Friendly Foal (9 page)

—Confused in Colorado

Dear Confused,

You're smart to pay attention to your horse when she lifts her hind leg like that. With lots of horses, it's their way of warning you they'll kick. But I don't think that's what Molly's saying to you. You said she loves the brushing, right? Well, I think she's saying, “All right! Here she comes. She's going to scratch and massage my leg again. I can hardly wait!”

The hindquarters are hard for a horse to reach, especially in a stall. She's ready for you to help her out. Good broodmares lift that hind leg when their foals get near. They're ready to nurse their babies.

Be careful until you're sure this is what Molly's saying to you. It's possible she has a sore area or is ticklish. But I'll bet if you go ahead and brush her (staying to her side, just in case), she'll sigh a big thank you.

—Winnie the Horse Gentler

Pat ambled over just as I finished the last e-mail. All of my answers had been shorter than I would have liked. But I'd finished in time to get back to the barn and groom Amigo before Sal got there.

“Everything hunky-dory?” Pat asked.

“All done,” I answered. “Except there are two bird questions I couldn't answer. Want me to leave them until Hawk gets back?”

“Hot dog! No offense.” She waved at the collie pup in the nearest cage. “Hawk! Why didn't I think of her before? That girl knows a lot about fish! She might be able to help me with the twit.”

Hawk knows everything about birds, but Pat was right. Hawk knows her fish too.

“Do you know how to reach her? Florida, right?” Pat queried.

“I've got her number at home. I guess I could—”

“Terrific! Call home. Then we'll give that little lady a call.” Pat looked more like herself again.

I wanted to go home and start in on Amigo, but I couldn't make Pat wait any longer. I picked up the phone.

“I hear tell you're housing a Mini for a spell,” Pat said as I dialed my number.

“Yeah. He's beautiful. But he doesn't trust me yet,” I admitted.

The phone rang once.

“Well, I suppose it's not that all-fired important, what with him leaving so soon and all.”

My insides went cold. “What do you mean, Pat?”

“I ran in to Mrs. Cracker last night. Over at A-Mart. Checkout line. I know, I know. I wasn't going to shop at the Spidell empire, but I needed those little bitty carrots already chopped and in the bag for—”

“Pat, what did she say about Amigo?”

“She was just saying how Sal and that Mini didn't take to each other.”

Someone answered the phone. Dad. “Hello?”

I hung up. “And? What else did Mrs. Cracker say?”

Finally Pat looked at me. Her smile faded. “I'm sorry, Winnie. I didn't think I was telling you anything you didn't already know. Mrs. Cracker said she's tying a big
RETURN TO SENDER
sign around that Mini's neck and shipping him back on the first boat to Argentina.”

I stood there, clutching the disconnected phone.
Back to Argentina?

I couldn't let that happen. That poor little horse had been through enough. “I've got to go,” I said, getting up.

“Winnie? What about Hawk? My twit?” Pat's worried voice brought me back.

“I'm sorry. I forgot. Give me a minute. I'll call home.”

Dad answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Dad. It's me.”

“Oh. Winnie.” He sounded like I was the last person he wanted to speak to.

“Um . . . I need to get Hawk's number in Florida. It's on the—”

“I'll get Lizzy.” The phone clunked.

Then it clunked again. “Winnie?”

“Hi, Lizzy. What's wrong with Dad? Golf-buddy problems?”

“More like invention-buddy problems. Madeline said she'd be here a couple of hours ago.”

In the background I heard Dad shout, “Tell her to get off the phone! Madeline may be trying to call again.”

“The phone rang, and somebody hung up on Dad,” Lizzy explained. “Dad thinks it was Madeline.”

“That was me. Sorry.”

“Poor Dad.” Lizzy sighed through the phone line. “Have to admit . . . I thought it might be Geri.”

“You
still
haven't heard from her?” I felt myself getting mad at Geri all over again.

“No. I kind of thought she'd show up this morning.”

Pat paced by, reminding me why I'd called home. Lizzy gave me Hawk's number, and I made her promise to hold on to Sal if she showed up before I got there.

Pat dialed Florida, then handed the phone back to me.

“She might not even be there,” I said while the phone rang. “She's been showing Towaco in Florida horse shows, so—”

“Hello?” It was Hawk's dad.

“Uh . . .”

“Hello?” he said louder. “Who is this?”

“It's me, Mr. Hawkins. Winnie Willis. Can I talk to Hawk? Please?” My telephone voice is even worse than my regular voice. I hate it.

