Greetings friends!

I know it's been a long time since I've posted anthing to this site, but I've been hard at work on my website. (Which is already due for more updating!) Also, I've been working ont he new site for Frodo's journal which I had originalyl moved to livejournal. However, I wasn't happy with that move so the journal is now officially located at:

http://frodobaggins.mindsay.com (Click on the group photo above to go to the new journal site.)

The stories are continuing and while the postings are not quite up to the point where we left off here, some hve been revamped a bit, hopefully for the better and there are many more story lines in development.

Please stop by and visit me and post a comment on my wiki page while there. (And, if you have anything you might like to see in future stories, let us know. We like to hear your imput.)

Ever a your service,
Frodo

We followed the smell of sausages, and as we waited for the vendor to dispense three plump and juicy servings there came to my ears the unmistakable sound of a familiar lilting voice and the melodious strains of a harp. I excused myself from my companions and walked around the bole of a huge oak tree that sheltered the food cart. There, sitting with her back against the tree, complacently plucking her harp was Sparrow Singswell.

The lovely songstress was humming softly to herself as she tuned her instrument and at first she didn’t see me. Not wanting to disturb her, I was about to turn away when she glanced up.

"Master Frodo!" she said with a smile. "How are you this fine day?" she asked, as she continued to tune her harp.

"I am well, thank you. And yourself?"

"I’m enjoying the festivities."

"Are you playing today?"

"Not until after the races. This crowd is far too excited to focus on anything that is not of equine nature," she joked with a smile as she tuned the last note and gave the harp a stroke to admire her work. She put her harp aside and extended her hand so that I could help her up.

"Why, thank you, Frodo," she said, brushing off her skirt. "I’ve heard a rumor that you will be entering the race."

I nodded. "You heard correctly."

"Are you hoping to impress certain someones...?" she asked with a coy grin.

"I like a challenge." I answered evasively. I blushed under her intently knowing gaze.

"I do not envy your position, Frodo. But whatever comes to pass, I hope you do well today. I shall root for you. You are one of my star pupils after all."

Her remark reminded me of something. "How long will you be in town? I am in dire need of another lesson or two."

"I think I could make time for the Master of Bag End."

"We should schedule something. I want to make sure that when you come over I have tea and scones prepared. I know of your fondness for clotted cream," I added with a smile.

"Ever the Gentlehobbit," she said, innocently picking a leaf out of my hair.

We heard the sound of someone clearing her throat. We turned to see Bennie glaring in our direction.

"Good day, Miss Baggins," Sparrow said with charm.

"Hello Sparrow." Bennie replied coldly.

Sam came around the corner juggling the sausages. "Miss Bennie! Did you find ‘im?" he asked, not realizing I was there, I suppose.

Bennie took one of the sausages from Sam before she replied, "Yes, it seems that I have, along with your cousin, I do believe."

"Don’t let me detain you. I’d hate for your meal to get cold." Sparrow said tactfully.

"Perhaps you would care to join us?" I inquired.

After only the briefest of hesitations, she said, "Sadly, I have already eaten, and, I’m afraid, I have other matters to attend to. But thank you all the same."

"That’s a shame," Sam said. "But you are comin’ to dinner tonight aren't you, Sparrow?"

"I received your Father’s invitation and I am happy to say that I will be in attendance. Besides, I’m sure we have all sorts of cousinly gossip to catch up on. By the by, have you written anything lately?"

"No poems," he said, blushing.

"He’s been working on a gardening book." I chimed in.

"Sam, that’s wonderful!" she said, excitedly.

"It is," interrupted Bennie. "And I look forward to reading it, myself. But our food really is getting cold."

"I really must be going," Sparrow said as she picked up her harp to leave. "but good luck in the races to all of you."

"We sit have to set up a time for my lesson," I reminded her.

"You can stop tonight, Mr. Frodo," Sam said handing me a sausage. You’re welcome, too."

"I might just do that then."

"Then, I shall see you tonight!" Sparrow said, as she turned on her heels and disappeared into the crowd with her long hair trailing behind her.

I was aggrieved that Sparrow could not join us, and I more than suspected it was because of Bennie’s demeanor towards the songstress. "Really, Bennie," I chided. "There was no reason for the way you treated her! I was merely asking Sparrow if she and I could meet for another music lesson."

Bennie said nothing as she glanced to see which way Sparrow was headed, then, made sure we were walking in the opposite direction. Sam followed close behind.

