Abby’s trainer did not look happy. She hobbled Abby before removing the training device. Jen realized that she had not been hobbled. Then Abby’s trainer released her from the sulky, and taking her reins pulled her toward the pen which now held the other two ponies. The pace she demanded was much too fast for a hobbled pony and Abby struggled to keep up, almost falling several times before they arrived at the pen.

Jen’s attention was then drawn to the door that leads into the interior area. It opened and a person who must be an overseer exited leading a coffle of six girls. They were all naked except for their metal collar, belt, and cuffs. Wrist chains had been pulled tight to a ring at the front of the belt. Ankles were chained with about a foot between the cuffs, but from the center of the ankle chain another light chain extended up. It did not reach all the way to the belt, but instead was fastened to the ring at the clitoris of each girl. It held the leg chain just above parallel with the ground. This meant that a step to the full limits of the chain would pull down on the wearer’s tender part. Some type of gag, it looked like a black ball, was in the mouth of each girl and connected around the head with a similar black strap that was buckled at the back of the head. The girls were chained from neck to neck forming a single line. Jen recognized her groom as the third girl in the coffle. What was going on? The coffle was led to the other pen in the central area, and the girls were left linked together even after being locked inside. Jen did not think any of them could have climbed out even if they were not connected together.

Within a minute or two a second coffle of females, also six in number, exited the doorway and were brought to the pen. They were chained the same as the prior group. Something was happening. To Jen’s surprise there was then a third group. This group was made up of young men. They all seemed fit and most were attractive, even with their faces somewhat contorted with a similar gag to that worn by the girls. Jen would have accepted a date with almost any of them. They were accompanied by two overseers. The male slaves were also naked and had collars and waist belts. The collar and belt were a bit more substantial than those worn by the women. Their wrists, also adorned with metal cuffs were locked to the belt behind their back. Their ankles were also chained with about a foot of length, the center of the chain also had another chain extending upward – a more substantial chain than worn by the girls. This chain ended at the testicles where it connected to a metal band about an inch wide circling the scrotum above the testicles, but below the penis. Jen also noticed that the arc of the leg chain was held quite a bit higher for the men. A step of more than two thirds of the chain length would pull down on their testicles already stretched by the chain and weight of the metal band. One overseer led the coffle while another walked next to them with a small quirt similar to a riding crop. Every now and then she would deliver a blow to the flank or rear of one of the men. Another difference is that there were only five men in this coffle. Both the prior groups each had six.

After the men were locked in the pen with the twelve female slaves the overseers walked back through the open door to the interior but did not close it behind them. In less than a minute they were back. This time they were rolling a flat trolley like the ones used at lawn and garden stores to accommodate potted purchases. Lying face down on the trolley was another male. Like the others his wrists were locked behind his back, but his legs were folded up and a wide leather belt kept them in that position. The chain between his ankle cuffs was also pulled up and appeared to be locked at the ring in the back of his belt where his wrists were locked. Jen could not see his face. His head was completely covered in a black leather hood. Jen could see wires extending from the bottom of the hood and disappearing under his chest as he lay on the trolley. He appeared to be holding very still and several grunts when the trolley bounced convinced Jen that he was wearing a silence hood of the type that had been described by the groom. She wondered what he had done to deserve such harsh treatment. As they rolled him up to the edge of the pen holding the other slaves Jen could see the mixture of curiosity and fear in the other slaves. They would look at him furtively and quickly turning away as if seeing something forbidden. The trolley was left outside the pen, a short distance from the gate. The additional security of the pen was not really necessary.

Jen’s trainer had returned. She patted Jen affectionately on the flank, released her from the sulky, and led her over to the pen where Abby had been taken. She was left inside the pen without being hobbled. Abby looked at her and then turned away. Jen hoped she was not angry with her. They were very quickly joined by the last pony team. They also were not hobbled. There seemed to be a class structure among ponies. The favored and the not favored. Jen had moved up, but Abby had not. What did that mean for them as a team? Jen had been trained as an individual today. She didn’t know why, but the thought of being separated from Abby, from her team was frightening. Abby needed to step up her game. She couldn’t let the team be separated. - - - Oh God, this place was getting in her head. What they needed to do was get the hell out of here. She looked over the top of her pen toward the pen containing the others, the slaves. What was happening? She and the groom had a plan for tonight. Would they still be able to execute it?

Jen heard a deep metallic clanking sound to the right of the pen. It was near the direction of the door she assumed went outside. And, in confirmation, light was starting to stream in. They were rolling up one of the metal overhead doors. So much for her plan, they were leaving this place.

