by Karen Wood
Shara half-led, half-dragged the colt around under the light to keep him moving while they waited for the vet and, as she did, she noticed something very interesting about him. His coat was a burnt golden-brown and there were black dapples on his hindquarters. His mane was silver, almost white.
This colt was a silver taffy, which gave Shara a powerful clue about where he had come from. She’d learned when researching her biology assignment that only a red taffy crossed with a black could produce a horse of that colouring. Her mind raced back to the frantic taffy mare, tied to the semi. This had to be her colt. The older Conne–man’s words rang in her ears. Find that stupid colt!
Shara kept walking and talked soothingly to the little horse. ‘You must be a tricky fellow to get into my feed bins. No need to ask how you got colic!’
Barry trotted down the stairs looking quite jolly for a man who’d just committed himself to a second mortgage. ‘John Duggin is on his way. He said he’ll be half an hour and to keep the horse walking.’ He surprised Shara by smiling. ‘He said that if we ring the RSPCA in the morning and surrender the horse, they’ll cover the bill until they track down the owner.’
Shara couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. There was something special about this little guy. She had the same feeling about him she’d had when she first saw Rocko. There was some sort of reason why their paths had crossed. She loved nursing animals back to health, and knew in her heart that this horse would be much better off with her than with its current owners.
Shara was still with the colt when the RSPCA arrived the next morning. Her legs ached and she was so tired she thought her head might drop off.
John Duggin had put a tube into one of the colt’s nostrils and down into its stomach. Then he’d poured paraffin oil down to flush out any blockages. He gave the colt a needle to stop the spasms and told Shara to keep walking him until he did a poo. The poos came just as the sun was rising. Boy, did they come. With great relief, Shara had unclipped the colt and retreated a safe distance to let him do his business.
A few hours later, a white RSPCA van pulled into the driveway. Two women got out, looking very official with clipboards under their arms. ‘Shara Wilson?’ asked the more matronly of the two.
‘Yes,’ said Shara, holding out her hand.
‘Lurlene Spencer.’
‘And I’m Anita from the animal shelter,’ said the younger woman, stepping forward with a smile. ‘We often work together.’
Lurlene stepped past them both and looked at the colt. ‘Is this the horse you reported?’ She turned and glared at Shara as if she were responsible for the colt’s suffering.
‘It ate nearly a whole bag of barley and then we found it last night with colic.’
‘Well, no wonder if it gorged itself on grain, especially when it’s malnourished like that,’ the woman snorted.
‘Oh, hello? I’m the one who has been dragging myself around all night keeping the poor animal alive! Our shed door had two barrel bolts on it, so it was hardly our fault.’ Shara was tired and hungry and worried about the colt. She didn’t need the third degree as well.
‘I see.’ Lurlene Spencer opened her clipboard and began to take notes. ‘We’ll call him Goldie, shall we?’
The younger woman caught Shara’s eye and pulled a face that seemed to say, You should try working with her all day!
‘We got the vet out and he’s treated him with paraffin oil and anti-spasm drugs,’ said Shara, trying to stay polite. ‘And I walked him most of the night. He had a big poo at about five-thirty this morning.’
‘Yes, yes, we received the vet’s report by fax this morning,’ Lurlene said in a dismissive tone. She unbuckled the gate and entered the yard. ‘There’s still a very high risk of founder.’ She ran a hand down the colt’s shoulder and spoke softly to him before stepping back and taking more notes. ‘And you don’t know who owns Goldie?’
Shara hesitated. ‘Will they take him back if you find them?’
‘Hardly. They’ll be lucky not to be prosecuted. If I have anything to do with it, they will be. Do you have the camera, Anita? We’ll need some pictures.’
‘I think I have an idea who he might belong to,’ offered Shara.
‘Yes?’
‘He might belong to the rodeo contractors who just left town: the Conneman brothers.’
The women looked at each other and then at her. ‘What makes you think it’s theirs?’ asked Anita.
‘Well, this colt is a silver taffy, and . . . ’ ‘It’s a palomino, dear,’ Lurlene corrected.
What is your problem?