I knew from experience that Bennie had no desire to enter the tea tent –where female hobbits had congregated to sit and to chat with each other (while, no doubt, awaiting their gentlehobbits return from a round at the Green Dragon’s tent). In fact, we were just about to change course to avoid it altogether when we heard a familiar voice call out.

"Verbena Baggins, come here this instant and help your Mother at once!"

It was definitely Bennie’s mother, for as soon as Bennie heard that voice, she rolled her eyes, and gritted her teeth before turning to face her Mother with a smile. All the while making sure I wouldn’t let go of her arm and escape into the crowd.

"Hello, Mother," she said with a sugary smile. "I see you’ve found the tea tent. I trust you find the tea to your liking?"

Lavender gave an slightly approving smile to her daughter and me before she pointed off to the side of the tent. "Your Father," she said somewhat annoyed, "found himself a drinking companion while at the Green Dragon. I need your assistance."

"Mother, really!" Bennie said. "I have to make sure everything is set and ready for the race. Father is quite capable of taking care of himself!"

She started to walk away, dragging me along with her.

Lavender stomped her foot. "Don’t you walk away from me, young lady! After all we’ve done to help you with this- this- pony race, and you leave ME to deal with YOUR Father?"

As Bennie and her Mother argued, Sam’s curiosity got the better of him at this point, and he went over to peek around the corner. Then he quickly trotted over to where we stood.

"Mister Frodo, you need to see this!" He grabbed me by the arm of my coat and before Bennie could say a thing, whisked me over to see what lay beyond.

‘Lay’ seemed to sum up the sight before me. There, sitting on the ground -- their backs propped against each other -- were Bodo and his drinking companion, Fastred Brandybuck. They were singing Bilbo’s drinking song at the top of their lungs, much to the amusement of the gathering crowd.

Even from where we stood I could tell they were very besotted. From the very looks of things, the only way we would move them would be by wheelbarrow.

I looked at Sam, who gave me a look in return. We shrugged our shoulders and walked over to the pair. "Good day, Bodo," I said, gently. "I gather you’ve been sampling in the ale tent?"

Bodo looked up at the sound of my voice. "Frodo lad! (HICCUP) I’ve not had that mush to drink. Why, me and, uhm, Fastred here, were jus’ shaying (HICK!) we n-need to make another toasht. Say, why-why don’ you join ush for a round? For good luck in the race, that is!"

Fastred turned his bleary eyes towards us, but I believe he was too drunk to recognize me or Sam. "Another drink! On the house! Or should I say, on the tent?!!"

With that, he struggled to stand up, causing Bodo to lay on his side upon the ground. I managed to grab Fastred by one arm and Sam, the other, before he fell over. Bennie and another hobbit managed to sit Bodo back up. All the while Lavender was giving her usual lecture to him regarding keeping up appearances.

We managed to have some lads fetch some wheelbarrows, who were instructed to make sure the occupants were resuscitated in plenty of time for the big race.

I regret that I am forced to post a message such as this. But recently this site has been on the receiving end of a tremendous amount of spam!  Suffice to say, if you spam, either via comments or tagboard, it will be deleted and the IP will be banned!

 

Here's wishing everyone a joyous Holiday season!

With warmest wishes,

Frodo

(We'll be back to the business of writing after the Holidays!  See you soon!)

The first thing that caught my eye as I drew near Bennie’s property were several tents of various gayly coloured materials and sizes located near the bottom of the pasture. I assumed these harbored the stores of food and drink. The largest of the tents was constructed of a sturdy, white cloth, atop which a large flag decorated with the image of an imposing, green scaled dragon fluttered in the breeze. A banner across the open front flap of the tent proclaimed in a carefully lettered script, "The Finest Ale and Beer, provided by The Green Dragon, Bywater."

I learned later that there had been something of a fierce competition amongst the local public houses as to which would be awarded the right to what is known as an "occasional license," an official, but temporary document allowing a publican to proffer his beverages off premises. Only one was to be sanctioned, on this occasion and as the official with the power to grant such a potentially lucrative permit, Mayor Will Whitfoot had found himself on the receiving end of many tempting offers, as just about every tavern from the Ivy Bush and the Green Dragon to the Golden Perch in Stock and the Floating Log of Frogmorton vied for the rights to occasional license. It was rumoured that the good mayor was now in possession of enough fine spirits to supply countless mayoral banquets for many seasons to come. (But that is another story in itself.)

