Sunday, January 06, 2008

The Last Days in France

Then came the day to leave Normandy for Paris. The little horse enjoyed first class train travel. But he knew his trip would soon be over. A quick tour of the Picasso museum. One last night in Paris. And it was off to the airport. Never had the little horse seen such a traffic jam. The minutes ticked away as the taxi cab crawled along the highway at a pace even a little horse could have beaten. And finally came the long, long wait at the airport; the long, long flight over the Atlantic ocean; the long, long lines as they cleared customs in the US. The four traveling companions said good-by to each other and to the little horse, and at last he was home, back to Bel Canto, his mother and father, the pinto pony, and his au pair. What stories he had to tell. What adventures he had had. How soundly he slept, on his own bookshelf.

“Perhaps he has come home to stay,” said his mother. “Perhaps he has had enough adventures for one little horse?”

“I should think so,” said the au pair.


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