Dante of the Maury River

by Gigi Amateau

  Melody shook her head. “Uh-uh,” she said, then clucked her tongue. “Being friends takes two, Daddy. Even I know that much. Have you ever tickled his ears like this? Or, wait. I know —” She plunged her hand into her peppermint pocket, retrieved a candy, and handed it to Doctor Tom. “Here. You try.”

  I nuzzled her for defending me.

  He smiled at her, but closed one eye and peered at me. “Hmm. What do you say? Water under the bridge?” He placed the candy in the well of his hand and clenched his fist around it. By then, I had decided there was about nothing in the world that I savored as much as the first shock of peppermint on my tongue followed by sweetness in the crunch. And there was easy pickings right in front of me, even if the prize was hidden.

  I dropped my nose toward Doctor Tom’s hand; he unfurled his thumb. “For you,” he said, and uncurled his fingers. “Really, truly.”

  Now, I didn’t lollygag. Just swiped the treat and nodded for more.

  “Well, I’ll be,” said Doctor Tom. He gentled his hand and touched my cheek softer than ever before. And without a needle in sight.

  Melody encouraged him. “See? You’re doing great. Maybe L.D.’s just super-duper sensitive. I think he worries a lot. Maybe you have to reassure him. You know, talk to him. Make sure he knows you like him and think he’s a good boy.”

  “Hmmm . . . could be,” said Doctor Tom. “Most Edensway foals seem born knowing we’re on their side. Not him, though.”

  Melody looked at me, then at him. “Horses are like people, Daddy. You have to take the time to get to know each one. I learned that from you.”

  Doctor Tom breathed in a slow breath. I breathed out. He touched my withers, then my shoulder, then my chest. No needle, no tubes, no halter.

  “Seems maybe I’ve forgotten some things I should be remembering. What else have you picked up hanging around the barn?”

  The child was a confident speaker, that’s for sure. She didn’t hesitate to school her father in equine matters she knew to be true. “When I was six you told me this: ‘Never get yourself into a position of girl versus horse, Melody, because a horse will always win.’ ”

  “True enough,” said Doctor Tom. “A pearl that holds true for man versus horse, too.”

  “And when I was seven you said: ‘You can’t demand anything from a horse. You have to earn everything through trust. That takes time.’ ”

  “I said that?”

  “Yep. And one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “ ‘It works best when you and your horse want the same thing.’ ”

  All of a sudden, Doctor Tom stepped back, away from me. Just when I was starting to think I might like him a little, he spooked.

  “Well, my foot,” he said, more to himself than to Melody or me. “Now I see these last few months a little more clearly.” He knelt down to Melody’s eye level. “Tell me something. When do you think I stopped knowing all of these very important lessons?”

  Melody shrugged. “Ever since you bred Beatrice last year.”

  “Might be. This black colt certainly is our best hope at keeping Edensway going. His dam was one of the finest at the track. Prince Firenze is no slouch either. The whole racing world was watching Beatrice’s pregnancy, and they’re watching this little guy, too. I hope she’s as good a breeder as she was a racer. If she is, we might turn this thing around. Been a tough few years.”

  The child blocked the sun with her hand. “L.D. is the most important horse we’ve ever had, isn’t he?”

  Doctor Tom nodded. “Well, he is right now, for sure. I won’t lie. What we really hope is for Beatrice to be the most important horse we’ve ever had. Little Dante’s got to at least get her off to a good start. Either by bringing the right price at Lexington or by burning it up on the track. Or both!”

  For the whole long time that Doctor Tom and Melody and I stood together in the pasture, I tugged at the grass and hoped for more candy. After a silent little bit, the girl took a deep breath. “Everything will be okay. I know it will.”

  “Melody, this colt and I have been at odds from the start. You know, he died the night he was born. We delivered him, he took a single breath, and then nothing. No pulse, no respiration, no blood pressure to speak of. Dead for three full minutes. I couldn’t let him go, because without him, we had no future. So I worked on him nonstop. Begged him to breathe. Rubbed his heart, his head. Did everything I knew to do. One by one my staff started to walk away. I knelt on the foaling floor and wouldn’t give up.”