‘Actually, it’s not. Silver taffies are often confused with palominos.’ Shara spoke quickly before she was incorrectly corrected again. ‘See those black dapples on his hindquarters? Well, they can only come from crossing a red taffy with a black. So one of its parents must be a red taffy, which isn’t very common.’
Both women looked totally gripped now, obviously dazzled by her expertise on equine genetics.
‘And when I was at the Coachwood Crossing Show the other day . . .’ Doh! Did I just admit that? ‘ . . . I noticed a red taffy mare tied to the Connemans’ truck, and she was whinnying like she’d just lost her foal. This horrible man came out from behind the truck and whipped her. He was very cruel.’
‘Yes, we’re familiar with the Conneman brothers and their training methods,’ said Anita. ‘Actually, there was a protest staged there a few days ago, quite a successful one. It gained a bit of media coverage and it may lead to further investigations.’ She looked the colt up and down and added thoughtfully, ‘The Connemans did leave the area in a hurry. Maybe they left this animal behind in their haste.’
‘So what will happen to him?’ asked Shara, resisting an urge to boast that she had been involved in the protest.
‘He’ll be taken back to the shelter and rehabilitated,’ said Lurlene. ‘If we can prove that he’s been neglected or cruelly treated, which shouldn’t be difficult in this case, we can prosecute.’
‘Then what will happen to him?’
‘He’ll be placed in a suitable home.’
‘So is there any chance of him staying with the current carer?’ asked Shara. ‘Could I look after him here?’
Lurlene hesitated. ‘Possibly. You wouldn’t be able to charge the previous owner for costs, though. Only the RSPCA can do that.’ She looked at the colt. ‘He needs proper veterinary treatment. He’s quite a mess.’
Shara’s shoulders slumped. There was no way her dad would pay a load of vet bills for a horse he didn’t own, especially when the RSPCA was willing to do so.
Anita looked out into the grazing paddock, which was knee-high in lush green pasture. She eyed Rocko, who grazed alongside Louise’s big mare, Bella. Both were shiny and healthy. ‘Or we could take him back to the shelter, stabilise him and then bring him back here to fatten up. You would need to register yourself as a volunteer, though.’
Shara’s heart leapt. Now that was a plan she could work with!
‘We would need your parents’ consent, though. You are under eighteen?’ said Lurlene.
‘Well, yes. Umm, you may need to talk to Dad.’
A hint of a smile crossed Lurlene’s lips.
Whatever the two women said to Barry, it worked miracles. Shara watched from a distance as Lurlene and Anita smiled, chatted, joked and charmed his mismatched footy socks off. By the time they stepped off the front verandah and rejoined her by the yard, they were making arrangements to pick up Goldie and drop him back a few days later.
That afternoon, Shara helped Anita load the colt into the float and although he looked weak and tired, he walked up the ramp without fuss. He had obviously been on a float before.
As she watched the car and float roll out of the driveway, she fizzed with excitement. In only a couple of days, she might have a new horse – a gorgeous silver taffy!
6
ON SATURDAY, Shara lay in the hammock on the back verandah impatiently tapping her boots togethe
r. She’d attempted to read some science papers for an upcoming assignment, but she could barely focus.
It had been a whole forty-eight hours since she’d heard any news of the colt. Had he recovered fully? Horses could be sick for weeks after grain colic, and Goldie was in such poor condition to start with. Why wouldn’t John Duggin answer his phone?
She sighed and looked out to where Rocko grazed in the long grass. It was an unbelievably gorgeous morning and it seemed criminal to be sitting around and not riding. But Jess had to work at the bakery all morning, and Shara had promised she would wait for her.
After reprimanding herself repeatedly for even thinking of the idea, Shara finally decided that she might as well ring the rodeo schmuck. Corey worked for his dad part-time. He might know something.
How to get his number? Ask Elliot? But he’d tell Grace, Grace would tell Jess, and Jess could be such a disapproving old woman. Hmmm. Shara pulled out her iPhone and googled the local branch of the rodeo association, then scrolled through its contacts. Aha!
