Winnie the Horse Gentler

Amazing Splendor (cont'd)
By Jasighia HorseCrazy

Chapter Three:

When I woke up the next morning, the sun was shining a pale yellow in a great sea of soft blue, streaked here and there with wisps of cloud. And, the little Finches and Chickadees were singing in the big oak tree that stood near my window. I looked at my clock, that’s in the shape of a horseshoe. 8:45. I dove out of bed, pulled on jeans and a dark blue shirt, then ran a brush through my waist-long reddish-brown hair before running downstairs.

“Good morning!” Sierra said to me as I sat at the table.

“Good morning,” I replied. “Mom guess what …?” I stopped mid-sentence before I gave it away.

“Miranda? Where is Elijah? He usually comes down at the slightest whiff of food.”

“Okay!” I climbed the stairs and knocked on the boy’s door. No one answered, so I pushed the door open. He slept soundly, one arm hanging off of the bed, face buried in his pillow, snoring loudly. I crossed the room and shook Elijah’s shoulder.

“Elijah! Wake up!” I said, shaking him. He groaned. “Elijah, c’mon!” and then, in a whisper; “Breakfast is ready!”

He rolled over, and shoved something small, black, and tan into his chest pocket. He always gets in trouble for not sleeping in pajamas. He hates them… they are yellow and have green monsters all over them. I don’t blame him for not wanting to wear them.

“Hurry!” I called, running back downstairs. We ate breakfast and finished eating by 9:30. Then, Elijah and I set out. It was auction day...

***

We shuffled through the crowd to the barn. When we got there, Elijah stood nervously in the stall-way, while I looked horses over. I looked at a pretty 5-year-old black mare, with a disjointed stripe (a star and stripe combined) with nice conformation, but she was drugged into being quiet. I could tell by her glossy eyes.

A grulla (grew-yah) gelding, whose owner claimed he was only 4, had worn hooves from dragging his hind legs. Plus, I can tell a horse’s age by looking at their teeth, and this horse was at least 15.

I was looking at a pretty buckskin mare, when Elijah asked, “Miranda? Are you almost done?” I put the mare’s hoof down and looked at Elijah. Elijah is tall, thin, with sandy-blonde hair and mischievous green eyes.

“I guess I can wait until the bidding starts. There‘ll probably be new ones brought in by then.” I replied, standing up. I patted the buckskin’s neck, and followed Elijah out to the bidding area, where we took our seats. After a while, the auctioneer walked out onto the platform.

“Welcome to the Kooskie Fall Sale!” he announced. A few minutes later, 3 men walked out with a chestnut horse, who plodded lazily along. “And here we have a 3-year-old Thoroughbred chestnut gelding. We’ll start at…600 dollars!”

“Is that yours?” Elijah asked me. I shook my head. “He’s drugged up. Just look at him! Plus, I don‘t want a Thoroughbred.”

“What are they for?” he asked me.

“Racing... stuff like that. They’re usually very high-strung because they need stamina for races.” I replied.

“Ah.” was the reply.

The sale went on, and as each new horse was brought out, the sadder I felt. The grulla was sold for 800. A blond Arabian filly was sold for 1100.

“I wish you’d make up your mind, Miranda,” Elijah said after several horses had been sold.

“I know, I am getting irritated!” I said. The buckskin was brought out. I threw in at 100, then 600. I lost to a guy who looked like he was at least a hundred years old… I couldn’t help but to compare him to an old chicken. But, his millions of wrinkles, skinny neck, croaky voice and the little tuft of hair that stuck up out of the middle of his head made it all but possible.

“Okay, I guess…” I heard a yell. I turned towards the platform. I looked over just in time to see a guy dart out of the way. A ghostly white stallion was being drug out by about 5 guys. His neck was stretched out, legs digging into the ground, sitting on his haunches. He was beautiful.

“And here we have a pretty…horse. He’s definitely stubborn, but should turn out…all right.”

The stallion jerked at the rope, then reared, squealing the most unearthly sound you could ever hear. But it was a squeal of terror…and of anger. He dropped back down, and neighed again, shaking his head.

“He’s 4, and…um, unusually…” here the stallion lunged at a guy, and, then snorted. “…high spirited…and stubborn for a Quarter Horse. We’ll start bidding at about 500. Who’s first?”

Elijah snorted. “Miranda, let‘s go!”

“Shut up!” The stallion reared a little, jerking at the rope neighing and snorting.

“Uh…anyone else?”

“Miranda, lets go!”

I took a deep breath. “700!” I shouted, holding up our stick with the number 27 on it. The crowd craned around, looking for who’d said that.

The auctioneer yelled, “Sold!”

“What?” Elijah looked like he‘d just been told he couldn‘t get on the computer for the rest of his life.

“Elijah! This horse…it’s my dream horse!”