  “You saved him, Daddy.”

  “I know I did, baby doll. You’ve got me wondering if I was selfish to interfere with nature like that. Greedy, if I only brought him back to fulfill our hopes.”

  I walked over to a thick patch of grass nearer to Doctor Tom. He was right in some ways. I hadn’t wanted to leave the ancestral plains where I could run and graze with Grandfather Dante.

  But listening to Doctor Tom talk quietly about Edensway Farm, about Marey and me and the life he had built around horses, got me thinking differently. I realized that without Doctor Tom, I wouldn’t have had a single day or night with Marey. Wouldn’t have ever known her. Or little Melody, either.

  I considered whether maybe the needles and poking and prodding were what had let me be here with my dam. I wondered if, maybe, that was enough. I nuzzled Doctor Tom’s pant leg.

  Melody caught her breath in surprise. “Look, Daddy! He wants to be your friend.”

  “I see that,” said Doctor Tom. He cupped my muzzle gently in his rough hand. “Let’s start over,” he said.

  I whickered, and Melody did, too. I shook my mane, and the girl did, too. Doctor Tom laughed at us both. “Well, okay!”

  Too bad I didn’t realize what all I had at Edensway. It wouldn’t matter if I had, though, because none of it was intended to last forever.

  Every morning I kept up a practice of watching the main doorway and listening for the singsongy voice of Mrs. Eden. “Have a good day, sweetheart,” she’d say to send Melody off to school. Soon as I heard that door slam, I’d get to dancing around, because I knew breakfast was coming, my favorite meal. The barnhands would always set my grain and hay aside for Melody to dispense. When she’d appear with that bucket of sweet feed in the morning, I knew turnout was coming, too.

  We foals, we’d all get to kicking at our stall doors and whinnying when feeding time was near.

  A struggling little sprout of a friendship had started to emerge between Doctor Tom and me. He could see how being in the company of Melody affected me. No big mystery to me as to why.

  She expected me to be a baby as I was a baby. Nothing more and nothing less. The great predictions of everyone else dissolved around her. Not that I always kept quiet and calm for the girl. She liked games as much as anybody I’ve ever known. And, well, I liked games, too.

  Here’s a snappy memory to help me explain. I can picture Melody standing at the fence, near the paddock gate, Doctor Tom beside her with Covert Agent’s halter on one shoulder and mine over the other.

  Father and daughter talked quietly with each other and watched me graze.

  “Think I can catch L.D.?” Doctor Tom asked Melody.

  “Nope.” Melody shook her forelock. “You’ll never catch him.”

  “You know, I almost gave Covert the top stall. In some ways, he is really the top foal this season.”

  On cue, of course, my little chestnut cousin trotted up to Doctor Tom and slipped his head right into the waiting halter.

  “See what I mean about how pleasant this guy is? That goes a far piece toward making an impression on buyers. Hey, Little Dante,” the vet called out to me. “Why don’t you emulate Covert, here? At least in front of the Texan who is coming next week.”

  That should’ve been a clue that something was a-brew in the barn. I hadn’t yet figured exactly what, and even if I had, right that moment I was more of a mind to keep messing with Doctor Tom.

  I stopped grazing and stared a
t his face, planning all the ways to evade him when he started toward me with the halter. He handed Covert over to Melody.

  “You ought to at least take some grain,” she suggested. “He is not easy to catch. For you.”

  A gusty fresh breeze lit upon the field and whisked my tail in the air with an invitation to mischief, as only a Kentucky wind can do. Truly, it was too beautiful a morning to come inside. I took an easy trot away on down the hill.

  I pricked my ears. This could be fun, I thought.

  “Oh, shoot,” said Doctor Tom. “He heard you.”

  Melody giggled.

  Doctor Tom followed me for a few, then looked back at Melody. Now, it would’ve been powerful fun if Covert would have pulled himself loose and together we could have really run Doctor Tom through the gauntlet. Run him into the corners. Zigzagged him around the paddock a bit.