‘How’s the draft?’ she asked when he picked up. Much cooler not to introduce herself.
‘Good cattle,’ said Corey on the other end. ‘Purebred Droughtmasters. You’d like them.’ Shara could hear their crooning in the background mingling with country music and instantly wished she was there.
‘So, did you find someone to share the float?’
‘No. I was saving a spot for you.’
‘Do you even know who this is?’
‘Of course I do.’
She remained silent, testing him. Grace reckoned he had so many girlfriends he couldn’t keep up with them all.
‘Shara,’ he said, after the smallest of pauses.
‘Took you a while.’
‘I’ve got one more run in the Novice, then I’m done for the day. You should come out for the band tonight.’
He was incorrigible, which she found kind of enjoyable. But she remained aloof. ‘Can’t, I promised I’d go on a night ride with Jess.’ That was close enough to the truth – give or take a few hours.
‘You can ride around in the dark all you like out here.’
‘Not quite the same,’ she said. ‘Hey, did your dad tell you about the colt that showed up at my place?’
‘The one you thought was a burglar?’
‘Err, yes.’ It seemed so stupid now. Best not to tell Corey that at one stage she had thought he might be the burglar. ‘Your dad came and looked at him. Have you heard anything about how he’s going?’
‘He’s at the Coachwood Animal Shelter. They’re having trouble with him.’
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ asked Shara. ‘Has he been sick again?’
‘No, but he’s badly undernourished. Dad reckons he’s about two years old, from the look of his teeth. He’s only as big as a yearling, though. But that’s not the trouble.’
‘So, what is?’
‘He can undo stable doors. He chews on anything; lead ropes, brushes. He chewed the back pocket off my jeans while I was talking to one of the staff. Cheeky.’ Corey sounded suddenly distracted. ‘Hey, I gotta go and warm up. Talk later, hey?’
‘Okay, bye.’ Shara imagined him on that big red quarter horse, tucking his phone back in his pocket, kicking it into a canter and circling a few laps. He looked good on a horse. No wonder girls hung off him all the time. Not her, though – Corey was so not her type.
She lay there basking in the sunshine and hummed a little tune. Her dad walked onto the verandah and set a cup of coffee and the newspaper on the table.
‘I just visited Goldie at the shelter,’ said Barry. ‘The staff say he’s doing great.’
‘Did you?’ Shara peered over the lip of the hammock, surprised. ‘I just spoke to Corey, and he says he’s been undoing stable doors.’
‘Hmmm.’ Barry began flipping through the paper. ‘They didn’t tell me that bit.’
Shara wondered whether to tell him about the rest of the colt’s antics and decided against it. ‘Have they found the owners yet?’
‘No – the RSPCA’s been in touch with the Connemans, and they denied owning him. But they’re probably just trying to avoid prosecution.’ He took a sip of his coffee.
‘Oh. So what happens next? Where will Goldie end up?’
‘Well, if they can’t prove he belongs to the Connemans, they’ll find him a new home.’
‘He could come and live here, Dad. He could be your horse,’ said Shara, the idea coming to her and flowing out of her mouth before she could register how stupid it was.
Shara’s mother walked onto the verandah. Her gold bracelets jingled as she set a platter of sandwiches on the table. ‘What? Haven’t we got enough big mouths to feed around here?’
‘Well, actually—’ Barry began.
‘Actually what?’ said Louise. ‘You don’t even like riding, Barry.’
‘I was thinking more about when Rocko goes,’ said Barry. ‘If Shara retires him some day, she’ll have nothing to ride. Be good for her to have a young one coming through.’
Shara’s mouth fell open.
Barry continued. ‘Of course, there’s still the chance that the Connemans are telling the truth and that somebody else owns him. But if the RSPCA can prove he belonged to them, they can send them the colt’s feed and vet bills and then re-home him.’
Shara couldn’t believe it. She would have her own project horse to train and break in. Her dad was talking as if they already owned Goldie! She leapt out of the hammock and gave her dad a huge squeeze. ‘You are the best dad in the whole world!’
He patted her arm. ‘Nothing’s final yet, but if we get him, he can be your birthday pressie.’
