Later that afternoon, I headed down to the barn with an armload of old towels that Mom said were appropriate for horse bathing and a bucket of long, skinny carrots from the garden. I hoped Twaziem agreed this was a good idea. Charming had been a complete gentleman, but Sierra warned me that young horses might dance around the shower stall the first time they got wet. I was glad Jack promised to help, but figured I couldn’t go wrong with bribery too.
I hung the towels in the shower stall, took two carrots, and went after my horse. I didn’t use the flat nylon halter this time. I opted for what Sierra had called a training one. The thin rope halter had knots that placed pressure on nerves in a horse’s face. This should get Twaziem’s attention and keep him from biting my brother. I attached the lead to the bottom loop and led him out of his regular stall.
“I don’t think you’ve had this done before,” I said, “but you really need a bath to get rid of those dead lice and that awful smell from the delousing powder. This won’t be so bad because we’re not doing it the old-fashioned way with cold water from a garden hose the way I did Prince Charming. We have a nice shower with lots of warm water.”
Twaziem nuzzled me as I led him into the stall. It had rubber mats on the floor so he couldn’t slip and drains so he wouldn’t have to stand in water. A lot of horses hated puddles because they couldn’t see into them. Jack arrived with bottles of soap and shampoo, and a bucket filled with sponges and scrapers. Twaziem made an ugly face at my brother.
“Okay,” I said. “What do you want to do? Be chewed into little Jack bits or scrub?”
He laughed. “I think I’ll scrub for a while if you can hold him.”
“Let’s try and see what happens,” I said.
Jack put the bucket with the sponges out of the way. He turned on the faucet and adjusted the temperature, holding the hose away from Twaziem until the water was warm, but not too hot.
Meanwhile, I used the sealant that Sierra recommended on the hooves. I didn’t want Twaz to have foot problems because his feet got too wet. Once I finished painting each hoof with the iodine mixture, I stepped back and held his head.
Jack slowly stepped up by Twaziem’s neck and began spraying him with warm water, up the front legs to his chest, over his left shoulder and then onto his neck. Twaz snorted, but he didn’t move, so my brother kept wetting him down. As Jack soaked the back, then the ribs and finally Twaz’s hindquarters, I saw the yellow patches of dead lice slide down the coat and onto the floor.
All right, I thought. This was going to work. My horse would feel and look so much better when the parasites were off his body. Once Twaziem was totally wet, Jack put the sponges out of the way while he filled the bucket with warm water and a couple squirts of dish soap. Then, he grabbed a sponge. “Do you want me to keep going or should I try holding him while you do it?”
I shook my head. “Like Sierra told me this morning, if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Right now, he’s standing super quiet. Let’s get this done. Next time, I’ll wash him. He has so many gender issues. Maybe, I can get Vicky here, and she’ll be able to hold him.”
Twaziem stomped his hooves at the sound of Jack’s voice but the bay settled down when we got quiet again. He was a strange one. Most of the other horses I’d known liked listening to people, but not this guy. Somehow, he associated chatter with abuse. I slipped him a couple carrots while Jack scrubbed him down with the sponge until suds covered Twaziem’s entire brown coat.
Next came his tail. Jack stayed carefully to the side while he washed it. After he finished with the tail, Jack worked shampoo into Twaz’s mane. And finally it was time to rinse off the horse. It took what seemed like a long time to get rid of all the soap and shampoo. More carrot pieces to eat and my bay colt stood like a rock. I praised him while I gave him another treat.
When Twaziem was soap free, Jack passed me a damp sponge. “Wipe off his face. We won’t use any shampoo this time. But if you do it, then he can’t bite me.”
“Okay.” I draped the lead over my arm so if my horse jerked, he could get away, and I wouldn’t get hurt. Then, I washed off Twaziem’s head, around his ears and down the center over his blaze. Jack took the sponge from me a couple of times and wrung it out in clean water. I even cleaned under the forelock and wiped around Twaz’s eyes. A couple snorts before he nudged me, looking for carrots, and we were good to go.