  While Melody held his lead, Covert stood in one spot eating grass, paying me no mind.

  That’s okay. I was enjoying myself even without Goody Four-Hooves, Covert Agent. I dropped my head, but only pretended to graze. I’d just have to trick Doctor Tom with Melody’s help, instead.

  I kept my left eye on him and kept my right on the paradise before me. Those bluegrass fields of my birthplace rolling out into forever and ever, with white fences here and there cradling Thoroughbreds of all ages and every color. That made for an easy choice of which way to go.

  The fun of catch-me-if-you-can lies not in never getting caught but in persuading the man holding the halter that he most certainly can catch you, and then not letting him succeed until he’s convinced himself that he can’t. What a thrilling game, waiting until the last second possible — till right when the wanting hand and open halter almost touch your nose — before bolting away down the hill. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Invigorating.

  I went along for a good little bit, making Doctor Tom jog after me every which away and loose. Melody on the fence, barely holding Covert’s lead, cackling. Delighted. Shouting “I told you! I told you!”

  Eventually, the game ended with Doctor Tom’s surrender. He admitted defeat. “Okay, you win.” All I ever wanted.

  Melody hopped down, and Doctor Tom held his hand out for Covert’s lead.

  She called me over. “Little Dante, come here.” I lifted my head and did like Marey always did. I craned my neck toward the halter.

  “Of course,” Doctor Tom said.

  The difference was that Melody imagined what it was like to be me. Before opening the gate and leaving the field, she told me exactly what would happen next. “See? We’re going up to the barn. Daddy needs to weigh you to make sure you’re growing right. Then, I’ll bring you straight back here with your friends.”

  Doctor Tom never took the time for small talk.

  Not every horse needs such support, but every horse needs something. Somehow, the child knew what all to do because she took time to consider what I needed.

  In retrospect, I have to wonder: how would my life have turned out if I had taken Doctor Tom’s advice and acted a little more docile like my cousin, Covert Agent? That, I will never know.

  Life in the weanling barn was easing on toward a good routine when chaos descended. Trouble started with talk of the Texan, and then Red showed up at our part of the farm. We weren’t accustomed to seeing him around anymore. Of course, we’d all known him when we were babies, so when he came sashaying down the breezeway, we let the news be heard that he was disrupting things.

  The filly two stalls down from me got to kicking. She started the colt next to her whinnying, then Covert Agent and I joined in, too. Bing-banging at the doors, cling-clanging on our feed buckets. Wean drama, for sure. But the real ruckus had yet to arrive.

  Doctor Tom was in the feed room when we started our impromptu riot. He gave Red a hard time. “Red’s been scaring the daylights out of horses since I was a schoolboy. That right?” He laughed and clapped Red on the shoulder. You could tell he liked him.

  “I’ll tell you what, Dante. Red’s going to be spending part of his time up here with you all from now on. We’ve really got him running around.”

  Red spoke up not to me but to Doctor Tom. “As long as Edensway’s got jobs for me to do, I’m happy.”

  The barn was alive with the smell of Gala and the promise of Golden Delicious that morning, thanks to the light breeze that rustled up scents from the orchard straight in through the back of the barn. Mind you, we really got to kicking and neighing once the smell of apples reached us. All of us declaring to Red in unison, “We love a crisp Kentucky morning. Let us out. Time’s a-wasting!”

  But Red had come up the hill with a purpose. A real whopper. “Got to get you youngsters ready for the sale next week,” he said. Then he hollered to Doctor Tom, “Every one of them going?”

  “I think so.” Doctor Tom popped out of Covert’s stall, wiping his hands on his jeans. I guess he was getting himself a lot dirtier now that he was working more jobs around the farm.

  He pointed toward me. “Maybe not Dante. I’ve got a private buyer flying in from Houston tomorrow noontime to look at him. Let’s shine him up. Make sure he gets his shots and shows well. Nothing I’d like better than to close the deal in thirty minutes and put our friend here on a chartered plane by suppertime.”

  He started for the feed room, then stopped and addressed me directly. “Can you cover me that spread, Little Dante? One half hour.”

