The Pony Needs a Saddlebag

Hot hot hot again. Town temps around 95, but a balmy 92 out here in the middle of nowhere. The humidity was oppressive on Monday. Poor Pony was not having a good day on his mail route. I got a text at 2:27.

 

"Not handling today's heat well! I've got a Metris with AC and I've been drinking water and eating granola bars, but got a pretty bad headache in the last hour or so and just feel awful! Ugh."

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"Should be fine, probably."

 

"Buy a caffeine soda. Sometimes it helps a painkiller work better. Might be due to in and out of the AC. It gives me a headache when I go to town. Got one yesterday. Might be something in the air, or pressure dropping if a storm is coming."

 

"I don't have ibuprofen with me, sadly." 

"Buy a small pack."

"Can't. Not going near stores and already way overtime. I'll be fine."

"Where are you working?"

"Backroads. I'll be fine."

"I'm taking a shower and coming to town. Can I bring you ibuprofen and figure where to hand it off to you?"

"Okay. Bring a brownie or something too?"

"Yeah. I'll let you know my timeline."

By the time I got the last text, it was 3:10. The Pony can only communicate intermittently while hoofing the mail around on foot.

I gathered up some ibuprofen and acetaminophen in a baggie. Put a can of Coke on ice in a Chinese Tupperware soup container. Found a Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie, a Fudge Round, an Oatmeal Pie, a mini bag of Sour Cream and Onion Potato Chips (the Save A Lot brand), the last two iced oatmeal cookies left behind by Hick, and put them in a grocery bag.

When Hick is in town, he'll go to Burger King and take The Pony a burger, fries, and soda. But Hick was on his way back from visiting Genius, several states away. The Pony never asks me to bring him food. So he must have been hurtin' for certain to text me.

Of course I skipped the shower. I'd just get sweaty the minute I walked out the door anyway, and my little Pony needed me! It was 3:35 as I went up the driveway. I called The Pony to arrange a meeting place.

"Should I just park somewhere, and you swing by to get it?" That's what he does with Hick, but then again, The Pony is usually delivering packages on those days, not on a walking route.

"No. Can you bring it to me?"

"Yes. I was only going to get my tickets."

"Do you know Coal Street?"

"No."

"Separating Street?"

"No! You'll just have to give me landmarks! I don't know the street names."

"Okay. Go to the stop sign by that old ice cream shop and turn right."

"On the street that goes beside the post office, by the license office?"

"No. By the closed bar that used to serve steaks."

"Oh! I know where that is! So turn right..."

"And then keep going until it fans out, and stay left but take the turn before it. That's Coal Street. You should see my Metris. I'll probably be back there about then."

"Okay. It'll probably take me about 15 minutes."

Indeed, it took 14 minutes. I parked in front of a house, behind the Metris. Called The Pony.

"I'll be there in about 10 minutes. Do you mind to wait?"

"Yes! I'm in front of somebody's house, like a weirdo! Can I come find you?"

"Well. You can... but it turns into a one-way street, and it's kind of wonky."

"Can I turn around and get back out?"

"No. But you can go down a block and turn left and go back to Separating Street."

"That's easy enough."

"Come up to the second left, and turn there."

I did, and I saw The Pony hoofing it up a slight hill, veering off to put mail on a front-porch mailbox. I parked with two tires on the sidewalk (don't tell!) and waited. The Pony came over and held out a not-too-clean yellow-and-gray mesh glove that covered his burned hand. I put two ibuprofen on his palm, and cracked open the Coke.

"Here. Would you eat this roast beef on marble rye? I got it for myself yesterday, but brought it if you need real food."

"No. I don't like that."

"Okay. I'll take it back home. I brought your brownie and some other snacks. I can't get into your Metris to leave them, though."

"That's okay. I have some room in my mail pouch now. Here. Just give me the bag."

"Okay. I don't want to keep you. I'll take that can when you're done with the Coke."

So... The Pony got medicated. Got a snack and some sugary caffeiney hydration. And some extra meds to stuff in that mail pouch.

The Pony really needs to carry a saddlebag. Or at least a rumpus-pack.