I picked my way through small throngs of country folk who were trickling onto the property returning greetings here and there and as I passed the Green Dragon tent I caught sight of Sam’s Gaffer and several of his cronies leaning quite comfortably against some barrels of ale and porter that graced the entrance of the makeshift tavern. At the Gaffer’s, "Hullo!" I halted in my progress to the stables and enquired of him as to the whereabouts of Sam.

"Why, ‘e took himself off to the paddock, Mr. Frodo, about twenty minutes ago. But ‘e was wonderin’ when you’d be along."

I decided that it would probably be for the best if I, too, ‘took myself off’ to the paddock. So, I politely declined the invitation to join the Gaffer and company in the pleasures of the ale tent. I followed a well trodden path which showed evidence of its former use by the many imprints of hoofs worn into the packed soil. Of course, I knew that the path led to the barn and paddock and I was sure to find, without fail, Bennie. My instincts proved right. She was there, along with a couple of slightly flustered stableboys, among others, least of which included Sam.

"Where have you been?" The question came simultaneously from Sam and Bennie.

"It does take some time to walk form Bag End to Fanciful Farm, you know. I only just arrived."

"Well, you’re here now and that’s what matters." Bennie replied. There was a look in her eyes that bespoke her relief, as if she might have actually thought that I would toss off the race and relegate myself to the role of onlooker.

We were prevented by any further discussion of my tardiness by the arrival of Lotho. By now the normal colouring of his pock-marked face had returned and he seemed to have recovered his bravado as well. He made a great show of riding his spirited pony into the paddock area ending in a series of tight circles during which his mount bounced lightly on front hooves, accompanied by much grunting and snorting. (From the pony, not Lotho.) Then Lotho loudly requested the services of a stableboy or groom.

Bennie had watched this performance with evident distaste and now she remarked, "You should have brought along your own stable hand. My grooms are too busy with their own duites to attend to showoffs. But you can tether your pony over there." She finished with a curt nod in the direction of a neatly spaced hitching posts, which had recently been added for the benefit of the race participants.

Lotho seemed undisturbed by her comment, merely grinning coldly and doffing his cap to her, before giving his pony a swift kick in the side to urge him to the other end of the paddock.

"That Lotho’s got some eye catchin’ piece o’ ‘orseflesh." Sam worried outloud as he watched the pony in question paw and toss its head.

"Not to worry." Bennie replied. "I know that bloodline, all show and no substance."

Turning my eyes from the flashy steed, I said, "I wonder where Fastred is? I expect he’ll be arriving at any minute."

"Most likely ‘e’s stopped off at the ale tent." Sam surmised.

"Well," I said with a sigh, " I suppose I should look in on Patch."

"Patch is fine. Sam gave him a good grooming early this morning." Said Bennie.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "How long have you been here, Sam?"

"Oh, ‘bout two or three hours, Oi guess. Oi just wanted to be sure that everything was in order."

"Meaning...he knows how you like to sleep late." Bennie cut in with a laugh.

"Well, Sam I do appreciate it, but you really needn’t have. Besides, I thought you planned on riding , too. Don’t you have enough to do?" I knew that he had intended to ride the mare that his Gaffer had purchased from Bennie some time back.

Sam shrugged. "Weren’t no trouble, and to tell the truth, Oi’m not so sure I’ll be racin’ today. Gingersnap seems to ‘ave other ideas, and she let me know on the way over here." He finished, absently putting a hand to his backside.

It wasn’t long before there was quite a gathering in the paddock area. Entrants seemed to be arriving by the minute, among them my cousins, Merry and Pippin. Falco Boffin was not far behind. I looked around the paddock searching for some sign of Mundee, but as yet, I hadn’t seen her. Some part of me hoped that she had come to her senses and given up her foolish plan to ride. I was positive the girl had no idea of how dangerous this race might really turn out. There was also no sign of Fastred, either. I had to agree with Sam’s theory. Fastred would rather spend time in the pub than in the saddle.

"Come on," Bennie said, taking my arm. "There’s still plenty of time before the race. We have practically the whole afternoon and some of the other games will be starting soon. Let’s grab an ale, a bite to eat and a good seat."

Merry and Pippin decided to hang back at the paddock for a bit and wait for another cousin, Braedon Took who was also entered in the race. As yet, Braedon hadn’t shown up, but Merry and Pip were only inclined to wait so long. The tempting aromas from the various food carts that mingled and wafted in the air was beginning to make Merry’s stomach growl. And Pippin, it seemed, happened to be entered in one of the first events of the day, a foot race that employed a skillful combination of hopping on one foot, stepping though a series of cart wheels laid upon the ground, then finishing with a grand leap over a raised pole. The event was listed as the "Hop, Step and Leap," however, most of the more rustic gentry referred to it, the ‘Hop, Step and Lep.’

