The Snow Pony – Read and Print

By Rachel Dunstan Muller, copyright 2022

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When Anika and her mother moved to a little town on the edge of a great, big prairie, Anika was very excited. “Now I can have a pony!”

“Anika,” her mother said. “You know we can’t afford a pony. We can’t even afford a kitten.”

It was true. Anika’s mother worked hard. But as hard as she worked, she earned just enough money to put food on the table, and pay the rent for their little house. There wasn’t a single penny left over at the end of the month – not even enough to pay for a pet mouse – let alone for a pony.

And yet, more than anything in the world a pony is what Anika had always wanted. She had picture books with ponies; she had a lamp shaped like a pony; and when she went to sleep – she dreamed about ponies with kind eyes and long shaggy manes.

Every night as Anika fell asleep that first summer on the prairie, she looked out her window and dreamt that a wild pony was galloping towards her bed.

The seasons turned. Summer gave way to fall, then fall gave way to winter. And one day when Anika woke, the prairie was covered with snow.

“It’s beautiful,” said Anika’s mother. “Are you going to make us a snowman?”

Anika just smiled at her mother. She had something else in mind. And I bet you can guess what it was.

It wasn’t easy to shape the snow just the way Anika wanted. In fact, she had to start over many times to get it just right. And even with mittens, her hands would get so cold as she worked, and her nose would get so red, that she had to go inside several times to drink hot cocoa and get warmed up. But as soon she was warm again, back out into the snowy yard she went.

The winter sun was sinking low over the prairie when at last Anika finished patting and pressing and sculpting and shaping. She took a step back – and smiled. It was perfect: a life-sized snow pony with a sturdy body and four graceful legs, a shaggy mane, a long tail, and two perked-up ears. Well, I should say it was almost perfect. The pony still needed eyes. But Anika had two smooth grey pebbles in her pocket, and when she put those in place – then her snow pony really was complete.

“Your name is Tundra,” she whispered in his ear.

Anika stayed outside as long as her mother would let her that evening – and even then she wished she could stay longer. She patted her snow pony goodbye, and turned to go. But just as she had her hand on the door, she heard something behind her. It sounded like a whinny, like a real pony.

“Did you hear that?” she asked her mother.

“Oh, Anika,” her mother said. “It was just the wind.”

Wind or not, all that night Anika had the most amazing dreams. She dreamed that she was riding Tundra over a winter wonderland. Sometimes the snow was thin and crunchy under the little pony’s hooves. And sometimes it was soft and deep. And sometimes they didn’t ride through the snow at all, but high above it, as high as the northern lights, as high as the twinkling stars.

(Well as you can imagine,) the next morning, even before the sun was up, Anika rushed to put on her coat and her boots and her mittens. But when she raced out the back door, Tundra, her beloved snow pony – was gone. And where he should have been, instead there were hoof prints – prints that led across the backyard, and over the snow-covered prairie.

“That’s impossible,” Anika’s mother said. “Your snow pony didn’t just come to life and gallop away. Someone must be playing some kind of trick on you. I’m sorry, Anika.”

But Anika? Anika wasn’t sorry. She ate her porridge as quickly as she could. And when her breakfast was finished, she took a cookie – and a carrot – and tucked them both in her pocket. Then she put on her boots and her coat and her warmest hat and her thickest mittens, and went outside.

It took Anika half the day to track her snow pony, her shaggy-white-come-to-life snow pony. And when she finally spied him up ahead, she ran and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Tundra. I knew you’d be waiting!”

Anika had all kinds of adventures with Tundra that winter. She told her mother all about them when she came home at the end of every day, how they raced the wind, how they frolicked and cantered in the snow. But as much fun as they had together, Anika’s mother never saw Tundra herself. In fact, no one besides Anika ever saw Tundra.

Then one early spring day, as the snow was beginning to melt, Anika went looking for her shaggy pony – and she couldn’t find him either. All around her the prairie was coming back to life. New grass pushed up through the snow; birds twittered as they built their nests; prairie dogs popped up from their winter burrows. But though Anika spent the entire day searching, there was no sign of Tundra.

“Oh, Anika,” her mother said when Anika finally returned home. “Tundra is a snow pony. You know where he is; where he has to be.”

“No, I don’t,” said Anika with a sniffle.

“Oh, I think you do,” said her mother. “Close your eyes. You’ll see him if you’re patient.”

So, Anika closed her eyes – and kept them closed. And after a while, she heard a soft whinny in her mind. And then she saw snowflakes falling, and the wind blowing, somewhere far to the north where it’s always winter. And there at last she saw Tundra, her shaggy white snow pony, just as her mother said – exactly where he had to be.

Anika wiped her eyes and opened them again. “Maybe Tundra will come back next winter,” she said.

“Maybe he will,” said her mother. “And in the meantime, maybe, just maybe, he’ll visit you in your dreams.”

And that is exactly what he did.

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