She hugged him even tighter.
‘Just don’t let it distract you from your studies,’ Louise put in. ‘You’re doing so well right now.’
‘I promise!’
Shara was so wound up with excitement she barely knew what to do with herself. She couldn’t wait for Jess to finish work at the bakery so she could tell her. Eventually, she wandered down the hill paddock to check on the cows.
She sat by the creek’s edge imagining what Goldie would look like grazing alongside Rocko. She pictured him trotting up for his feed and giving her a friendly whinny, the way Jess’s horse Dodger always did for her. Goldie was so sweet and gentle, unlike Rocko. Much as she loved her big quarter horse, they got along best when she was on his back. It would be soooo nice to have a horse who enjoyed a pat.
She began planning his training schedule. If he was two years old, she could start lunging and mouthing already! She would need a good lead horse. Maybe Jess would let her borrow Dodger. There were so many things to teach Goldie. He was beginning to feel like her horse already!
7
THREE DAYS LATER, Shara thought she might totally explode with anticipation. It seemed like months since her brief encounter with Goldie, and she could barely remember what he looked like. Her friends had come to help get everything ready for his arrival.
‘Did they find Goldie’s owners yet?’ asked Grace, as she helped Shara spread fresh new bales of straw about the stable.
‘Nah,’ said Shara. ‘But I reckon the Connemans owned him for sure.’
‘I googled them, and from what I found, they definitely did.’ Jess carried two huge armfuls of hay from the shed and stuffed them into the manger.
‘What did you find?’
‘According to their website, they supply cattle for rough riding events,’ said Jess. ‘There were heaps of buckjumping photos. One rider even looked like Corey.’ She shot Shara a censorious look.
‘Did he have gorgeous brown hair and eyes to die for?’ asked Shara, just to stir up her bestie.
Jess threw Shara a disgusted look. ‘I don’t know, he had a big stupid rodeo hat on. Anyway, they reckoned they used real outback brumbies, wild and untamed, and they had heaps of photos of the wild horse race. There were a couple of that red taffy mare too. You know, the one tied to their truck that day.’ She picked up
two empty buckets from the corner of the stable and walked to the door.
‘So, she was a brumby.’
‘Apparently.’ Jess turned back to her friends and lowered her voice. ‘They also had a black quarter horse stallion imported from America, and there was a photo of him in a neck-stretch gallop with a rider hanging off one side. He’s a trick-riding horse. Very cool.’
‘Ha!’ said Shara. ‘I knew it! Mix a red taffy with a black and what do you get? A silver taffy! Goldie belonged to them!’
‘Here he comes!’ shouted Grace, pointing to the horse float barrelling along the road behind Barry’s car. The girls ran to open the front gate. A faint whinny sounded from inside the float as it turned into the driveway.
Barry pulled up, walked to the back of the float and let the tailgate down. The colt shifted about anxiously, banging against the chain that looped behind his rump.
Shara ran to the front of the float and pulled the door open. Goldie tossed his head and sniffed at her. ‘Heyyy,’ she said, holding out an open hand for him to nuzzle. ‘Remember me?’
She ran both hands over his cheeks and looked into his big, soft eyes. The colt tossed his head again. ‘Yes, I think you do!’
Shara reached to untie him and found a soggy stump dangling from the tie-hook. ‘Hey! You’ve chewed through your lead rope.’
Barry poked his head through the other front door. ‘He’s been through a few of them. The staff at the shelter just gave up and used baling twine – it was getting too expensive. He’s good at getting his halter off, too, if it’s not done up firmly.’
Shara shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter, we’ll sort something out.’ She called out to Jess, who stood ready to unhook the rear chain. ‘Okay, let him off!’
The colt backed carefully down the ramp and then let out a long neigh as if to announce his own important arrival. Shara looked him over. He really was the most amazing burnt gold, with the black dapples down his hindquarters and hocks, and his thick, silvery mane. He’d lost his wormy belly, and Shara could see the muscle definition so typical of a quarter horse. Even though he was still so thin, she could see he would be spectacular; way beyond anything she had hoped for.