I can’t say that Bennie seemed sorry that my two lively cousins wouldn’t be joining us at the moment. However, Sam stepped in and took their place and though she tried not to let on, it was obvious that being bird-dogged by Sam was not exactly her idea of a good time. As we left the paddock in the hands of the harried stable boys, I pondered breifly on the absence of her parents. But I soon learned that Lavender was in the tea tent, which meant that Bodo was most likely in the Green Dragon tent. I wondered if he was keeping company with Fastred...

We followed the smell of sausages and as we waited for the vendor to dispense three plump and juicy servings there came to my ears the unmistakable sound of a familiar lilting voice and the melodious strains of a harp. I excused myself from my companions and walked around the bole of a huge oak tree that sheltered the food cart. There, sitting with her back against the tree, complacently plucking her harp was Sparrow Singswell. The lovely songstress was humming softly to herself as she tuned her instrument and at first she didn’t see me.

The much anticipated day of the race opened with a few dingy, grey clouds that had fortunately scattered and given way to a bright, cheery day by the time I pulled on my clothes. I hurriedly finished my breakfast with the intention of arriving at Bennie’s farm in plenty of time to make sure that both myself and Patch were in good racing form.

Even though the day’s activities weren’t scheduled to start until around noon, as I made my way along the road to Fanciful Farm I soon found myself in the company of a good many others, some of whom were also bent upon entering the race with the apparently the same intentions as my own of arriving ahead of schedule. I supposed some were to be contestants in other games of skill, while the rest Merely wanted to make sure that they secured an advantageous spot from which to view the events. I saw no sign of any of my close friends, a few of which had also expressed their intent to enter the grand race and I began to wonder if they had already made it to the fields ahead of me. Perhaps I hadn’t been as precipitant as I had at first thought.

As I searched my fellow race goers for some sign of one of my comrades, I became aware almost an instant too late of the clattering of loud hoofs approaching me from behind at an alarmingly rapid pace. I barely had time to throw a swift look over my shoulder and spring out of the way as Fastred Brandybuck reined his pony into a skidding halt. I was on the verge of giving the reckless braggart a piece of my mind, when, to my left, came a familiar voice.

"Good show, Frodo! Fortunate for you that you can move so quickly. Now let’s hope that your pony is as quick."

I turned my head just in time to glimpse my cousin, Lotho Sackville-Baggins trot up on an immaculately groomed, and rather spirited looking, bay pony. Trotting behind Lotho, loyal as a puppy, ponyless and puffing for breath, came Ted Sandyman.

"By the way, where is your pony? You are riding today, aren’t you?" Fastred questioned without so much as even a hint at an apology at almost having run me down.

"Maybe ‘e couldn’t find a pony that’s stand up to the likes of yours." Ted mused with a smug grin as he nodded towards Lotho’s mount.

A self-satisfied smirk played about the corners of Lotho’s mouth. "Or, perhaps Cousin Frodo has had second thoughts about racing."

I briefly considered letting the three of them think that I had actually withdrawn from the race. Now, I don’t consider myself a vain or overly proud person, yet, I do have a measure of pride, and a slight irritation had begun to gnaw at me. Suddenly I couldn’t stand the thought of any one of them thinking for even one minute that I was afraid. An inner voice rationalized that I needn’t prove a thing to anyone, but that same modicum of pride that couldn’t stand bring branded a coward, and that had led me to agree to race in the first place, argued, "Yes, you do."

After battling with myself for half a minute, I replied cheefully, "Second thoughts? Whatever for? I enjoy a good gallop and I hear the course is to be quite challenging, with more than a few high jumps, high enough, I’m told to give even the bravest rider pause. But then, that’s like Bennie, to lay that sort of course. You know how fond she is of riding at breakneck speed across the countryside."

When I finished speaking I couldn’t help but notice that Fastred was squirming uncomfortably in his saddle and Lotho’s face had taken on a rather sickly, greenish hue.

"Good day, chaps. I’ll see you at the starting line." With that, I shoved my hands into my pockets and went on my way, leaving my fellow competitors with their thoughts.