One of the trainers entered the pen. While another held the door the first clipped a line first to Abby’s collar then to the collar of one of the underperforming ponies, then a line from that pony’s collar to the other underperforming pony. Another line was connected to the front of that pony’s collar and the trainer started leading the three ponies out of the pen. All three were still hobbled with the short pony hobble. This length hobble was really not designed for walking so they stumbled and shuffled behind the trainer. For the moment Jen was happy to not be in that string of ponies and more so, to not be hobbled, but the fact that she and Abby had been separated raised her anxiety about the future. There was something about having Abby nearby that had helped Jen feel a little better in some of the dark moments. She wondered if that would happen again. Jen could only pray that they would not be separated.

Jen’s angle on the now open door was not sufficient to see where the ponies were taken after they left the building. It appeared as if they were going straight, but up to where her view was blocked by the sides of the door Jen saw what looked like asphalt parking area, then concrete and pillars and then the ocean. She thought the concrete area was a pier; she thought there had been a ship there when they arrived, a freighter, but she had not paid attention and she could not remember any detail of how it looked. She could not see it now – if it was even there.

The male slave hogtied and held in the silence hood was rolled out the door followed one by one with coffles of the other slaves. As the last of the slaves from the other pen were being removed a trainer returned to Jen’s pen. She clipped the remaining three ponies together by their collars to form a string. Jen was in the center between her two opponents. They did not seem happy about being separated. Jen would have gladly traded places, but unlike event seating she had no choice but to be where they put her. The middle was also a lousy place to be. If the pony ahead sped up you got jerked from in front. If the pony behind was slow you got pulled back. Yes, she would happily have traded places with either of them. They were led from the pen.

When they cleared the door Jen could see where they were going. It was a ship, an old style freighter that was more than just a flat deck upon which to stack containers. The hull was dark red trimmed in black but white at the rail. The superstructure was the color of grey that white paint becomes after years of exposure to the elements. It looked to be the length of just over a football field, maybe 350 feet. The front half deck of the vessel appeared flat except for a crane with two arms that reached up from a point midway between the superstructure and the forecastle. One of these cranes was lifting containers (the smaller type, not the type that turn into container trucks) up from the dock and lowering them into what must be the hold. The superstructure rose at midpoint in the ship to a height of four decks, the top clearly being the bridge. A single stack rose from about 40 feet behind the bridge. Behind the stack there was a deck with two lifeboats visible on this, the port side which was the side in view. That deck then extended almost all the way to the aft of the ship where it ended leaving just 20-30 feet from the aft where it then stepped down to the next deck which ran to where the aft gently curved to the sea. The two rear decks looked like great places to relax on the ocean and enjoy the night sky. Jen doubted she would be enjoying that experience.

But what most caught her eye were the lifeboats. Maybe there was a way off the boat. How difficult was it to lower a lifeboat into the water? For safety reasons there had to be a way to do it right from the lifeboat station. Did the ship have to be stopped? Maybe not. Maybe a new plan could be hatched around the boats as a means of escape. She would still have to free her arms – and of course escape from wherever they held her, but maybe her groom would still be game.

There was a gang plank from the dock just forward of the superstructure. One of the coffles of slaves was in the process of climbing toward the main deck. Several others were held by their overseers at the base of the plank waiting their turn. Jen looked around wildly. If someone saw this scene they would certainly be concerned and call the harbor police to investigate. There must also be dock officials that would check the manifest and cargo before they were allowed to sail. She wondered how they would be listed on the manifest. Passengers or livestock, perhaps they would not even be listed. Jen looked around to see if anyone could see them. They were masked from the harbor by the ship itself. The building they had left masked the view from inland and warehouses seemed to obscure most of the view up and down the dock. Jen could see a sailboat perhaps a half mile from the bow of their ship, but she could barely make out forms on board. No person on the sailboat would be able to see that bound human cargo was being loaded into this ship. Jen gave a thought to calling out, but with the bit in her mouth and trainers standing only a few feet away that seemed like a good way to lose status, gain punishment stripes, while achieving no real chance of rescue. She watched the sailboat tack away from them until it finally disappeared beyond the view allowed by the bow of their ship.

There was a tug at Jen’s collar. The first pony in the string had started to move and it was her turn to respond. She followed and the third pony sensing the movement fell into line without a jerk on the line that joined her to Jen. The gang plank was not too steep, but it must have been a challenge for the slaves and other ponies negotiating the climb with hobbled ankles. It was nice for the moment to be in a more elite group. As they moved onto the fore deck and toward a set of double doors in the middle front of the superstructure she said to herself: “Presidential Suite please.” She chuckled. Boy would she like a bed, even a cot. “Not likely. How on earth does livestock travel on water anyway?” As they reached the doors she could see a ramp that headed down to below the first deck. As they reached the end of the ramp another ramp continued down to the next deck. They passed a passageway that opened to the left and right onto the first lower deck, but half doors were closed channeling all traffic on the ramp onward toward the next lower deck. From the looks and smell they were not the first livestock to have made this trip. She pictured real horses being led down to what she was now sure would be a livestock holding area below. She could not see what had happened to the slave coffle ahead, including her groom. Were they also down on this level?

