Horse Dreams by Dandi Daley Mackall

check on the pinto.
    At the barn, Ethan, Mom, and I climb out of the car. “Careful not to step on cats,” Mom warns.
    Dad stays put. “I’ll be along as soon as I finish my fudge sundae,” he promises.
    The minute we step into the barn, a dozen cats scatter. Then I hear it—that nicker. I glance back at Ethan and realize he can’t hear it. And for one of the few times ever, I feel sorry for my brother. This is one sound I can’t begin to describe to him.
    Ethan helps me pull down a bale of hay, even though I’m not sure the pinto touched what we left last night. I try to get her to eat out of my hand. She nibbles at it but doesn’t seem hungry.
    When Dad comes in, I think we’re going to leave. But he takes one look at the pinto and says, “Is that horse sick? She’s so skinny.”
    I check the pinto’s eyes and hooves. She doesn’t look sick. I wish she could tell us what’s wrong.
    â€œMary Louise had the vet out this morning, just to make sure the horse is okay before we send her off again,” Mom reports. “He gave her a clean bill of health. Only thing wrong with her is that she needs to put on weight.”
    â€œWe should try feeding her oats,” I suggest. I slip into the stall with her. “I bet she’d go for Omolene.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Dad asks.
    â€œIt’s like oats, but with bran and flax and oils. Smells like molasses. We learned about it in 4-H. I thought it smelled good enough to eat.”
    â€œWhy don’t I go get some?” Dad says.
    â€œReally?” I’m surprised. I didn’t think he liked horses.
    â€œIt’s the least I can do for that poor horse,” he answers. “I’m pretty sure the farmer’s supply stays open until nine.”
    Dad leaves, and the rest of us conduct a barn search for brushes. Ethan finds an old horse brush and hands it to me. I set to work. Dust flies off the mare with every stroke of the brush. I use my fingernails to loosen some of the mud clumps.
    Meanwhile, Mom tackles the horse’s tangled mane and tail. She uses her own comb on some of the burs.
    Ethan unties the lead rope I attached to the feed trough so the pinto wouldn’t move around while we brushed her.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I ask him, shoving the brush under my arm so I can sign.
    Ethan doesn’t answer. Instead, he begins retying the rope.
    â€œEthan?” I demand.
    He points at me and signs, Overhand knot. Bad. He ties the rope like I had it and shakes his head. He’s probably right, but it’s the only knot I know.
    Square knot, Ethan signs. Then he makes a knot that really does look like a square.
    He unties the square knot and whips the rope into a knot shaped like a cursive capital S . Half hitch, he signs. I’ll teach you that one later.
    I watch as my little brother unties the half hitch and starts over. This time he makes two loops with the rope, twists them twice, then feeds the lead rope through a hook at the end of the trough. When he jerks the rope, it doesn’t slip. It’s tied tight. Cat’s-paw, he signs.
    Nothing my brother does surprises me. I give him a thumbs-up and go back to brushing.
    I reach the funny saddle-shaped spot on the pinto’s back. I brush the hairs backward to get at the dust, then smooth down the coat. “Mom? I’ve been thinking.”
    â€œMm-hmm?”
    I move down the mare’s foreleg. “What if, instead of sending the horse away, you guys kept her here?”
    â€œHere? You’d be putting a toad in a teakettle, kiddo.” Mom laughs a little. “Honey, this is a cat farm. Mary Louise doesn’t like horses. She’s terrified a horse might accidently step on one of the kittens.”
    What’s going to happen to her? Ethan signs.
    Mom stops combing the pinto’s mane. “We’ve been making calls. Nothing’s settled yet. I guess the