As I walked into Bag End, Sam handed me an invitation from Mundee to join her tonight for supper. It made me a bit nervous as she usually delivered her invitations to me personally, and I wondered if this sudden invite had to do with her hearing of my entering the race or if she had learned I had seen Bennie. Perhaps it was both. One can never be too sure about what was going on in my lovely cousin's mind. Nevertheless, I wasn’t keen on volunteering the information that I had already dined at Bennie’s farm. At any rate, I supposed that I could do with another meal.

I didn't even get to ring the bell before the door flew open and Mundee flung herself into my arms. "Oh, Frodo," she said happily. "I am so happy that you could come tonight! I have so much to tell you!"

With that she took me by the hand and pulled me inside. Without warning she wrapped her arms around my neck and began to smother me in kisses making sure to shut the door with her foot. She broke off reluctantly when Sally, her housekeeper, politely made her presence known and told us that Supper was almost ready. I found myself a bit disgruntled at Sally's impeccable timing.

"It seems as though every fellow, young and old, has entered the race," Sally said as she served us. "Hobbits from all over the Shire! Why, even Marigold Gamgee's older brother - the one living in Needlehole - has entered!"

Mundee nodded. "I heard from Andy Twofoot that you've entered the race." She took my hand in hers, and looked me in the eye. "Is it true?"

I nodded a little hesitantly.

"I hear tell it's because Miss Bennie practically sat in your lap last night at the Green Dragon," Sally chimed in. "And that you wanted to make that Fastred Brandybuck look the fool."

I really had hoped to tell Mundee before anyone else -- so that she wouldn't get the wrong idea, of course.

"Well, I wouldn't say that Bennie sat in my lap...," I replied, trying not to sound nervous. For the briefest of moments, Mundee's hand tightened around my hand, then relaxed as I continued. "And I must admit that Fastred was there, intent on entering the race as well."

Mundee turned her big, beautiful brown eyes upon me. "And who's pony shall you be riding, Cousin? One of Bennie's ponies?" "

To be truthful, I made arrangements to purchase a mount," I said.

"Is it one of Miss Bennie's ponies?" Sally asked.

I laughed nervously. All I needed was for rumors to start that the race was fixed because of my agreement with Bennie to purchase one of her ponies. Mundee sat there quietly, as if she was trying to read my very thoughts. I was just about ready to tell her everything, when she caught me off guard with a question.

"Is this race open to anyone?"

Something told me to tread softly with my answer. "I... do... believe so... Why?"

She gave me a coy smile and said, "Oh, I just wondered... if, I... could enter the race."

I must confess that I was confused and stared with open mouth. "You?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yes...I had the thought of entering myself."

She must have misinterpreted the look on my face as one of concern for she continued. "Now, hear me out, Frodo. I've been taking riding lessons from Andy Twofoot for nearly six months now, and I think I can ride well enough to enter a race."

I didn't know what to say! Never before had I known of a girl, other than Bennie, of course, that had ever attempted pony racing against the fellows. And quite honestly, I was concerned for her safety. I strongly suspected she had no idea of what she was getting herself into.

"I really don't believe that's a good idea, Mundee."

"And why not?" she promptly returned.

"Because, Bennie is the only girl I know of that thinks nothing of risking her neck when it comes to racing pell mell across country. Besides..."I hedged, "it's not exactly acceptable for males and females to race against each other...Even if this race is sponsored by Bennie, it doesn't mean that females are encouraged  to compete."

She crossed her arms, and frowned. "You sound too much like Mother. " Mundee had recently taken to calling Bennie’s mother, Lavender, "Mother," something that galled Bennie as much as having to accept Mundee as her foster sister.

Then she began to mimic Lavender. "No proper young lady would be seen riding in a pony race... especially, not riding like a male! NO! You shan't be riding in this race. I absolutely forbid it!"

Mundee looked away for a brief moment before toward the dining room door, listening for Sally's footsteps, before she turned her attentions back to me. Then shyly, she started playing with my hand... tracing designs on the back of my hand. "Oh, Frodo!" she whispered. "What harm is there in a female being in the race? It can't be that much different than being part of a fox hunt.

She leaned towards me then, and softly kissed me. When I didn't shrink from her touch, she kissed me again. I had the distinct feeling that she wanted to kiss once more, but alas, we were prevented from continuing this diversion, for Sally now stood in the doorway knocking politely to let us know she was there. Mundee quickly pushed away and tried her best to act as if nothing had happened in her housekeepers absence, but the slight smile on Sally's face told me she had seen. As I have stated before: impeccable timing on Sally’s part. Dinner passed with no more chance for Mundee and I to discuss the race (or anything else for that matter).