At the bottom of the second ramp two doors opened into what was clearly the livestock area. It felt like the ship’ hull must be curving in at this point. She had estimated the beam of the ship as about 50 feet when they entered the deck above. The area they were in now seemed closer to 40-45 feet across. Maybe there was a double hull. She did not like the idea of being below the water line. Most of her friends had seen the movie Titanic as a romance, for Jen it was Jaws revisited. She did not like water. Her parents had forced her to sail, so she had learned all the terms and all the things to do, but she did not like it. She already knew she was not going to like this. And she knew ships were slow. This was one of those combination cargo passenger ships. It could do maybe 15 knots (about 17 miles an hour) in good seas, slower if they hit storms. She didn’t want to think about storms.

The horse stalls were to starboard and aft. Three stalls, each about 5 feet wide and 8 – 9 feet long faced forward from the aft bulkhead. There was a space of 6 feet and then three more stalls faced aft opposite the other three stalls. This configuration repeated itself with another six stalls as you moved forward on the starboard side. Each stall was made of metal that was solid on all three walls to a height of about 8 feet. From there to the ceiling another four feet all of the interior walls were topped by iron bars set about six inches apart. This was designed for air circulation. Each stall had a gate with a height of about five feet. The inside walls of the stalls were padded, obviously to provide some protection to livestock in rough seas. Water and food troughs were built into the wall next to the gate for water and into the gate itself for food. They could be serviced without opening the stall door. The opening at the end of each bank of stalls also had an iron gate. This gate had a height of 8 feet. It was made of iron bars and could be closed and locked from the outside. Above the gate was a grill of more bars. The six stalls in each bank were like prison cells when the outer door was closed and locked.

To port there were a series of pens that extended about 16 feet from the port bulkhead. The walls of the pens were three feet high but wire mesh extended up from the top of the pen to the ceiling. Jen knew from the smell when they entered the livestock area, but now she could see. There were sheep in both pens. Well, the ship had to use its capacity. It was a bit short because there were only six ponies and they had room for up to twelve. She wondered if any four footed equine occupants might join them before they left. She sort of hoped not, the smell of the sheep was enough. Add in a rough sea and this could be a very miserable trip. There was an air exchange system build into the aft bulkhead between the horse stalls and the sheep pens. It sucked air from the livestock area and vented it out to the rear of the ship. She did not see where the fresh air came in, but hoped there was something. They were two decks down, clearly below the water line. The only thing below them would be the engines. That was likely to make this area pretty damn hot when the engines were running. It was also going to be very noisy. Not exactly the Presidential Suite.

Jen could hear movement in the three stalls against the aft bulkhead and she was relieved when she and the other ponies with her were installed in the three facing stalls. In keeping with her position in the string she was placed in the middle stall. This meant that the top of her stall was open to all four sides (except for the iron bars, of course). Once placed in the stall the end of the line from her collar was attached to a ring near the gate. It was about six feet long so she could navigate most of her stall, all but about the last two feet at the back. Her bridle and bit were removed and as before hung from a hook on the wall of the stall near the gate. As the trainers finished securing their steeds they closed and latched the gates and finally exited the stall area closing and locking the outside gate. She was locked in the bowels of a ship destined for some unknown location to serve as a pony girl. She wondered which stall contained Abby. She wondered where her groom was. Would the grooms be released to take care of the ponies? If not, who? The escape plan for the evening was a bust, but maybe there was a chance before the ship left. Once at sea it would be very difficult. How long did they have?

There was water in the water trough, but no food. It looked like there was an automatic valve that kept the water at a level of about one third full, consistent with allowing for the rolling and pitching of the ship. This was fine for four hoof varieties with their long noses, but proved a challenge for the two footed variety. Jen had to turn her head sidewise and then lower it down into the trough. But almost as soon as she drank the water would be replaced. It was warm and smelled of oil and metal. But she drank anyway. It was wet and refreshing, but tasted metallic with a slight rusty taste. She did not know where they were going, but she assumed they would be on this ship for a long time.

