A Pony to Be Proud Of
    
Crack! Bang! The thunder raged, and the rain beat on the barn’s roof. Suddenly my master, the stable boy, burst through the doors, his slim legs dripping. Running to my stall, he threw on my saddle, strapped a tarp around me, and rode me to the barn next to the farmhouse.
    
That night, I slept with the ranch horses. My master explained that the other barn was too close to the dangerously high river. If the rains did not stop, the river might even reach the ranch house and barn.
    
I did not like staying with the ranch horses because they often teased me about being a pony. I am small, but strong and courageous. My master is twelve now. When he was ten, he saved my life. My mother, a wild pony, had fallen down a rocky hill. My master found us, and he soothed her until I was born. I was small and weak, but he assured me that I would make it. He took me to this ranch and cared for me.
    
Suddenly I woke up to the sound of water seeping into the barn and the horses neighing in fear. “Why don’t they come for us?” they cried.
    
I knew my master must not know what was happening. It was up to me to do something. I ran from my stall and kicked at the door of the barn with my back legs. It seemed it would never break. I kept kicking, even though it hurt, finally making a hole half the size of the door. The horses tried to rush through, but they were too big. I knew I could fit, so I squeezed through the hole and galloped toward the house, neighing for my master. He rushed out of the house and ran to the barn, where he unlocked the door, tied ropes around all the horses, and led us to higher ground.
    
“That is one pony to be proud of,” the ranch owner told my master. He was happy, and I was, too.