I handed back the sponge and adjusted the lead so I could hold the horse while Jack used a scraper to get rid of the excess water. After that we toweled Twaziem dry. I stayed up by the front end of him, and Jack did the rest. We couldn’t put him back in his usual stall until he was completely dry or he’d catch cold.
Jack left partway through to go clean Twaziem’s stall and reload the manger with a new bale of hay. This was the perfect time for daily maintenance since my horse couldn’t kick or bite if he was in the shower. I kept talking to him while I finished drying him and figured out that he didn’t mind my voice when it was just the two of us. For some reason, he just didn’t like the conversations people shared. They must pose some kind of threat.
So much of this was pure conjecture and detective work. It wasn’t as if I could ask the Bartletts what they’d done to Twaziem. I had to figure all of it out on my own. He nosed me and I passed him another carrot piece while I toweled his mane. He seemed to enjoy my company. He never tried to bite or kick me, much less charge at me the way Nitro did. I could tell Twaz my problems and he didn’t answer me, but at least he didn’t tell me I was stupid for wanting my Mustang.
Was this why my family loved their horses? Did they feel like I did? I didn’t have to do or be anything special for Twaziem to accept me. And he didn’t criticize me for not being perfect, or call my mom or dad and try to rat me out because I wasn’t nice or sweet like my brother or sister.
I turned and picked up a big comb. “You’re going to look so handsome,” I told Twaziem as I started to work on the tangles in his mane. “Singer will think you’re really hot. And if the weather’s nice tomorrow, I’ll let you go out to the paddock with her. Sierra says horses are social animals, and you’d probably like being with a mare for a couple hours. Besides, it doesn’t matter if the neighbors see you. They can’t report you to Animal Control for being skinny because that cop already has a case file on you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sunday, September 22nd, 1:30 p.m.
While Twaziem pulled hay from the bale in his manger, I groomed him. His brown coat shone, a soft red-gold cast to the color. I was pretty sure he’d be more of a blood bay than a golden one. I heard footsteps in the aisle and glanced toward the hall. I couldn’t quite believe it when I saw Olivia in a T-shirt and shorts. “What’s up?”
“You said you run every day.” Her voice was absolutely calm. “I’m here to go with you.”
“Where are your friends?” I asked and kept currying my horse. “I thought they were joining us.”
“They wimped out after yesterday.” Olivia lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid to work, or build my stamina.”
I shrugged. “Okay, well, let me finish up Twaz and put him out in the paddock. Then, we’ll go.”
“Want some help?”
I hesitated. “He’s not real nice. He bites and kicks. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Her dark eyes widened and she began to smile. “I’ll be careful.”
“Okay.” I stopped currying Twaziem and took hold of the rope hanging from the training halter. “Get one of those carrots and come on inside. We’ll see what he thinks of you, but if he gets obnoxious, then get out of here. Deal?”
“You got it.” She picked up two carrots out of the bucket and slipped through the door, closing it behind her. She held up the first one. “Hey, fella. Want a treat?”
Twaziem nickered and flicked his ears. Then, he stretched out his neck and pulled the carrot from her hand. Crunch. Munch and it was gone. He reached for the next treat. She gave it to him.
“So far, so good,”
I said. “Go ahead and grab a brush. Let’s see if he’ll let you groom him.” I eased up my hold on the lead, and Twaz turned back to the hay once he realized we didn’t have any more treats.
He stood and ate while we brushed him. Olivia wasn’t real chatty and that worked out great. I didn’t want to push my luck with the horse. After we finished with his body, I worked on his mane and she stood by his hip to comb out his tail.
“Why is he so thin?” Olivia finally asked.
“I just rescued him a week ago,” I said. “He’s actually gained about thirty pounds. He really looked awful last Saturday. He had these moving patches of lice, and he’d eaten like half his tail.”