The very next day, I was still pondering the wisdom of my decision. I had let Fastred goad me into what might prove to be a rash action. I was still pondering as I walked with Bennie to her stables to meet the pony that was to carry me in the race. I had argued the point that some folk might look askance at my borrowing a pony from the stables of the very person who was organising and sponsoring the race. However, Bennie is never an easy one to enter into a debate with.

"Oh, come on Frodo. It’s all in good fun."

"That may well be. But there is money involved and people tend to take high stakes rather seriously." I replied.

"Well, I did set the rules and it is an open race, which means that anyone with a mount, be it borrowed or bought, can ride." Then she added with a mischievous smile, "I intend to enter, myself."

I raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren’t going -" I began.

She cut me off with, "I changed my mind. Why shouldn’t I have fun, too? I’d rather be riding than watching, any day!"

How like Bennie, to ride in her own race. If she didn’t want to part with the prizes why on earth had she bothered to offer such tempting winnings? But then, knowing Bennie as well as I did, I realised that it wasn’t a matter of money, it was proving how good her ponies really were.

"Look, Frodo, if you’re really worried about offending other riders, I have a proposition for you..."

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.

"Why don’t you buy the pony from me?" She suggested. "That would keep everything all nice and legitimate."

"What do I do with it after the race?"

"Well...you could ride it."

"I like walking."

"Or...I could buy it back....I’ll sell him to you for a very reasonable price."

I took a moment or two to deliberate. This last proposition sounded almost as questionable as borrowing one of her ponies. As I mentioned before, however, Bennie can be very persuasive and I soon found myself the proud owner of a pony called Patch.

As I stood in the stable, studying my new acquisition, I had to admit that at the very least he was aptly named. He was a handsome steed, mostly white but for a splash of black on his rump and some black markings that ran under his throat and over his ears. He had what Bennie referred to as a bald face, which meant, mostly white, except for the black patch of colour around one

The pony had once been renowned for his speed, but since he now had more than a few years behind him, he had been retired to the position of cart pony. But Bennie had assured me that he was still more than capable of besting just about any other pony in the Shire when it came to taking fences or running full out on the flat.

I spent most of the remainder of that day, at Bennie’s farm, getting acquainted with Patch. We took a break at teatime, with Bennie was on her best behaviour, making no attempt to entice me with her charming wiles into decorum unbefitting a Gentlehobbit. When it came to ponies, Bennie was all business, but her demeanor might also have been explained by the fact that her parents were in town and staying at her farm for the occasion of the race, not to mention they both happened to join us for tea.

After tea, it was back to the barn, and back in the saddle. Patch seemed to be possessed of an even temper and he stayed quite calm amidst the flurry of activity around us as workers went about noisily hammering in stakes for tents and setting up an impromptu grandstand for tomorrow’s events. Not even the flapping of the tent cloth unnerved him. And, I had seen many another pony upset by much less. But I wondered if this composure would work against our favour. Did he have enough spirit to summon the speed that would be needed to compete against younger equines?

But as Bennie put us through some paces, I was taken by surprise at how fleet of foot the gelding actually was. The gallop we had proved to be quite exhilarating. I decided that in the end speed didn’t really matter, as long as he didn’t toss me headfirst into a thicket of brambles or a stone wall.

"I think that’s enough for today." Bennie announced. "We don’t want to wear him out before the race tomorrow. I’ll see that he gets good rub down and a good supper later tonight."

"I could do with the same myself." I commented, before realising just exactly what I had said.  I Had only been referring to a much welcome supper. My blunder sparked Bennie’s first saucy comment of the day. I had honestly thought we might make it through the day without any indelicacies. I should have known better.

"Which would you like first?"

I was rescued from answering by the appearance of Bennie’s father, Bodo, who had come out to check on the preparations for race day and to invite me to stay for supper. I accepted the offer of supper and wondered briefly how he would have reacted had he known his lovely daughter had also offered me a rub down.

Before returning home that evening, I had settled with Bennie on a fair price for Patch and left with a full stomach and the satisfaction of knowing that my new purchase was happily boarded in his stall munching away on a flake of hay. But most surprising of all, for the first time since declaring my intention to enter the race, I had hopes of actually winning the race.