  Right then, I really knew I wasn’t Marey’s foal anymore. The moment had arrived for me to step into the limelight and do right by my dam, my pedigree, and the Edens.

  I nickered at Red and Doctor Tom.

  “Woo-hoo!” said Red. “I’d say that’s a yes.”

  The Texan and me started out fine. Right on time the next day, he pulled into the drive. He had come alone. No assistant. No children. No trailer and no driver.

  Don’t know why, but I expected the buyer from Houston to be a bigger man. Had he been a horse, he’d have been a pony, unless you count the extra height his hat gave him. Even then, he would’ve been riding the horse-pony line.

  Doctor Tom addressed him as Junie. Red called him “Yessir.” Those first few seconds held a lot of promise that a deal might get done.

  Junie carried with him a shiny silver suitcase that he set down in front of my door. I craned my neck to investigate and tried to get a whiff of whatever might be concealed in there. Wondering if maybe Junie had brought me a peppermint all the way from Houston.

  Doctor Tom wasn’t inclined to dillydally. After all, our agreement only covered thirty minutes. So, Red clipped on my lead and walked me out. I might’ve done a little dancing, but not much.

  “He’s sure pretty,” Junie said. “Black as tar, not a speck of white.”

  “Great looking,” agreed Doctor Tom.

  “How ’bout I take some measurements, Tom?” he said, and didn’t wait for permission.

  Junie knelt down to that interesting hard silver case. He opened it up, and I stepped back. The Texan began to piece together a real monster of a stick. He called it his measuring stick. I called it Trouble. I trotted sideways and back.

  Junie grabbed ahold of my halter. “Steady, now. Steady.” His grip was full strength and full-on.

  “He don’t like new things,” said Red.

  “He also don’t appear to be a very intelligent animal,” Junie replied.

  Now, a half hour wasn’t nearly up, but was I going to let him get away with insulting me like that? Not a chance. I started pawing and scraping my front hooves along the ground. First my right, then my left. Wanted to let him know I meant business and that I possessed the agility to go with either a left or a right kick. I brandished one leg, then the other.

  The Texan tightened his grip on my lead, yanked my head down, and stepped in close to me. A tad too close for me to set my aim upon his shin, but I tried.

  Junie didn’t care for my behavior a lick. “What else have you got to show me, Tom? This colt isn’t all I’d hoped he’d be.
”

  I didn’t cover Doctor Tom his half hour. The appointment didn’t take anywhere near that long. Red took my lead while Junie packed up his stick. I danced and trotted right back to my box and sputtered my great relief to be done with Junie.

  Before my door was shut tight, Doctor Tom piped up: “How about I show you a different colt with even more potential than the black one? Great breeding, big heart. Also a grandson of Dante’s Paradiso.”

  “What color is he?” Junie asked.

  “All chestnut.”

  “No white?”

  “Not a speck.”

  Junie rubbed his palms together. “I do love a redhead. Let’s get a look at him.”

  Covert Agent accepted the measuring stick and Junie’s hard grip without a stammer. In return, Junie stroked a smooth check for seven figures to Doctor Tom. Looked like my cousin was now the top foal of the season. Not me.

  I’ll be a crossbreed if pretty soon after Covert left, every one of the remaining foals in my barn didn’t get loaded up and hauled off to one September sale or another.

  All I could do was stand and watch. Helpless, moving toward hopeless. The only colt or filly left in the barn? Yours truly. Little Dante.

  Marey was the first one I thought about, and it made me sad for her that I was a disappointment. I looked out over my stall door, hoping maybe there was a private trailer waiting to take me to Lexington, too.

  “You’re not going, so whatcha lookin’ at, Boss?” Red said to me. “Not to any of those fancy sales. This mess is your own doing, I’m afraid. Lucky for you, the Edens are old-school. Every now and again they keep ownership over a foal for themselves.”

  He scratched my neck, and even though his hands were rough enough that he could have curried me with his bare palm, I let him. I watched the cloud of dust from the horse trailer zip down the drive. Good-bye to the chestnut filly, the bay, and the brown, and all the other colts.