There was no port hole down here. So there was no light from outside from which to gauge the time. Jen figured it had been about noon when they boarded. At least three or four hours had gone by since she had been secured in her stall, but she was learning that time in confinement is almost impossible to keep track of. Without an outside reference you can only rely upon the routine of those who provide for you. On the ship there was not yet a routine so there was nothing to use as a standard. Jen was one of those people who are very time conscious. She would usually even check her watch during a movie – even the ones she liked. It was almost a compulsion. As far as she knew her watch was still in the locker back in the building they had left. It was unlikely she would ever see her watch again. And unless she could get out of here she may never have need for a watch again. Now, she only went where she was directed to go at the time she was directed to go there. She had certainly learned that in her few days of training. Had it only been a few days of training? It certainly seemed like a lot longer. She did not know how long the ponies on either side of her had trained, but she was sure it was quite a bit longer. She was catching up, but they had a polish she still lacked. Most frightening was that they had an acceptance, almost an enjoyment, of their role as a pony. That would never be Jen. Escape was still her number one priority and the only way this story could end.

Escape would not come now. The ponies remained tethered and locked in their stable for what seemed a very long time. Jen figured it must be getting dark, but with no view to the outside she could not tell. Even the exhaust fan did not seem to open directly to the outside. It must have to vent upward for a distance due to their deck’s low position in the ship. Then Jen heard a rumbling and the floor started to vibrate. The engines had come on and were slowly turning. The ship did not seem to be moving so they must still be at the dock, but departure now seemed eminent. Jen wondered: “Where they were going; how long would it take; and what would be waiting for them when they got there?”

It was about another hour when the pitch of the engines below started to increase and the ship started to move forward. Jen knew it would travel slowly until it put the harbor area behind it and entered one of the shipping lanes, but which one? The destination was supposed to be some sort of resort so north seemed unlikely. West toward Hawaii or other pacific islands or south toward Mexico made more sense, but as long as she was locked up below she would have no idea. As the ship moved slowly out to sea Jen and the other ponies remained where they were. It is probable that all of the human cargo would be kept secure until the ship was well at sea and fully underway. Jen correctly guessed that it would be a couple of hours.

Jen was not sure where Abby was, but she was certainly in one of the stalls across from her. Standing with her head at the top of her stall gate she spoke in a loud whisper. “Abby, are you there?”

“I am here Jen.” Came the voice from what seemed to be directly across. Jen looked to the stall across from her to make out the head of her roommate that had appeared at the gate. Jen was happy to see her and smiled in spite of their mutual difficulties.

“You thought maybe she would be at the Captain’s table.” The voice followed by a laugh came from Jen’s right. There was a corresponding laugh from her left.

Jen had had it with those two. “I am sorry, but I don’t get it. You two prance around like this is a picnic parade and after the award for best costume is given out, to you of course, we will all be going home. Unless I am very mistaken you came here like us thinking this was a job. We would pretend to be ponies during the day like characters in any theme park, and after work – like NOW – we would be in the bar drinking or in our dorms partying.”

“Don’t get your tail in a twist.” Came the answer, again from her right. They have had us for two weeks. That is long enough to go through disbelief, then hope, then despair, and finally acceptance. Look around. Can you use your hands . . . or even your arms? NO. Can you even get out of your stall? NO. If you could get out of your stall could you get past the locked gate over there? NO. If you resist and fight them it can be very unpleasant. Have you ever been caned? It is not like some sorority paddling. They strap you over a bar so the flesh on your thighs and buttocks is pulled tight. Then they take their time, waiting with each stroke for the impact of the stroke delivered to be fully appreciated and the dread and anticipation of the next stroke to build. I cried. Then I begged. Finally I just yelled: ‘Do it God damn it, just do it.’ That only got me an extra stroke. So, since you can’t get away and you can’t change your condition, you might as well accept it.”

“It is not so bad being a pony.” It was the voice from the left. “The poor grooms have to get up at the crack of dawn. They have to care, clean and water us. They even have to brush our teeth. They have to clean our tack and our stalls. They have other duties during the day when we are training, cleaning up after all of the other staff. And they don’t get to their cells until after they have made sure that we are properly cared for. We are valued and prized. They are punished for the slightest infraction. Others are pleasure slaves. They are sold or assigned to a mistress or master and have to do everything for them even anticipating their slightest whim or desire. We at least have our pride and some individuality. We are not supposed to be able to talk, but I always believed horses could talk if they wanted to, they just didn’t find people worthy conversationalists.” She giggled. “I have always loved horses, so I really don’t mind being one. And . . . I am really good at it. Our team is fast. There are races at the resort. My trainer thinks we can be champions. I have heard her talking to the other trainers about it. You can stand by and watch us in the winner’s circle.”

”You can’t give up. We have to try to escape.” Jen was frustrated with their acceptance of the situation.

“Well, you do as you do and let us know just how it works for you.” It was the pony on the right again.