“That’s majorly gross.” Olivia ran the comb through what remained of Twaz’s tail. “If you keep conditioning it every time you groom him, then it will grow back faster.”
“Good idea,” I said. “I will. How do you know so much about horses?”
“I ride at my grandfather’s whenever I get the chance.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “You need to scoop out his stall every time he poops, or he’ll eat that too.”
“Now, I think that is majorly gross,” I teased.
She laughed. “What are you doing with him this afternoon?”
“Putting him out in the field for a couple hours,” I said. “After we get back from our run, I’ll turn my mom’s mare in with him. I need to watch the two of them so Singer doesn’t kick him and he doesn’t hurt her, either. I don’t know how he’ll be with another horse, and it’s not like I can ask his previous owners.”
“Why not?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I was being stupid. If they didn’t feed him, you can’t trust a word they’d say about him.”
“Exactly.”
We finished up grooming him. She gathered up the brushes and fed Twaziem another carrot. Then, I led him out to the small field near the house. The grass was about six inches high, and I’d already scrubbed out the water tub in the corner and refilled it. As soon as I turned him loose, he trotted away. He snorted and bucked a couple times. Then, his knees gave out and he was down in the green field, rolling.
“That’s just great,” I said. “A bath yesterday, a good grooming today, and now I get to start over.”
“Everybody’s a critic,” Olivia said. “He probably figures he can do a better job getting himself clean. Shall we run?”
“Yes.” I took my grooming bucket from her. “I’ll put this in the back porch and tell my mom where we’re headed. She can watch Twaziem for us.”
When I came back from the house, Olivia was already stretching out. I joined her. I hated muscle spasms and was grateful that she wasn’t so busy being cool that she skipped a proper warm-up. “So, how do Cedar and Kanisha plan to win at the meets if they don’t build up their stamina?”
It was Olivia’s turn to shrug. “It’s up to them, but if they realize I’m going to keep practicing, they’ll get over themselves. They want to go to State, too.”
“Fair enough.” I turned and jogged down the driveway. “Let’s do it.”
* * * *
Sunday, September 22nd, 8:30 p.m.
That night I returned to the barn just to be sure that Twaziem wasn’t suffering any ill effects from his busy weekend. He appeared to be fine, still stuffing himself with hay. I remembered what Olivia said about the possibility of him eating manure so I took a few minutes to clean the stall and add more shavings. With three good sized dumps in the back corner, I knew he didn’t have colic. That meant I’d be able to sleep all night in my own bed instead of walking him until super late.
I brought back an empty feed bucket from the grain room and turned it upside down in the corner near the manger. I sat down and proceeded to tell Twaz all about my plans for the week. Sure, cross-country practice was high on the list, but so was seeing Harry and visiting my Mustang. I hadn’t heard a word from Mom or Dad about the installment plan. They had to make a decision sometime this week, didn’t they?
Twaziem considered the question around a mouthful of hay, but he didn’t have any real answers, and since he wasn’t a talking horse from TV, I didn’t expect any. I just wanted to win his trust so he’d get in the habit of believing in people again. I needed to find him a home next spring or summer when he put his weight on, and if he still had issues with guys, that would be tough.
“Robin, are you down here?” Mom was in the aisle outside the stall.
“In here,” I said. “With Twaz. I wanted to make sure he was okay before I called it a night.”
“How is he?” Mom leaned on the door and held out a carrot for my horse. “Any colic?”
“Not tonight,” I said. “And I’m glad.”
“He’ll do better after you deworm him,” Mom told me. “You can’t for another two weeks since you just deloused him, but I think that was a wise decision. You dealt with the external parasites first. You can deal with the internal ones later.”
Twaziem obviously thought the parasite discussion was bogus. He reached out for the carrot instead. Three treats later, I collected the bucket and went out to join Mom in the aisle. She’d moved down to feed Singer a carrot, then Buster and Nitro. Once she was finished with all the horses, we strolled toward the house.
