I knew now the unicorn’s weakness. She clearly loved the new
food I’d introduced her to as those oats that had been spilled the week before
had since been hungrily snaffled up during the intervening week. The grass
where they had fallen had been cleared and marks in the dirt where her lips had
eagerly displaced it could still be seen. This keenly noted, I continued with
my hands-free poaching attempts, ripping shamelessly from Roald Dahl.
But with no success. The Horse-hair Stopper had little
effect. She saw the hair in with the oats and didn’t touch them. Indeed, she
spat on them and ground them into the floor in disgust.
So I went for the big one - the Champion plan. I had little
choice, really. Grinding horse tranquilisers to dust, I mixed them with the
oats and placed the mixture in a pile on the ground. The unicorn was soon
lapping it up and finished it off in under a minute.
The effects were soon seen as she began to stagger about all
over the clearing before finally laying down in a groggy heap in the sun and
falling asleep. I broke cover, pulling a cart behind me to transport her; my
heart singing all the more as it was my birthday, this the perfect present;
hearing the deep breathing of her sleep.
As I drew close, though, the singing ceased abruptedly. She
sprang up and ran off as if she’d just been joking. Maybe I should have used
more.
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