For the past week Hobbiton and Bywater, had been in a flurry of activity and wagging tongues.  Simply because Bennie Baggins had decided to host a pony race.   The lucky winner would go home with a purse containing a tidy sum and one of Bennie's purebred foals.  I don't think I've seen the village in such an uproar since Bilbo's 111th birthday party.  

According to the talk flying around the village, the race was to be a grand affair, with Bennie's father Bodo contributing to the winning purse, and,  it was well known that Bodo was one of the wealthiest Hobbits in the Shire.  His precocious daughter had hit upon a novel way of taking  care of the food arrangements for such an extravagant occasion.  Instead of cooks for the event, she had worked out an agreement whereby the local food vendors could set up tents or carts for a samll fee and pander their delectables to the hungry crowd, at more than reasonable prices, of course. The gossip was, that the proprietors of the respective taverns, Ivy Bush and the Green Dragon were vying for the privilege to set up a tent as the sole provider of spirits.  There were even various games, such as tug of war and foot races scheduled before the main event.

 As if all this wasn't cause enough for excitement, the actual pony race was to be an open affair, meaning that anyone who had a pony capable of competing could enter. This interpreted to the most of the locals as anyone who had a beast with four legs that could draw breath was eligible.

For the past several days the surrounding countryside rang with the sound of hoof beats and the whoops of the competitive lads, (and a few ladies) as they practiced racing up and down the roads and across country.  Anyone brave enough to venture out of doors and onto the village roads was in danger of being run down.

Two days before the race, Sam and I actually managed to arrive on foot at the Green Dragon.
The normal group was there, with a few notables from the other Farthings--obviously in town for the great race.  We looked about and soon found Fatty and Folco, along with Ted Sandyman, having an animated conversation with non other than Merry and Pippin.

"My money is on that fellow, Bramble Owlerson," Folco was saying smugly.  "I've seen him race that little pony of his and it rarely breaks into a sweat when all is said and done."

"If you really believe he'll win, I'd wager you'd be putting down more shillings and less chatter." Merry replied.

"I understand your father is sponsoring a rider," Fatty said to Pippin between bites of stew.

"It won't be Merry, though," Pippin chattered.  "Uncle Saradoc doesn't want to lose the race and the pony, too."  He looked up as we pulled up chairs.  "Frodo!  Merry, it's Frodo!  You won't have to hunt him down for a loan now!"

Merry gave Pippin a playful shove that nearly toppled the younger Hobbit from his chair, then he greeted Sam and me a ready grin.   "Hello, Frodo!  Sam!  Never mind what Pippin is saying.  He's got his facts all wrong..."

"I don't have my facts wrong," Pippin , who had recovered his composure swiftly, insisted.  "You're the one grousing that your Father won't loan you another farthing until you pay him back for that antique clock you broke." Suddenly, he jumped as if bitten by a mouse.  "OW!"

Merry had his best face on, acting as if nothing happened.  "Well, Frodo, are you planning on entering the race?" He looked at Sam.  "Or are you going to sponsor a rider instead?"

Ted Sandyman hooted.  "Samwise Gamgee on a pony?  In a race? Now that I would pay to see!"

Sam's face turned bright red.  In fact, the only time I've ever seen him more embarrassed or upset was if Rosie Cotton's name was mentioned.

"Oi can ride a pony," he said in retort.  "But come to think of it, Oi've never seen you on a pony afore, Ted..."

"I'm not the racin' type," Ted said.  "I prefers to watch.  Less chance of trouble that way."

 "Less trouble 'cause 'e don't know how to get a pony going in the same direction as 'im unless it's fastened to a mill cart!" Sam muttered.

Merry looked at me again.  "Aren't you going to enter the race, Frodo?  I've got lots of folk willing to wager on the outcome if you're one of the contestants."

I had to laugh.  "I'll wager that they will win if they bet against me, Merry.  The last time I went for a gallop, the pony dumped me headfirst into a hedge!  Just ask , Sam he was there to help pick me up.”

“Yes, but it was one ‘o Miss Bennie’s ponies you was ridin’, Mr. Frodo.  And, that says it all!”

"Aw, come on, Cousin!" Merry goaded.  "What became of that brazen lad that used to live in Brandy Hall who could ride a pony pell-mell across the fields and grab the prize before a winner could be announced?"

“Ah...that lad...” I said with a grin.  “ I believe he hit a tree branch and got knocked off his mount.”

“Come to think of it, weren’t you on one of Bennie’s father’s ponies that time?”  Fatty interjected.

