by Suzanne Weyn
Something nickered in the far stall, reminding Taylor that Claire had mentioned there was also supposed to be a pony. Taylor couldn’t see one behind the half wall that separated the stalls. It had to be small and standing all the way in the back.
Cautiously keeping her back to the stalls and her eyes on the threatening black horse, Taylor sidestepped her way to the far stall. Inside was a cream-colored pony mare with a wild, frizzy blond mane of coarse hair. Standing about forty inches tall, she cowered in the corner, staring back fearfully. Her short, muscular body was turned so that she presented her rear to Taylor, her tail swishing. Taylor got the message — Come any closer and I’ll kick.
The black horse stomped and snorted again, pawing the ground.
What were they so afraid of? Had someone mistreated them so badly? Abandoning them in here was bad enough. Both creatures were filthy and clearly malnourished. Had something even worse been done to them?
But why were they so afraid of her?
Taylor remembered that at Ralph’s stable there had been an Appaloosa mare that went wild whenever she saw a cowboy hat because her owner before Ralph had been a cruel, cowboy hat–wearing trainer. Was it possible these two were mistaking her for someone they feared? Maybe the person who’d hurt these creatures had worn a baseball hat.
Acting on that hunch, Taylor whipped her baseball cap from her head, stuffing it into the back pocket of her jeans. To make her point clearer, she yanked out the elastic of her ponytail, letting her long hair fall free.
The black horse stared at her.
Taylor let her shoulders drop and tried not to look threatening, the way she did with the rescued dogs at Claire’s house. She didn’t make direct eye contact and turned away slightly.
The horse’s ears slowly moved forward, changing their defensive, agitated position to one of cautious interest.
Behind her, the clatter of hooves made Taylor look over her shoulder. The pony was turning forward. Her wide-set brown eyes softened.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Taylor crooned, moving slowly toward the pony.
The pony backed up two steps.
“I won’t hurt you. We’re here to help.” Cautiously, she reached forward to stroke the pony’s thick forelock. The pony allowed it, even dipping her small head slightly to allow Taylor greater access.
With a glance backward, Taylor checked on the black horse. His ears were now fully forward, and he tilted his head with curiosity.
Content that the horse was no longer threatening, Taylor turned her back to him entirely and continued to pet the small pony. “That’s a good girl,” she murmured. “Everything’s all right now.”
Taylor suddenly yelped with surprise as her head was tugged backward. Turning sharply, she was face to face with the black horse — and he was nibbling on her hair!
Claire clicked off her cell phone and turned to Taylor. “Good thing I helped Ralph Westheimer round up those chickens someone let loose inside his corral. Now he owes me a favor, so he’s sending over one of his stable hands with a horse trailer.”
“Why would someone put chickens in his corral?” Taylor asked.
Claire smiled and shrugged. “Probably didn’t want them anymore and dumped them at Ralph’s during the night.”
Taylor remembered being in line at the post office when a man picked up a vented box of live chickens. They made an awful racket. “I decided to try raising chickens,” the man told everyone in the post office.
“I’m just glad they’re not bees,” said Tom, the postal clerk. “I hate when folks order bees through the mail.”
This might have seemed strange somewhere else. But Pheasant Valley was an odd mix of country people, whose families had lived there for years, and newcomers, who commuted more than an hour to New York City every day to work.
Taylor looked over at the black horse and cream pony, now grazing peacefully near the outbuilding. The sunshine highlighted how filthy they both were. “They must be happy to finally be outside,” Taylor commented.
“I’ll bet,” Claire agreed.
Taylor could see the horse and pony better in the sunlight. The horse was big, with a short head, a long neck set low on broad shoulders, and a wide chest. His ribs showed, and his coat, tail, and mane were caked with dirt. “I’m pretty sure he’s a quarter horse,” Taylor remarked. “When I took lessons from Ralph, that’s the kind of horse he mostly had. You can tell from the long neck and wide chest. They’re great horses.”
