A (5:42)

She would either ride on his back.

B (5:44)

Or walk along beside him with the reins I can't wait, I can't wait, he said, tossing his mane and practically dancing in his stall. He got even more excited when Harper's dad came in with two big bushel baskets of salt. A salt lick was one of Webster's favorite snacks. Oh, boy, salt, he said. Until the salt was moved past his nose and loaded into the saddlebags. Webster grumbled, feeling the weight settle onto his back. It was about as heavy as Harper, and he could easily handle it, but it upset him because he'd never had to work before and it didn't seem fair. Oh, it's just a trip to the market, harper said, seeing his mood change. Time for you to earn your oats, buddy. Earn my oats? Webster whinnied. He'd never had to earn his oats before. He was always free to run around and play all day, chasing ducks and getting brushed. Working was for the other animals. Sensing his unhappiness, Harper scratched behind his ears. Okay, you two, mother said. You know the way to the market. Just make sure you stay out of the stream. If the bags get wet, all the salt will melt away in the water. We'll be careful, harper said, picking up the reins. Won't we, Webster? The pony tossed his mane and pranced, but already he was thinking of a plan to get out of work. They walked through the fields of their farm and through the neighbors fields and onto the dirt road to the market, where they worn smooth as a street by a thousand thousand footsteps over the years. Harper chatted to her pony as they walked, but Webster wasn't listening. He was grumbling to himself as they clomped along. Making me work. Me a pony. I should be chasing ducks and eating oats and being brushed. Eventually Harper noticed his mood. Don't be a grump, Webster, she said. Part of growing up is helping around the farm. You get to play all day every day. You can carry a little salt here and there. It's not so bad. Webster snorted, but they kept on walking.

A (8:14)

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B (10:46)

Soon they came to the stream. It was wide and shallow, but a little deeper than usual because of all the spring rain they'd had long ago. Someone had built a sturdy wooden bridge across the water, and the stream lapped at its bottom. Okay buddy, careful across now, said Harper. The pony started across slow and steady, but then he saw the chance to enact his plan. He crossed one hoof in front of the other and pretended to trip and stumble. Whoops. I'm falling. Oh no, webster said dramatically and threw himself into the stream. Webster. No. Harper cried, but it was too late. By the time the pony stood up and shook himself dry, the saddlebags were empty. All the salt had washed away. Aw, man, she said. We lost all the salt. Well, I guess we better head home then. Webster, his plan having worked perfectly, pretended to be embarrassed, but he couldn't quite hide the prance in his step. Harper's mother and father were sad about the salt, but they understood that accidents happen, so they let it go. Webster spent the rest of the day running through the fields and chasing ducks and eating oats and fell asleep early as Harper brushed his coat and mane. The next day, he woke up ready for more playing and was shocked when he was once again loaded with saddlebags of salt. All right now, father said, tightening the final strap. Be extra careful on the bridge this time. No more falling in the stream. Extra careful, harper agreed. But Webster was still upset about losing his playtime. He carried the load of salt through the fields and onto the road and got himself ready for the bridge. Slow and steady now, the girl said, taking the reins in one hand and holding onto the pony's mane with the other. They stepped onto the bridge with a clip clop and slowly made it halfway across. Good, Good so far. Webster tried to stumble, but Harper had too good a grip. There was no way he could get into the water without taking her down, too. So that's exactly what he did. Oh, no. I'm tripping. The pony whinnied, and he stumbled right into his girl. She yelped and he neighed, and together they splashed into the stream. Harper came up spluttering, and Webster came up shaking and defeated. They made their way back to the farm. This time, though, Harper had her suspicions. She knew her pony was lazy and loved to play, and she realized that maybe the falls weren't so accidental. They got home, and Webster ran through the fields and chased the ducks and got a good brushing to clean his wet coat and maneuver. But the next day when he woke up, he once again had the saddlebags loaded onto his back. Aw, this again. He groaned at Harper, who rubbed his nose. Listen, I can tell you don't like it, but if you didn't fall in the stream, we'd be done already. It's just once a week to help out the family. Let's just get it done this time and come home, okay? Webster whinnied and pranced, but he was already thinking about the splash he was going to make in the stream. They crossed the fields and the road and made their way to the bridge, where Harper paused, grabbed the pony's head gently, and looked into his eyes. Careful this time, she said. You're not falling in. I'm not falling in. And we're gonna make it to the market. No more accidents, okay? If ponies could blush, Webster would have. Right then he realized Harper was onto his tricks. But even still, he just wanted to go back and play. Even a couple hours of work to earn his oats and help the family didn't seem fair to the Lazy Pony. So when they started across Harper holding his reins and his mane as tight as she could, he once again pretended to stumble. Watch out. He whinnied. I'm falling. Oh no. He splashed into the stream and stood up again, shaking out his hair. But something was wrong. This time, instead of the salt washing away, the saddlebags felt even heavier than ever. Oh, I told you not to fall in. Harper cried, grabbing his reins and leading him to the far side of the bridge, away from the farm and towards the market. We weren't carrying salt this time. Oh, not salt. Webster neighed. This time we're carrying sponges. Harper said, looking at her pony with a sly smile. For a moment, Webster was mad. He had been tricked. The sponges had soaked up the water and gotten extra heavy. But then he realized he'd been the one trying to trick his family, and he felt a little guilty. Aw, you okay, buddy? Harper asked. Webster nuzzled at his girl, licking her face from chin to hair in apology. She laughed and threw her arms around his neck. Oh, that's a good pony. She she said. Here, I'll help you out and we'll get to the market together. She pulled off the saddlebags and squeezed the water out of the sponges before loading them back in. And they got to the market and sold them all in no time. And from that day on, once a week, the girl and the formerly lazy pony would make their way to the market and sell their salt. And after he did his little chore, Webster was free to run through the fields and chase the ducks and and get his coat and mane brushed and braided. Best of all the days he had to work. He always got an extra big helping of oats, and Webster thought they tasted even better, knowing that he'd earned them. The end. Today's story, the Lazy Pony, was an adaptation of an Aesop's Fable written for your by Daniel Hines and performed for your by me, Amanda Weldon. If you would like to support Stories podcast, you can leave us a five star review on itunes. Check out all of our merch available at storiespodcast. Com, Shop commission a special video on Cameo. Follow us on Instagram at Stories Podcast or simply tell your friends about us. Thanks for listening.