Grandpa grabbed her from the other side. "Maureen!" he yelled, "you hop on and ride her to the steps. Me and Paul'll guide her from behind."
Maureen climbed aboard. Through her legs she could feel Misty's heart pounding. The water was up to Misty's knees. Then a swirl of it hit her belly. She tried to jump over it.
Maureen grabbed a handful of mane. "Yahoo!" she cried in startled surprise.
Misty tried one more leap, then settled down and went steadily forward. She reached the steps well ahead of Paul and Grandpa, who came wading up, out of breath.
"Now here's the touchy part," Grandpa panted. "Steps're mighty slippy and we don't want her fallin' and hurtin' herself."
But Misty had been up these steps before. She clomped up happily, lifting each foot high. On the top step she paused, mesmerized. A little brown rabbit sat stock-still on the porch rail, not a whisker twitching. It seemed more statue than real. The two creatures stared at each other, the big soft brown eyes and the small beady ones. Misty snorted as if to say, "What you doing here? Go on back to your briar patch!" But the rabbit never budged, not even when Misty stretched out her neck and breathed right in its face.
Grandpa guffawed. Even then the cheeky little thing stood its ground, more afraid of the rising water than of people or ponies.
"He's sassing Misty," Paul laughed. "'Don't eye me, ma'am,' he's saying, 'I been flooded out. Same as you.'"
