church (and Mom said that, really, they didn’t go to any church, unless you called dropping in at St. Dunstan’s from time to time “churchgoing”), she never blinked at anything Daddy said about the Lord. All I said was, “Okay.” What I was thinking about was going to that horse show to ride the pony. I had heard about it—beautifulhorses, and a lot of Thoroughbreds, and everyone perfectly dressed. The horses would have braided manes and tails and sometimes checkerboard patterns combed into their shining rumps. The people would all be wearing velvet hats and their boots would be clean all the way down to the soles, because grooms would prepare the horses. The whole thought made me nervous and excited all of a sudden, especially since I had said yes without really thinking. I let myself imagine it while we were driving through the pines, but then I put it out of my mind as just one of those things that grown-ups say but don’t mean.
Daddy was in a good mood for days after the sale of the pony, but I missed the little guy. I didn’t think that the girl Melinda felt comfortable enough to really take a liking to him, but I hoped she would at least pet him and give him treats.
In the meantime, now that Daddy had three thousand, five hundred dollars from the sale of a pony he had paid four hundred dollars for, he couldn’t wait to get back to Oklahoma and buy some more horses. During this period, he gave me a lot of business tips. For example, when the amount he got for the pony finally came out, he said, “Now, Abby, that extra five hundred dollars we got was because he was gray. Don’t forget that. A working horse who’s going to live outdoors shouldn’t be gray, because that just means that he’s going to look dirty all the time—no rancher has the time to wash that horse enough to keep him looking good. But a show horse, and especially a show pony, should be gray, because the judgecan’t help watching that one just a little longer. A gray show pony stands out, and that’s why we got some more money for him. That’s a ‘premium.’” I don’t know that Daddy expected me to go into the horse business when I got older—his sisters got married and never kept up with their riding—but he didn’t have Danny to give his tips to any longer, so he gave them to me.
Chapter 6
W ELL, THE MARE DIED . L ITTLE J ACK WAS A MONTH OLD TO THE day, Daddy was in Oklahoma getting ready to bring the horses back, with Uncle Luke to help him. Mom and I got up Saturday morning to feed the horses.
It wasn’t a bad morning—a little chilly, but dry. The first thing we said when we went out the front door was, “Is it too cold for him?” We had left the mare and the foal out for the night. We had done it twice before, because he was getting a little too big for the stall. We decided that it wasn’t too cold—he was a big boy and still furry with his foal coat. But as soon as we looked toward the mares’ corral, Mom said, “Uh-oh.” Normally, they would have been at the gate, waiting for their hay. I said, “Maybe it’s all right. Maybe there’s enough grass so that she isn’t that hungry.”
But it wasn’t all right. As soon as we got to the top of the hill and looked down, we could see the dark shape of the mare, lying stretched out on her side in the grass, and the foal standing above her, by her rump, poking at her with his nose. While we were running down the hill, she flopped her tail and lifted her head, then tried to lift her front end, but her head fell back into the grass. Jack gave a loud, high whinny, and that was when I started to cry, but we had to keep running anyway.
Mom did some things to try and figure out what was wrong with her—like kneeling down and listening to her belly sounds—but all I did was sit by her head and start to pet her. Even though it was cold, her neck was crusty with dried sweat. Another bad thing was that the hair around the top of her head was worn off, meaning that
Daddy was in a good mood for days after the sale of the pony, but I missed the little guy. I didn’t think that the girl Melinda felt comfortable enough to really take a liking to him, but I hoped she would at least pet him and give him treats.
In the meantime, now that Daddy had three thousand, five hundred dollars from the sale of a pony he had paid four hundred dollars for, he couldn’t wait to get back to Oklahoma and buy some more horses. During this period, he gave me a lot of business tips. For example, when the amount he got for the pony finally came out, he said, “Now, Abby, that extra five hundred dollars we got was because he was gray. Don’t forget that. A working horse who’s going to live outdoors shouldn’t be gray, because that just means that he’s going to look dirty all the time—no rancher has the time to wash that horse enough to keep him looking good. But a show horse, and especially a show pony, should be gray, because the judgecan’t help watching that one just a little longer. A gray show pony stands out, and that’s why we got some more money for him. That’s a ‘premium.’” I don’t know that Daddy expected me to go into the horse business when I got older—his sisters got married and never kept up with their riding—but he didn’t have Danny to give his tips to any longer, so he gave them to me.
Chapter 6
W ELL, THE MARE DIED . L ITTLE J ACK WAS A MONTH OLD TO THE day, Daddy was in Oklahoma getting ready to bring the horses back, with Uncle Luke to help him. Mom and I got up Saturday morning to feed the horses.
It wasn’t a bad morning—a little chilly, but dry. The first thing we said when we went out the front door was, “Is it too cold for him?” We had left the mare and the foal out for the night. We had done it twice before, because he was getting a little too big for the stall. We decided that it wasn’t too cold—he was a big boy and still furry with his foal coat. But as soon as we looked toward the mares’ corral, Mom said, “Uh-oh.” Normally, they would have been at the gate, waiting for their hay. I said, “Maybe it’s all right. Maybe there’s enough grass so that she isn’t that hungry.”
But it wasn’t all right. As soon as we got to the top of the hill and looked down, we could see the dark shape of the mare, lying stretched out on her side in the grass, and the foal standing above her, by her rump, poking at her with his nose. While we were running down the hill, she flopped her tail and lifted her head, then tried to lift her front end, but her head fell back into the grass. Jack gave a loud, high whinny, and that was when I started to cry, but we had to keep running anyway.
Mom did some things to try and figure out what was wrong with her—like kneeling down and listening to her belly sounds—but all I did was sit by her head and start to pet her. Even though it was cold, her neck was crusty with dried sweat. Another bad thing was that the hair around the top of her head was worn off, meaning that
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