“Why do they call them quarter?” Claire asked.
“Because when you race one, it can run really fast for a quarter of a mile.” Taylor remembered Ralph telling her that during a lesson once.
Claire’s eyes lit with a plan. “Maybe Ralph will keep these guys, at least for a while.”
“Are we allowed to just take someone else’s horse and pony?” Taylor questioned.
“We can because back at the van I called the ASPCA and had the folks there call the sheriff. The sheriff is trying to locate one of the owners to get permission.”
“What if they won’t give permission?” Taylor asked.
“Then they could be charged with animal neglect and abuse,” Claire said as she took her cell phone back out of her pocket. “That’s how it’s worked with other animal rescues I’ve done, anyway,” she added. “I’ve never actually done a horse rescue before.”
“I know,” Taylor said, remembering the many times she’d gone out with Claire. They’d come back with lots of dogs and cats, several abandoned domestic bunnies, and even a broken-winged goose. Once, they’d even brought back a baby crocodile — but never a horse and pony.
“I’m going to call him right now and find out if he’s been able to contact the owners,” Claire said, punching the sheriff’s number into her phone.
While Claire called, Taylor made her way toward the animals. The horse lifted his head, interested, and stepped toward her. The little pony moved at the same time.
Taylor made a soft clicking sound, inviting the horse to join her. He neighed in response but stayed where he was.
Patting her jeans pockets, she hoped she had a Life Saver or a wrapped peppermint to offer, but she came up empty. Not far from the outbuilding stood a low tree that Taylor realized was full of small crab apples. The horses at Ralph’s loved it when she brought them apples.
Taylor ran to the tree and shook the lowest branch she could reach. A shower of small green and red apples fell around her. Shielding herself with a raised arm, she laughed and jumped out of the way. When the downpour of fruit stopped she stuffed several of the apples into the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt and hurried across the yard.
Taylor wasn’t even halfway to them when the black horse caught the sweet fragrance of the apples. He lifted his head high and began to walk quickly toward Taylor. The little pony trailed him.
Before Taylor could even reach into her front pocket, the horse was nuzzling her belly, trying to get at the treats. Taylor laughed and pushed his muzzle away from her pocket. “Like apples a little, do you?” she joked, taking one from her pocket.
Holding her palm flat, she presented one to him. Taylor had learned — the hard way — that when presenting a horse with food, a flat palm helped keep her fingers from being accidentally nipped. The black horse chomped the apple in half with one bite. The other half tumbled to his feet. In an instant it, too, was in his mouth. He was about to dive into her pocket for more, but Taylor stepped away from him. “Hold on, greedy. What about your friend here?” she said with a grin.
Taylor moved to the pony and presented a small apple. The pony knocked it to the ground with her muzzle and then ate it.
Hot breath warmed Taylor’s cheek, and in the next instant she received a soft but insistent nudge on her shoulder. “Okay, okay,” she said, chuckling again and turning toward the horse behind her. “Hold your … horses.”
Claire walked over, smiling at them. “I see you’ve made friends,” she commented.
“I don’t
know if they like me, but they love my apples,” Taylor replied as she fed another largish one to the horse.
“The sheriff can’t locate the owners, but he’s authorized us to take them out of here,” Claire reported. As she spoke, a flatbed truck hauling a horse trailer pulled up the drive by the house. “Here’s Ralph’s ranch hand with the trailer.”
“I didn’t see any rope or halters or anything in that shed,” Taylor recalled.
“Go check again while I run up and talk to the driver,” Claire suggested. “He might have something.”
Taylor jogged back to the shed and stepped inside. Now that it had aired for a while the building wasn’t quite as pungent as earlier, but it caused Taylor to sneeze and cough just the same. On a dusty shelf in the tack area she searched for a halter or two that they could attach a rope to and lead the animals to the trailer, but she found only a short piece of frayed rope and an empty feed bag. Scanning the walls for anything that might be hung up, her eyes fell on wooden nameplates next to the stalls. She hadn’t noticed them before.
