The little bone-headed ponies were pulling hard: the wagon was heavy, though the bed held only a few coils of rope.

With the weight in children the ponies were pulling, Whandall wasn't going to outrun anything.

The ponies pulled more strongly as they moved northwest.

Whandall heaved upward while the ponies pulled.

The pony pulled to a halt, threw up its head, and gave a long, pealing whinny.

The pony danced to warm his blood, and pulled harder than ever, his ears pricked towards home, scenting his supper.

Nearly breaking her neck, the pony pulled away in panic, the whites of her eyes glinting in the moonlight, coat curled with dried sweat like an Irish Water Spaniel.

All ponies apart from the Heritage Mountain and Moorland ponies must have their manes plaited, with tails either plaited or neatly pulled.

As she watched, the pony poked its muzzle into her room, sniffed at the floorboards, found them uninteresting, pulled back, and began to crop on its own side once more.

So sore from the Captain's lashing that the merest flick of the thrash made me jump, I tried in no way to hold back, wailing as the ponies pulled me after them.