“Maybe they are right.” It was Abby.

“I don’t want to be a pony . . . or a slave. I want to go home.” It was a sobbing voice from across and to the right of Jen. The words stopped, but the sobbing continued unabated.

There was a noise in the room outside the stable area and all the ponies went quiet. Jen stared over the top of her gate. A trainer unlocked the stable area and the grooms entered, each carrying their cleaning buckets.

“It’s about time.” Said the pony on Jen’s left in a voice probably too low for the trainer or grooms to hear, or if heard understood.

“What a piece of work.” Jen thought.

Under the watchful eyes of the trainer the grooms performed their functions cleaning their charges. They removed their boots and massaged their legs. Then filled up the feeding trough from sacks they obtained from the outer area. The feed had not changed. The pony to Jen’s right may enjoy being a pony, and Jen had to admit it had its moments, but the food was clearly not one of them. She enjoyed many different cuisines; horse stable was not one of them.

When the grooms had finished and left them the lights in the room were turned down, but not off. For some reason the conversation among the ponies did not start up again and the only sounds were occasional movement from one of the stalls and an occasional bah of the sheep who shared the livestock area. Jen tried to find a comfortable position and sleep. She was very tired. Plans for escape would have to wait until tomorrow.

It looked like there would be a routine. If she could trust it she could mark days. The grooms were there to wake them and prepare them. Jen wanted to talk to her groom, but all of the grooms were there and the quarters were very close. When Jen started to say something the groom shot her a quick panicky look. She did not finish and stayed quiet. Maybe there would be a chance later. Jen doubted much in the way of training could happen in the confines of the ship, but she also doubted the trainers would want them to go without any exercise. This was likely to be a long journey.

Every morning the ponies would be wiped down with moist cloths; any remnants of their toilet activity cleaned; their bodies were oiled; their hair was undone, brushed, and carefully put back into a pony tail; their teeth were cleaned; their body rings and harness straps and buckles were cleaned and polished; and their boots, bridle and bit were once again fastened to their heads. Their hooves with metal shoes on the bottom were covered with a rubber sack that held tightly to the hooves with elastic and provided better traction on the metal floors of the ship. The entire process took a couple of hours. They were ready for inspection, training or even a show. Each day there would be an inspection. The ponies were taken from their stalls and lined up in the hallway across from the sheep pens. One or more trainers would then carefully examine each of them making marks on a clipboard as the grooms stood nervously behind. Occasionally a groom would be brought forward and shown some defect in their work. This always evoked fearful, even sobbing manifestations of sorrow and intent to do better.

After inspection the ponies were connected together either in teams of two or strings of three. They were then led up the ramps to the forward deck of the ship. This area was about 150 feet long and 45 - 50 feet wide. In the center was the crane shaft, its two arms positioned parallel to the deck and in line with the length of the ship. Fore and aft of the crane were two hatch covers. They were quite large and sealed closed against the sea and weather. On the forward port and starboard sides a solid rail extended up about four feet, it was open for about six inches at the bottom to let water rushing over the deck out. The last 30 feet of rail on each side was open bars. The prow was raised and had a small foredeck set about 8 feet above the deck they were on. Near vertical stair/ladders accessed it on either side.

For at least two hours every day the ponies would be walked around the exterior of the deck. Emphasis would be on form and leg height. Normally one trainer would lead a string while another trainer with a riding crop would walk along side and make corrections. Much of the time this forward deck rose and fell with its travel across the waves and occasionally pitched to one side or the other. Ocean spray often splashed over the side rails further distracting them from their task. It was much more difficult to maintain a proper position and step under these conditions, but a snap of the riding crop expressed that no special consideration was given for this challenge.

Jen wondered where they were. When they were on deck she tried to look around for clues. The sun was high in the sky but seemed to be slightly off the port side, but what did that really mean? She didn’t know what time it was, but that could mean they were heading south. She occasionally saw gulls and other birds. Bird populations would be higher if they were closer to shore and not in the middle of the ocean – at least she thought that was right, couldn’t exactly Google an answer. But if that were right then they were probable heading south. South made a lot of sense. She tried to search the horizon looking for land. She saw nothing, although she did think the cloud formations were heavier to port. Occasionally she would see another ship, usually large container or tanker ships but they never passed very close. A destination in Mexico seemed a lot more likely. That would be a good place for a resort, even a secret resort.