He raised his eyebrows. “But…okay. Let’s go.” He glanced towards the horse who was beginning to pull on the rope again, jerking the guys. I went and grabbed the horse’s lead rope from the men who where standing there holding the horse, and handed the auctioneer the money.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Good luck on that one!” the auctioneer said, looking back down at his paper. We managed to get the horse to buck and flip his way off of the platform all the way to the back of the barn, when he stopped and stiffened.

“C’mon, boy walk!” I pleaded. “Walk! Do not balk!” But walking was clearly the farthest thing from his mind. I slowly walked up to him and blew gently in his nose. He didn’t do anything. I tried again. He just shook his head and snorted.

“Crazy.” Elijah grumbled.

“That’ll have to do for now,” I muttered. If you blow in a horse’s nose, your treating him like they treat each other. If they blow back, you’ve got a friend.

“C’mon boy!” I pulled on the rope. He wouldn’t budge. Just placed his hooves firmly on the ground and planted his rump. Great, God, I got a horse that doesn’t walk! The stallion shook his head and stood up, but still stayed glued to the ground.

Just then I remembered something I learned from a book. When in doubt, circle the horse! I slackened the rope a little as I walked around him in a circle. His head twisted around, and then his legs followed. But when I got him to the gate, he stopped, laid his ears back as far as they would go, and pulled back on the rope. Duh! How could I have forgotten it? I thought. Try tucking his ear in his halter! I sighed, then tried it. It didn’t hurt, but made him wonder why, taking his mind off of balking. He followed me stiffly out to the parking lot, shaking his head out, and started shying and side-stepping away from all of the people. I circled the horse, and he took a few steps.

In short, it took me the rest of the morning to get him to our barn. When we finally reached the paddock gate, I opened it, then unhooked the buckle on his crude rope halter, and he pulled his nose out and ran to the heart of the paddock, bucking and flipping and tossing his beautiful head.

“There, boy. You’re free now. I‘ll get your food.” I looked at our driveway before going into the barn, hanging up the halter, even though I’d buy a new one, and getting a few flakes of hay.

Our car was gone, so that meant Mom and Sierra where somewhere.

“Here boy!” I called, climbing down the ladder and walking out of the barn. Ears perked, he stood looking at me as Loretta and I slowly approached him with the hay in our arms.

He pawed the ground and snorted, swiveling his ears around, as if saying, “Can I trust you?”

We turned and walked back into the barn and down the stall-way to the stall I had already prepared. I glanced over my shoulder to see if the horse was coming. He wasn’t. I dumped the hay into the feed rack, opened the little gate that leads into the paddock, and made sure that he had water.

“You are truly amazing,” I told the stallion afterwards, sitting on the fence. “Beautiful. Gorgeous. Wild!" You forgot crazy, too! I shook my head.

“I have to get him to trust me!” I said, then prayed, God, please help me!

Note to self: Next time, make sure your horse walks!

The phone was ringing when I came into the kitchen. I yanked my shoes off and raced to the phone.

“Hello?” I was breathing hard from the run.

“Hi, Miranda, this is Mom.”

“Oh. Hi.”

“Sierra and I are at Grandma’s house. Are you doing OK?”

“Yeah, which grandma?” I wondered.

“Grandma June.”

“Oh.” Elijah walked into the living room, glanced at me, and then sneaked over to the school room.

“OK, what time is it?” Mom said before I had the chance to say something to my brother. I glanced at the clock.

“It’s 1:30, Mom,” I replied.

“OK, expect us around 2:30, OK? Grandma wants me to help her pack. She is going to stay a few days with us before leaving for New Zealand. Your Uncle Jerry, Aunt Olivia, and their kids are going there for a 5 day vacation, and taking her…And I want…”

“Awesome!” I broke in, my tone filled with awe. “That’d be so cool!”

“Well, I’d better get, honey. See you later.”

“Yeah, bye, Mom.” I hung up and went to Elijah.

“Elijah, it’s lunch time.”

“Oh,” he replied, not really listening to me. He was digging around in his school desk, paper in hand. My brother may not have talent in the kitchen, but you can’t say he doesn’t draw good. He can draw almost anything, but "specializes" in dogs.

“So you’d better make lunch!” I said. “Grandma is spending a few days with us before going to New Zealand for 5 days!”

“Hmm. Sounds neat.” he walked into the kitchen. “Miranda? Lunch meat or macaroni and cheese?” he called a few minutes later.

“Neither. Peanut butter and jelly for me, please.” I answered. “And an apple if you will!”

I heard a loud crash and a bang, then a weak, “OK!” and then a loud “Ouch!” After about 15 minutes, Elijah came in with my sandwich, an apple and a deviled egg from last night’s dinner.

“Thanks,” I said. He nodded, then went back to the school room. I ate my lunch, the whole time trying to figure out how to gentle the horse. After a while, I decided to just try to read.