She crossed to them and read: ALBERT — AMERICAN QUARTER HORSE. Taylor was pleased to have been correct in identifying his breed. The other plate read: PIXIE — SHETLAND PONY.
When Taylor stepped outside once more, Albert and Pixie were waiting for her right by the door. Albert again probed her pocket in search of fruit. Taylor laughed lightly. “You apple hogs,” she teased them.
Taylor took an apple from her pocket and was about to extend the fruit to Albert when an idea came to her. Still holding the apple, she stepped backward four steps. Albert moved forward and Pixie followed him. Taylor realized that Pixie followed Albert everywhere.
Taylor kept going, stepping backward, until she was nearly to the house with the two animals trailing after her. “Well, look at that,” Claire said admiringly. “Aren’t you the clever one?”
Claire stood beside Ralph’s stable hand, a tall blond guy in overalls named Rick. Taylor knew him a little from riding at Ralph’s place. Claire and Rick had been walking back to the shed but were still closer to the trailer in the driveway. “Lead those two right on into that open trailer,” Claire said to Taylor.
Rick was carrying halters and lead lines. “Wow! Are those guys ever dirty!” he said when he saw the animals. “And they look starved.”
“I bet they’ll clean up nice,” Taylor said, already feeling a need to stick up for the two animals that had fallen into her care. She offered Albert and Pixie the apples they’d been after.
“Maybe,” Rick agreed in a doubtful tone. “Good luck finding a new home for them, though. I don’t know anybody who’d want two raggedy characters like them.”
“They just need a good grooming,” Taylor insisted, surprised by how defensive she felt.
Rick raised his brows skeptically. “If you say so. Anyway, let’s halter them in case I need to tie them in for the ride.”
Albert once again began sticking his muzzle into Taylor’s pocket. “Don’t give them many more of those,” Claire advised. “We don’t know how their bellies will handle the trip, if you know what I mean.”
Rick approached Albert with the halter. Albert neighed at him aggressively, angrily. He stomped the ground with his right hoof. Pixie whinnied shrilly, turning her back on Rick, ready to kick.
Taylor recalled their first encounter in the shed. “I don’t think they like men very much,” she advised Rick.
“I guess not,” Rick agreed. He turned toward Claire and offered the halter to her.
Claire waved it away. “I’ve never done that before. Taylor, would you be able to halter them?”
Taylor was suddenly nervous, not sure how the horse would react. At Ralph Westheimer’s place she’d learned not only how to ride a horse but also the basics of grooming and tacking — under the guidance of Ralph’s watchful eye.
“I’ve never done it completely on my own,” Taylor admitted, reaching out to take the halter from Rick, “but I’ll give it a try.”
After all, she thought, what could happen — other than being kicked, bitten, or stepped on?
Taylor held the halter at Albert’s eye level. “It’s just a halter, boy. You’ve seen this before.” She was talking to soothe Albert but also to calm her own fears.
With a soft whinny, Albert ducked his head down toward Taylor.
Taylor smiled softly. He was making it easy. Albert’s cooperation, this sign of friendship, melted her anxieties. She reached forward and with one hand stroked the area between Albert’s ears called the crown. With her other hand she slipped the leather halter over Albert’s ears, gently moving the halter over his muzzle. He readily accepted the halter as though he’d done this a thousand times.
Then she did the same to Pixie. Attaching Rick’s lead lines to the halters, she led them easily up the ramp and into the trailer. “It won’t be a long ride,” she told them as she left. “You’ll be okay.”
“They seem okay. I don’t think you have to tie them in,” she told Rick.
When the trailer was closed and latched, Claire turned to Rick. “So, I guess we should meet you back at Ralph’s stable,” she said to him.
But Rick shook his head. “Ralph said he can’t take them. He’s full up.”
“Not even outside?” Claire pressed.
“He just bought three new horses at auction last weekend, and he’s got them corralled outside,” Rick said. “Plus he’s boarding two new horses this week, and he’s hoping to get even more soon. Times are tough, and the number of kids taking lessons is down, so he really depends on boarding.”
