, there’s an ultra-evil tongue-in-cheek statement if ever there was one!

I noticed Bessie watching me as I deliberately stiffened my body, trying desperately to override my natural instincts and forgive the phrase to ride my victim to a frantic and satisfying climax. I gritted my teeth, tensed all my muscles and applied the brake, body shaking, Cream squeaking aloud as my hands unconsciously tightened about her waist, transferring some of my sudden pent-up energy to her captive body. That was what had probably restored me to conscious reality.

Bessie was perched only a few feet away on the cart seat, watching with a steaming white plastic cup in one hand while its parent thermos stood next to her and a finger of shortbread in her other hand. She winked at me and a bit half the biscuit and slowly chewed it, her expression relatively bland as Cream bucked beneath me. If she was concerned that my assault was a touch too forceful, then she was showing no concern for her captive two-legged mare. Then again, I thought, given everything I’d seen so far and how she used that whip, the woman was getting off relatively lightly, wasn’t she? Hell, under other circumstances, she might even have enjoyed it, for I was not short on length, breadth, nor vigour and so far, as I was aware, had no major complaints against my prowess in the bedroom from unsatisfied customers!

This wasn’t in a bedroom, though, and although I didn’t find Bessie's presence intimidating, well, perhaps I did a little, but I was too far gone to care.   I expected it would be different for Cream and the others, the way they trembled when she was near. Nor was I concerned with marks out of ten from Cream.   Performing in front of an audience for the first time hadn’t affected said performance one bit, and it wasn’t just Bessie either. Three other family members were also watching from where we’d left them. I hadn’t even thought of that aspect till I applied the brakes and looked around for the first time since I’d penetrated the squirming woman stroke animal. My initial overriding lust had banished everything else from my mind up to that point.

Sister, niece and daughter were all watching as Cream bucked and writhed as I savagely ravaged her pony pussy thrust by thrust. Of course, their head harnesses and bridles hid their expressions, and they were too far away to read their eyes, but I wondered what they were thinking. They could hardly be shocked, for they must have witnessed and been recipients of such an assault on numerous occasions by now. This could have been any one of them, couldn’t it, and who knew, maybe one or more would also be accommodating my rampant manhood before the day was done.

A distinct possibility the way I was feeling, and that thought had an instant effect, promptly knocking the handbrake off. My body relaxed, instinctively giving several extra hard and deep thrusts and then that heavenly sensual explosion as my balls emptied their contents deep inside the bucking bronco as I shuddered with one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever experienced.

Jeez, but that had felt so good as my climax came and slowly subsided, leaving me breathless and almost in a little world of my own for a few seconds so that sardonic cry of “Yee-hah, ride em cowboy!” from the carts driving seat hardly registered.

*****

“How’d you get on?” Robbie asked as we swung into the farmyard and pulled up. He was parked in front of the house, unpacking groceries from the back of his big 4x4. “Looks like you’ve worked them pretty hard?” he laughed, nodding towards the four ponies.

“No more than usual.” Bessie shrugged, jumping down and crossing over to give him a quick peck on the cheek before peering into the open rear of the vehicle. “Did you get everything on my list?”

“Yup, plus a few extras.” Robbie nodded. “For once, they came up trumps, everything in stock, and that’s probably a first for our local supermarket. What passes for local anyway? That’s why I bought the extras,” he said, turning to me and shrugging. “Honestly, you’d think we were living on the moon sometimes. I know this place looks like the back of beyond, but we aren’t that far from civilisation!”

“Yes, but don’t forget we’re in North Wales.” Bessie laughed, winking at me as I climbed down from the cart. “It’s civilisation, Laddie, but not as we know it! Now you can give me a hand to hose the livestock down and put them back in their stalls, and then...”

“A doughnut break!” Robbie interrupted brightly. “I bought half a dozen of those big cream doughnuts you are so fond of. Nothing like a little treat for a hard-working lass, eh?” he chuckled.

“Away with you and your doughnuts.” Bessie dismissed him and make sure you put things in their proper place, not the nearest cupboard. I don’t want to spend the next three days menu planning based on what I can find rather than searching for stuff that appears to have gone AWOL! Just because there's a convenient space on a shelf doesn’t mean you have to immediately fill it with whatever comes out of the shopping bag first. A place for everything and everything in its place, as grandma used to say! Oh, and you’d better unchain Baby. I left her to scrub the bathroom to keep her out of mischief while we were both out in the fields. I’ll inspect it later,” she called over her shoulder, re-joining me.

“The bathroom or the groceries?” I enquired with a grin.

“Both, and don’t try to be clever! She retorted. “He’ll still do it, you know; he does it every time, even after all these years!” She had just taken hold of a harness strap on the nearest pony, Peaches and paused to look back. “Maybe I should…but no. First things first, look at that sky. I don’t want to get the cart and ploughs wet or all their expensive leather kit. Come on, start unbuckling. You know which ones and how to do them now, and what's so funny?”.

“Nothing,” I lied with a grin. I’d also looked up at the ominous clouds and couldn’t help being amused at her priorities. Cart, ploughs and pony clobber. Not a word about the human animals themselves, but that was hardly surprising. She even returned to her grouse as we worked to free them from the cart.

“I’m still looking for a large jar of Horseradish sauce I bought last year and haven’t found it yet. He said I was probably going to buy it and then changed my mind. I do that sometimes, but I know I did buy it. Well, maybe ninety per cent sure. He’ll have put it in some odd place where it’ll turn up eventually. Strange because he’s quite tidy in other ways, for a man anyway, and NO, not that one. Do please watch what you’re doing; we don’t want any escapees, do we?”

“Sorry,” I quickly buckled the strap that formed part of the harness on Damson rather than that which had connected her to the cart. A moment later, I walked her free and joined Bessie, who was waiting nearby, holding Plumb tightly by her bridle. I was momentarily distracted by that interchange between husband and wife and thinking about how ordinary everything was if I can put it that way. Ordinary, that was leaving the captive family to one side. It was almost like being in two parallel universes at the same time.

 “Now then, it’s time for a practical lesson in livestock handling and animal husbandry. It's not all fun and games, fucking and whipping, you know. There is the boring side of owning such delightful creatures,” Bessie declared with a straight face and then burst out laughing, presumably at the expression on my face. “Don’t worry, Laddie, I’m only joshing you. There’s nothing the least bit boring about owning such unique livestock! Now help me get Bozo down, and you can tie him up for me over there by the back door. Mmmm, jam and doughnuts for afternoon tea, how delightful!” she smacked her lips exaggeratedly.

“Delightful!” I echoed, staring at the look in the nearest pony’s eye. I wondered what culinary delights were in store for them. Somehow, I doubted that Robbie had included the hard-working, stable occupants in his little treat. “Quite delightful!”