Stables S.O.S. Read Online Free PDF

living in the stables now inhabited by Dolly, Tiff, Bluey, and Moth. Bambi and Drum’s row will be converted into a garage for their SUVs and sporty little convertibles.”
    â€œStop it, James!” squealed Bean, putting her hands over her own ears this time.
    We all fed, brushed off, and turned out the ponies before going our separate ways. I biked home part of the way with Bean, peeling off at the crossroads toward the tiny cottage that is home for me and my mom. A shiny red motorcycle was parked outside, which could only mean one thing…

“Anybody home?” I yelled, banging the front door. I so didn’t want my mom and her motorcycle-riding boyfriend not to know I was about to barge in on them. But it was all right—they were sitting entwined around each other on the sofa, eating chocolates in front of a blazing fire and watching the TV. Mom had been going out with Mike-the-bike for almost seven months now. A record. I was relieved. Mike-the-bike was fairly normal compared to most of my mom’s dates—some of them had been really weird and definitely, definitely not sticking-around-material. After stealing a chocolate, I flopped down on the chair and made a face.
    â€œIt’s warm outside,” I said. “Why the fire?”
    â€œIt’s romantic,” said Mike, giving Mom a look that plainly said that was how she saw it. He looked a bit hot.
    My mom slapped his arm and made a face at him. “No brainwaves about how to stop the development yet?” she asked, sucking the chocolate off a Brazil nut before spitting it out into the palm of her hand and throwing it into the fire where it shriveled up with a hiss.
    â€œWhat a waste!” I exclaimed.
    â€œYou could have had it!” joked Mike, aiming a grin in my direction.
    â€œThat’s gross!” I replied, totally taking the bait. Mom just shrugged her shoulders and flicked back her blond hair. I could remember a time when she was always putting on airs to impress boyfriends. Thank goodness she was over that phase with Mike.
    â€œNo sense wasting good chocolate,” she said, “and I hate Brazil nuts.”
    I decided to ignore her. “No, we can’t think of a single way to initiate our Save Our Stables campaign,” I told them miserably.
    â€œYou want to get someone famous to help you,” said Mike, yawning.
    â€œThat’s what James said,” I told him.
    â€œSomething will come up,” said Mike, rather optimistically, I thought.
    â€œWhat’s for dinner?” I asked, suddenly starving.
    â€œOmelet and salad,” Mom told me.
    â€œWhat a cop-out,” I moaned.
    â€œYou can get it yourself if you have that attitude,” Mom replied, digging out another chocolate and throwing it into her mouth. “Oh yuck,” she said, making a face. “Coffee crème. I’d rather eat a Brazil nut!”
    â€œThat’s karma!” I replied, dodging the cushion she threw at me.
    I went upstairs to change. As I threw my vest onto the bed, Epona fell out onto the floor and I bent down to pick her up. The tiny stone statue of the goddess sitting sideways on her tiny horse felt rough to the touch.
    â€œIt’s hard to imagine you’re so old,” I told her, rubbing my thumb across her face where her nose used to be. It was her only damage, apart from two thousand years’ worth of (not much) wear and tear. I wondered who she had belonged to and how he or she had worshipped her. It was a strange thought. Epona was the Celtic goddess of horses, I remembered, my mind working overtime. Well, it couldn’t hurt , I thought.
    After placing Epona on my dressing table, I sat solemnly in front of her, wondering if I had lost all my marbles. I decided it was still worth a try, if only for Drummer’s sake. I was getting desperate.
    â€œEpona,” I said, in my most humble voice, “we need your help. The ponies need your help. You’re