Jen had not forgotten her planning to escape. It made a big difference if they were heading south or in the middle of the ocean. If she could get her arms loose; if she could get out of the stable; if she could get to a boat and get it into the water, she could head east. If they were on a southern course the coast of Mexico would be within reach. If they were in the middle of the ocean – she didn’t want to think about that. She looked around for lifeboats. She could see none. It appeared they were on the passenger deck which was out of view from here. She did not know how to get to the passenger deck. She had only seen this work deck and the passage to the livestock area below. Counting up four decks on the superstructure, including the bridge, from the livestock area she would need to go up five decks to get to the boats. But she was willing to give it a try. But first she needed to get her groom’s courage and determination back up. She needed her groom to free her from the arm restraints. Jen had tried every means of twisting, pulling, rubbing and manipulation that the wearer could undertake. The device was well engineered. Jen was convinced that no occupant could free themselves.

Her biggest immediate problem, however, was how closely they were all being watched. There seemed to be no opportunity when the grooms were not being watched by at least one trainer standing so close that Jen and the groom dare not talk. And once the grooms were finished and left the stable area the trainer closed and locked the iron door. Even if Jen’s groom freed her arms she would still be locked in.

Four days out they hit a storm. Jen could feel the pitching and shifting of the ship even before the grooms appeared for the morning preparation. Jen assumed that they would stay below, but they did not. In strings of three the ponies were each given one side of the deck. A safety line ran from the bulkhead they exited to the bulkhead of the foredeck at the bow. Each pony was attached to the line with a short line and a snap hook. As Jen came out on deck she observed the bow of the ship rising and falling, it looked like an amusement park ride. It was very difficult to move up the pitching deck and every time the bow dropped they were splashed with water. After several times up and down the line and as Jen neared the bow a huge wave washed across the bow and smashed into them. Jen and the two ponies tethered to her were immediately washed off their feet. Without arms the ponies could not grab on to anything to keep from being washed into the sea, only the safety line held them as they were washed into a pile near the bulkhead of the superstructure. Jen was gasping from a combination of inhaled water and sheer terror. As the trainers got them back to their feet she assumed they would now be taken below. They were not. They stayed on deck moving up and down the safety line on their side of the deck until the trainers determined they had had enough exercise. Jen learned how to anticipate when a wave would wash across the deck and how to lean forward to mitigate its impact. Still she was frequently knocked over by the power of the water. She was utterly exhausted when they were finally allowed to leave the deck and return to the relative comfort of their stalls two decks below.

Normally when the ponies went on deck the grooms first cleaned out the stalls and then cleaned and cared for the sheep. After the ponies were returned from their exercise the grooms would make any corrections to their gear and appearance, attach their reins to the side walls, lock them in their stalls, and go off to do whatever else they were required to do. The grooms would not reappear until time for the evening rituals of grooming and feeding. This meant that for the rest of the day the ponies would just stand in their stalls and wait. With the shortened reins they could not even sit. It angered Jen that they were required to just stand and to wear the bridle and bit throughout the day. They would talk a little in the evening after they had been cleaned, fed, watered and prepared for evening rest, but Jen had long ago stopped trying to talk with the bit in her mouth. Not only was it almost impossible to understand what she was saying she found the very effort dehumanizing.

The storm lasted for only two days. On the next day, their sixth at sea, there was a change in the routine. The deck exercise seemed to go on for a bit longer than before, but when they were returned to their stalls they were not cleaned and prepped like normal. Instead they were put through the routine for evening rest; washing, massaging, oiling, and even feeding. This was very strange; it could not be much past the middle of the day.

After the grooms had left and the ponies were all safely locked in their stable Jen noticed a change in the engines below them. They were slowing. It felt like they were coming into a harbor. Had they reached their destination? If they had gone south as Jen suspected they should be someplace in southern Mexico. That did make sense. But if this was their destination why had the grooms prepared them for rest, even removing their boots? Whatever was happening, it was unlikely that they would be off-loaded today.

It was infuriating being locked below with no view to the outside, no information on what was happening, and only speculation as to what was next. Jen was a planner. She had never been a take it as it comes sort of person. If she had an appointment she was always there on time, or even a few minutes ahead of time. She would worry about being late so much that if she had to drive across town she might leave early and then have coffee near her destination. She was use to having full control of her life, granted her school schedule dictated where she had to be, but that was by her choice. And, although she never did, if she wanted to skip a class she could, that was her choice. As a pony not only was she not consulted about what was to be done to her, she was not even told in advance.

They were definitely docking. Jen even heard boat whistles. Eventually the engines slowed even more and then came to a stop. Jen had not realized just how loud the engine sounds were. At first it was as if they were in a vacuum with no sound at all, then sounds started to return. Jen heard the water against the hull; then she heard the sheep moving and bleating; then for once it was not Jen who opened the conversation among the ponies. “Do you think this is the resort?” The voice came from across and to the left.