Hawk got on and started right in about her New Year's Eve party. I would have loved to listen to how great it was going to be, but Pat was waiting.

I explained about the help line e-mails, then read them to Hawk over the phone.

The first one was from a kid whose big brother kept telling him that he had too many birds. Big Brother said it was bad for the birds and bad for Little Brother.

“Tell the bird owner there is no such thing as too many birds. And that he'd be better off with loads of feathered friends,” Hawk said. “Tell him that Thomas Alva Edison had over 5,000 birds, and he was our greatest inventor.”

I wrote down everything in longhand.

The other question was from someone named Paula, who was worried about her parrot. Chiquita had started doing crazy things, like standing in her water dish and doing weird dances and making odd noises.

Hawk said, “That poor parrot is bored! Boredom can lead to madness in parrots. Birds need affection and interaction. If they spend too much time alone in a cage, they can lose their minds. There are even mental institutions for parrots. Tell her she should get Chiquita a friend.”

“Thanks, Hawk.”

There was a pause. Then Hawk asked, “Winnie, is anything wrong?”

I wanted to shout into the receiver,
“Yes! Everything's wrong! I can't get close to Friendly Foal. Sal and her grandmother want to send Amigo back to Argentina. And what I really need is for you to leave the fun and sun and get back here and help me!”

But I couldn't say that.

“I'm okay, Hawk. Here. Let me pass you to Pat. She wants to ask you about her twit.”

Pat took the phone. “Thanks, Winnie. You get on home. I'll type the bird e-mails.”

As I left the shop I heard Pat exclaim, “That's all? And that twit will be as happy as a clam? No offense.”

As soon as I got outside, the worries inside me started swirling around and bumping into each other, piling up like snowflakes in a blizzard. I breathed in air so cold it froze my nose hairs.

Then without even thinking about it, I shot up a prayer:
God, don't let them send that little horse to Argentina! Please! Amigo needs a friend. Let me be it. Okay? Help me be a faithful friend to that horse.

It surprised me that I'd prayed like that. On-the-spot prayer was something Lizzy might do. Or Mom. Until the last couple of months, God and I had barely been on speaking terms. But little by little I'd figured out that God wasn't going to give up on me. Mom's dying wasn't God's fault, or even my fault. And God cared about me too much to let me get away with giving him the silent treatment.

I could feel my stomach stop swirling. I would be the best friend Amigo and Friendly ever had. No matter how
they
acted. Even if they didn't think of me as a friend, that's what I'd be.

Maybe that's the way it had been with God and me. I'd sure done everything
I
could to wrestle further away from him after Mom died. But he'd waited patiently for me.

I'd
wait patiently for the horses. I wouldn't give up on
them
.

I was halfway home and feeling a lot better, in spite of the icy wind numbing my face, when who should I see coming up Claremont but Geri and Nathan.

“Hi, Winnie!” Nathan waved and sprinted toward me. He was wearing a gray coat and gray mittens, so ordinary that his sister wouldn't have been caught dead in them.

Geri lagged back and seemed to be studying a snowdrift.

Nathan is about Lizzy's height, maybe two inches taller than me. He doesn't look much like Sal. She's slim as a racehorse. Nathan's more like a small Clydesdale. Sal used to say her brother lived for the days Lizzy brought in treats to their class. Maybe he'd eaten a few too many lizard cookies.

“Is Lizzy with you?” Nathan asked, peering around me.

I shook my head.

He seemed disappointed. “Tell her hi for me when you see her.” The way he said it wasn't like he was lovesick or anything, not like Geri must have been for him. My guess was that Nate liked Lizzy for a friend. Everybody does.

I stared at Geri. She finally met my gaze, then stared down again.

“That's some horse Gram Cracker gave my sister, huh?” Nathan said.

“Look, Nathan. You guys
can't
send Amigo back to Argentina. I need time to work with him. He's a good horse. He'll make a great pet.” For all I knew, Nathan felt just like Sal did about horses. But it was worth a shot.

“I wish Gram Cracker had given that little horse to
me,”
Nathan said.

I was trying not to like this kid, but he was making it tough. “So talk to them, Nathan. Make them give me a chance with Amigo. Okay?”

“Okay,” he promised. “But nobody ever listens to me.”

“I have to get to the barn. Sal's coming over. Come by sometime,
Nathan,”
I said, leaving out Geri on purpose.

Geri looked up. “Is Lizzy mad?”

Nathan frowned back at her like he had no idea what she meant. “Lizzy? She's never mad at anybody.”

“Why don't you call her and ask her, Geri?” I said.