Sam gave a barely perceptible snort, as if to emphasise that proved that Bennie’s family bred beasts of questionable reputation.

"Well..I say with the right pony under you, you could still beat any other rider," Fatty said, licking his fingers and patting his stomach.

"I'll drink to that."

Fastred Brandybuck came over--or rather, stumbled over-- and stood swaying slightly as he spoke.  "In fact, I think I shall!" He grabbed a tankard of ale off the tray of a passing tavern worker.  "Of course, that's if I, myself, don't enter."

Sam sniffed.  "Yer drunk."

"And you, my dear Sir (hick) are not!"  Fastred downed his ale, belched and waved for a refill as he grabbed a nearby chair and fell into it.  Then he turned his attention to me.  "I say that you and I have un-(hick)-finished business to attend to... and what better way to settle it than by being in the race?  Winner gets the prize...(hick) and the hand of the fair Bervena-- I mean, Verbena-- Baggins!”

I frowned.  "I don't care to discuss the situation with you, Fastred.  You are far too wasted to make much sense of anything.  Besides, if I were to enter the race, it wouldn't be to win the hand of Bennie."

"And why not?" a feminine voice spoke up.

I cringed, then turned to face Bennie, or rather, Verbena Baggins. She was regarding me with a wickedly impish grin. She was accompanied by her Mother, Lavender Baggins, who, as ususal, looked somewhat put out with her errant daughter.  And, no matter what I might say in her presence, it would surely be construed to indicate that I was, indeed, pursuing Bennie's hand in marriage--something, I'm sure, that Lavender was more than hoping would happen.

Bennie saved me from answering as she promptly announced. “ Actually, it seems that I should be the one to decide on the prizes offered, since I am the one who is hosting the race. Besides, I rather resent that without my consent, I’m being considered as part of the purse, like a some sort of trophy to be displayed, despite-”

“Oh really?” Fastred hiccupped, interrupting her. “ I thought you liked being on display.”

Bennie shot him a withering look before continuing, “As I was saying, despite the fact that one of the riders happens to be something of an eligible and handsome prize himself.” She finished, leveling a smoldering glance in my direction.  

I felt my face grow hot, but it turned even more red as she suddenly pushed past Fastred, draped her arms around my neck and proceeded to kiss (or was it lick?) my ear.

"Verbena!" Lavender's sharp voice resounded through the common room.  "Proper young ladies don't behave like that in public!"

"Yeah, Verbena...not in pub-(hick)-lic!" Fastred slurred.  "Why I wonder what the two of you do in the privacy of Bag End...."  Whereupon, Lavender promptly cuffed him..

Ted was having a great time watching this.  "What's this? Do we have a jealous boyfriend?"

"Bugger off, Sandyman," Fastred smiled back, his jaw obviously clenched.  "You don't know  anything about it!"

“Oh...I wouldn’t say that...Fastred...You sure make sure we do."

Merry sat back, looking at the two of us.  "I say Fastred's right on one thing.  You really should enter the race, Frodo, if nothing else, to prove that you are a far better rider than he is."

I started to protest, but Bennie spoke up first.  "I think it a lovely idea.  You're a much better rider than Fastred when he's sober... just think how easy it will be if he's soused."

Fastred was fit to be tied.  He slammed his hand on the table. "Hah! I can beat Frodo in this race!  I'll not only win the race, but I’ll have Bennie as well! See if I don’t!"

Bennie glared at Fastred bofore kissing me again (and I wondered briefly if the innkeeper had stoked the fireplace).  "You can do this, Frodo," she whispered in my ear.  "You don't want to have Fastred prove he can win even when he's three sheets to the wind, do you?  I”ll lend you my fastest pony. Won't you do it... for me...?"

If looks could have killed, Fastred’s would have laid me low, at that moment.  In the end I suppose it was the combination of things that got to me.  The proximity of Bennie, her fragrance, those big, blue eyes and soft lips... and the fact that Fastred was fit to be tied...

“All right, I’m in. Where do I sign up?”

Sam's eyebrows shot up, while Merry, Pip, Folco and Fatty grinned and slapped each other on the back.  Even Ted seemed quite pleased with this news.  Leaving me to wonder in the very next instant what I had gotten myself into?

Back at last, and I do believe the party was quite the success!  We ended up with lovely weather on Saturday, albeit a llittle on the cool side, but still nice enough! 

Now that the party is over, it's back to the business of writing stories!

Frodo