“I don’t know.” Answered Jen. “It seems like we have been prepared for a stay below, not for leaving the ship, so maybe not.”

“Where are we? Why are we here then?” The anxiety of the speaker was betrayed by a quiver in the voice.

“Based upon the time at sea I would guess we are in Mexico; it could be Hawaii, but I don’t think we could get there this fast.” Jen shared what she had been thinking. “Also, listen!” Jen added after a brief pause. “Hear all those sounds. Other ships moving, truck sounds, just general noises. This has to be a pretty busy port area. Not exactly the place for a resort staffed with slaves or even a place to unload strings of slaves – not even in Mexico. I am guessing that we will stay safely locked up down here, and the other slaves including our grooms will be kept secure until we are once again safely out to sea. I don’t think this is the place.”

“What are we here for then?”

“Probably to pick up something or someone. Since they are not in the habit of sharing with us, we may never know. If only we could be discovered down here. What does it sound like if you kick the hull?”

“I’ll try.” Came a voice from across and next to the port side. There was a dull thudding sound.

“I could barely hear that over here.” Came the voice from Jen’s right.

“The walls are all padded, I guess to protect us from injury, but it completely deadens any sound. I really kicked it hard.”

“So much for that great escape plan. Any more wonderful ideas?” It was again the pony to Jen’s right.

She was really getting to her wits end with these two would be purebreds. They could ‘drink the cool aid’ if they so choose, but she would not. Jen did not intent to live the rest of her life as a horse. Jen retreated to the back of her stall and flopped down on the floor. Once again she tried to go over her options. What options? Unless something presented itself there would be no escape from the ship. Only the trainers had the key to the stable area so even if her groom could help her out of her arm binder she would still be trapped. Every time they left the stable they were tethered together in a string of ponies and watched by several trainers. She couldn’t even talk to her groom because the space was too confined and there was always a trainer nearby.

They must have been in port for longer than 24 hours because two trainers came and refilled their food troughs. They took no notice or made any attempt at any of the other care that the ponies had come to expect from their grooms. Jen’s mouth felt gritty. She was sure her teeth must have a cover of fuzz. Her hair felt matted and tangled. Her stall smelled from where she had urinated – thank heavens that is all it was, but she could tell from the smell that some other ponies had not so confined their toilet function. Jen’s entire body was grimy with sweat and dust. It was hot in the stable, and even though the exhaust fan continued to run Jen was dripping sweat. The stall had not been cleaned and the stupid sheep stirred up dust, so if she sat or lay down she ended up with a coat of dust on her sweat covered body. It all dried to a dirty crust only to be interrupted by rivulets of more sweat. She was sure the inside of the arm pouch must be filling up with her sweat.

She had never been left in this condition before. Her body was supposed to be cleaned at least twice a day, sometimes it was cleaned three. Her hair was brushed every day, usually several times a day. Her legs, thighs and feet were supposed to be massaged every evening. She had had a cramp in her lower leg and had hobbled around the inside of her stall trying to walk it off. Her body was supposed to be oiled. Her skin, which had started to look smooth and rich, was crusted with filth, for God sake. This was certainly no way to treat a future champion. She kicked her gate, stomped her foot, and petulantly sat down in the opposite corner from the one she had decided to use for her sanitary needs.

After what had seemed like forever Jen heard the sound of the metallic clanking of engines. Finally, they were getting underway. “What day of the week was it?” She wondered. She and Abby had traveled on a Monday. They had been held at the warehouse for four days – or was it five? It had taken about a week to get here. They had been in port for probably a day and a half although it certainly seemed like much more. She had been gone 12 or 13 days, maybe even two weeks. It must be the weekend. Her friends must have wondered where she was last weekend. They should really be wondering now that she was not in touch for another weekend. They may have thought she went home. She had talked to several about doing that, but, they would have expected her to at least text. Her phone was probably filled with messages and texts. Her phone that she had last seen in a locker in California almost two weeks ago. Her phone that she would never see again. Ponies didn’t have phones. Ponies didn’t text or call their friends. The only way she would see any of her friends again was if one of them ended up as a guest at the resort. . . .

Jen was hitched to a single yoke sulky, but not the type used for racing. This sulky had a larger more comfortable seat that could easily hold two passengers. Her leather harness gleamed in the bright sun. It was studded with jewels and the fixtures were of pure gold. Her body was the color of a perfectly cooked waffle, but far more delicious looking. Her white boots were perfectly polished all the way down to the black hoof portion, which also gleamed. Jen stood proudly next to the hitching post by a garden of flowers in front of a clearly five star hotel. Her sulky was approached by two young women. As they got closer Jen recognized Louise Broderick as one of them. She was dressed in white cotton shorts, a halter top and a fine expensive looking lace jacket. Her hair was done perfectly and she was wearing gold earrings, necklaces and bracelets. As always Louise looked classy. At her side was a small Asian girl wearing only a shear halter and panties. She wore golden cuffs at her neck, wrists, waist, and ankles. The wrist and ankle chains provided a great deal of movement, and Louise held a leash that terminated at the collar.

