Playing Possum

AS I DIG the raised bed by the pond, I turn up a small newt which lies motionless, belly up to show its striking pinkish orange underside. I carefully remove it to cover but then uncover another two.

The third I try to revive in the pond. It floats on the surface like a dead leaf so I push it down. For a minute it lies there at the bottom of the pond, then springs to life in an instant and swims off, perfectly revived.

After a year or two of absence, we are to have a pony in the neglected meadow behind us again. Our neighbours set about uprooting every piece of ragwort and repairing fences before being tempted to go in search of a nine year old pony to buy.

The previous occupant, Bevan, a Welsh Mountain Pony, had a sudden and serious ailment which required a tracheotomy on the spot to keep him alive. Ragwort poisoning and garden clippings came under suspicion, but the most likely candidate was an unexplained pollution incident in the beck, to which he had access. Two calves further upstream died at that time.

Richard Bell,
wildlife illustrator
E-mail;'richard@daelnet.co.uk'