Claire sighed, and her brows knit into a perplexed expression.
“Where else can we take them?” Taylor asked.
“That’s a good question,” Claire replied.
“Are you sure this is where you want to put them?” Rick asked, a dubious expression playing across his face. Taylor, Rick, and Claire were in Claire’s driveway, standing beside the horse trailer. “I don’t think you’re allowed to keep a horse in your front yard.”
The three of them turned their attention to the yard, which was circumscribed by a split-rail fence wrapped in chicken-wire net fencing. Bunny the pit bull had hopped out of Claire’s van and was now racing around the outside of the fence, while inside, six rescued dogs of different breeds and sizes barked playfully and chased her. “Pipe down,” Claire told them firmly. At the sound of her command, they all quieted. “I try to keep the barking to a minimum for the neighbors,” she explained to Rick and Taylor.
Pheasant Valley was full of farms, ranches, and private homes with sprawling acreage. But Claire’s small house was one of the older, smaller, former summer cottages, close to Mohegan Lake. It was in a community of old vacation houses situated close together. The only open space was a field across the street that led to a wood behind it.
Even though she had enclosed her property, Claire was constantly at odds with certain neighbors who objected to her ever-changing menagerie, especially when it got too raucous. “This isn’t enough room, and you have a lot of other animals,” Rick remarked, looking at the eighth of an acre yard doubtfully.
“It’s as big as a small corral, and horses like to be with other animals. They’re herd animals and don’t like to be lonely,” Taylor commented, remembering that Ralph never liked to corral a horse by itself.
Claire laughed. “They definitely would not be lonely here.”
“Maybe you’d better have the sheriff find them a place,” Rick suggested.
“No!” Taylor objected. “They’ve already been locked up for too long.”
“He wouldn’t put them in jail,” Rick replied.
“But they might wind up in some horse pound somewhere,” Taylor argued. She wasn’t sure there even was such a thing as a horse pound, but she didn’t want to take a chance on it.
“We’ll only keep them here temporarily,” Claire said, “until I can find someone to take them.”
“Who would want them?” Rick asked.
“Why?” Rick asked her. “They both need a lot of work. They might never be any good to anybody.”
“Sure they will be,” Claire said, walking around to the back of the trailer and unlatching it. “We’ll get them all fixed up. Won’t we, Taylor?”
“No problem,” Taylor replied, not exactly sure how they were going to do this but liking Claire’s positive attitude.
Claire entered the trailer and Albert danced nervously. “You’d better get them out, Taylor,” Claire called. “It seems this horse only wants you.”
Taylor was surprised at the small skip of joy and pride her heart did when she heard Claire’s words. Albert liked her best. It was probably silly to even care, but just the same, a smile came to her lips as she entered the trailer and saw how he settled down right away.
Taylor unloaded Albert and Pixie without any trouble. All she had to do was lead Albert down the ramp. Pixie came right behind them without even being summoned.
Rick unlatched the gate to the yard for Taylor. When Albert saw him there, he came to an abrupt stop. “Maybe you should move from the gate,” Taylor suggested to Rick.
As soon as Rick stepped away, Albert moved forward, bringing Pixie with him into the yard. Excited by their new boarders, Bunny darted into the yard and ran protective circles around Albert and Pixie, keeping the other curious dogs back. “Good girl, Bunny,” Claire praised her pet. “Let them get settled before they make friends with the other animals.”
Looking skyward, Taylor was a little startled that it was already very dusky. After the long, fun-filled days of summer she was always a little sad to see the sunlight gradually shorten as the season ended at the start of school.
“It looks like it might rain,” Claire commented, following Taylor’s upward gaze.
“That’s good. I thought it was dark because the days were getting shorter.”
“Well, they are, a little, but I think there are also storm clouds rolling in,” Claire said. “What are we going to do with these guys if it starts to pour?”