As they got next to the sulky Louise looked over at Jen. Jen shook her head back and forth and tried to say “Louise”. But it sounded more like grunting. Louise smiled and walked over to her. Jen could not turn to face her because she was hitched to the sulky. She turned her head as best she could to look at her old friend standing to her side.

“So this is what became of you.” Louise stroked her head and shoulder as she spoke. “We were all very curious when you just seemed to disappear. I really did think you would stay and finish college with us, but I can see that this must have some basic animal appeal. Louise gave her a slap on the butt and then climbed into the sulky. “Hurry up slave.” Louise pulled on the leash and the young slave clambered in next to her.

“No. Please help me.” Jen tried to say to Louise, but she could not even turn her head sufficiently to see her friend in the seat behind.

“Hurry up pony; we need to get to the track.” Jen felt the reins snap at her back.

She tried to look back and speak to her friend. Nothing intelligible came out.

“I said hurry up pony.” The buggy whip snapped painfully on Jen’s flank. She turned her head forward and started to pull the sulky.

Then her eyes opened. Dreaming! It had been a dream. Of course, she had been thinking about her friends and what they would think. She got back up, lowered her head into the trough, and drank some water. The ship wasn’t back to full speed but the whump whump from below told her that the props were turning and they were moving. It also seemed to Jen that the temperature in the livestock area was at least 15 degrees cooler when the ship was moving even though there was no opening to the outside that she could see.

Finally the grooms came. It took much longer than normal to wash them down, brush their hair, clean their leather and ready them for the day ahead. Jen had never been so happy to see her groom. When she was close to her she even gave her an affectionate nuzzle with her head and shoulder. Her groom looked her in the face, smiled and patted her head. Somehow it all felt right. With some impatient comments from the trainer the grooms hurried to finish their task. Today the outfit had an addition. A piece of reinforced leather was attached to the back of Jen’s waist strap. It curved slightly from her waist ending at her tailbone. In the end of this new addition was a beautiful tail, about two and a half feet long. It was clearly made of real hair and looked expensive. It had been died to the same brown as the hair on Jen’s head. Jen looked behind her as she attempted to flick it back and forth by shaking her rear. That would take practice.

It was a nice day on deck. The sea was smooth and the combination of moving around the deck and the warm sun on her skin felt marvelous. Jen filled her lungs greedily with the fresh air around her. Jen noticed that the sun was slightly to port, but more aft than before. Were they moving south west? Jen found that lifting her knees and prancing today felt wonderful. She felt beautiful. She was sad when the trainers finally signaled that it was time to leave the deck and return below. Even though they had been up there longer than normal Jen was still sorry to leave. She did not want to return to the fetid confines of her stall. She even resisted a bit outside the doors to the ramp, stopping rather than continue down, but the jerk of the led line pulled her forward and through the doors – out of the precious sun.

Once again they were spot cleaned and prepared. Jen resigned herself to standing in her stall facing the gate for the rest of the day. But very shortly her and Abby’s grooms and a trainer returned. She and Abby were brought out of their stalls. After a quick inspection and some directed adjustments by the grooms the trainer took their reins and led them from the livestock area. The grooms followed behind. They did not go up the ramp to the deck, the only parts of the ship they had seen thus far. Instead they were led through a series of corridors and up a series of steps until they exited a door onto another deck. Jen quickly determined that it was the deck that sat to the rear of the bridge above what must be the passenger cabins. At the far end there was a pool with deck chairs surrounding it. It was the deck with the lifeboats. Up close they were much larger than Jen had thought they would be. The deck was not uninhabited, there were a number of people relaxing on lounges and sunning themselves. They must have had some prior experience with this whole scene because they paid no attention to the new arrivals.

Near the bulkhead forward of the deck a buffet table had been set up. Jen had forgotten how much she missed the adventures of food. She had been eating her pony feed now for two weeks. She saw platters of ripe fruit, salads, soft looking rolls that smelled as if they had just left the oven, Shrimp on ice, and even a side of beef ready to be sliced for the diners. Jen wondered what she and Abbey were doing here. She was pretty sure it was not to enjoy the feast. Jen would have loved to have dived into the food. Even without her arms, even with the bit, she would figure out a way to get some of it. But she was being held by her reins and knew she was as close to the food as she was going to get.