“Robin, have we ever talked about how horses see?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Why? What’s up?”
“I’m glad you’re making friends with Twaziem. I think it’s important, but you also need to be safe. He has three different blind spots. He can’t see below his knees.”
I remembered Rocky’s lectures about horse vision to the day campers. “Or directly behind him and directly in front of him, so the safest place is next to his shoulder and that’s where I was.”
“Yes, but I’d rather you leaned on the manger or hitched up on it,” Mom said. “If he’d jumped sideways, he could have crashed into you. I know he’s thin, but he still outweighs you by several hundred pounds. And horses have the reflexes of one of your cats in hot pursuit of a mouse.”
“Good point. I’ll be more careful.” I tucked my arm through hers. “I’m really glad you’re my mother and Vick’s isn’t.”
Mom pulled me closer. “Yes, but she’s in a tough situation. Six kids and no help. What would you do? What would I do?”
“You’d kick Dad’s butt until he stepped up,” I said. “But, I can’t imagine him leaving on my birthday or Jack’s or Felicia’s. That was just plain mean, and I’ve never seen Dad do a single rotten thing to anyone. How will Vicky ever have a happy birthday again?”
“You’re her best friend,” Mom said. “I guess you’ll have to make it happen for her next year. And she’s a smart girl. She knows that just because somebody tries to push your buttons, you don’t have to play ‘elevator’ for him, even if it is one of your parents.”
“I haven’t talked to her about being so nasty last Friday,” I said. “I feel like I should, but I don’t want to start things up again.”
“Maybe, you could hold off and let her bring it up.” Mom led the way into the back porch. “You need to show compassion for her and you did, but you don’t have to be a doormat.”
Another good point, I thought, as we headed for the living room to join Jack and Dad in front of the TV. I would let Vicky do the talking tomorrow. She knew I was on her side after I babysat for her so she could go to the game and stay on the cheer squad. But, she hadn’t said much on Friday night.
Of course, by the time I got here, she was sacked out in my room and I hadn’t wanted to wake her. The same went for Saturday morning when Porter, Gwen, and I went running with Olivia and her friends. Vicky was still asleep, and since I knew firsthand how hard she worked at her house, I wasn’t about to get her up till breakfast. And I hadn’t heard a thing from her for the rest of the weekend.
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and checked. Nope. No messages from her. What was up with her, anyway? Was she so busy being a super-nanny that she didn’t have time to call me
and let me know how the first day of her internship went? Well, the road did run two ways, so I sent her a quick text, although I didn’t know how much time she had on her cell. Sometimes, things got tricky since she had to pay for it herself. Then, I plopped down on the couch to watch a trainer break a young horse. Why couldn’t I have a normal family who turned on sitcoms?
* * * *
Monday, September 23rd, 7:10 a.m.
Back in the Commons again—I so needed to get a life. I stirred up my mocha with the straw and waited for Vicky. I’d texted and called her about six times. No answer. Finally, she stomped into the school and came over to the table where I sat. “Hey.” I pushed a latte at her. “Take a load off and tell me about your internship.”
She plopped down in the other chair and reached for her cup. A smile flickered across her face. “My mom says we can’t be friends anymore.”
“I don’t want to be friends with your mom. Drink your coffee.”
“How can you not like her when my dad’s the one who walked away?”
I shrugged. “I got to wondering how you knew they were getting a divorce. Did he tell you on your birthday or did she? And how long has she been playing the ‘pity-me’ card?”
“Whoa. I thought you were a blonde dipstick. When did you start analyzing my mom?”
“When she came in on Friday night and wasn’t sorry that she’d messed up your status on the cheer squad,” I said. “She could have been all ‘Oh my Gawd. Poor Vicky. I’m killing her dad.’ not ‘I had to go to work and I needed a sitter, so Vick had to step up.’ And that totally sucked.”
Chapter Twenty
Monday, September 23rd, 11:00 a.m.
No Horse Wanted Page 12
