Friendly Foal

by Dandi Daley Mackall

I fed the foal almost 16 ounces of Annie’s milk. But it was a struggle, probably worse because I was getting so irritated with Sal. And the more I thought about Geri hanging out with Nathan while my sister was waiting on her, the madder I got.

  I almost had to wrestle the foal to keep her with me while she was bottle-nursing.

  It was getting dark enough to turn on the barn light. I finished chores, mucked, raked, and checked supplies. I’d just about given up on Sal, when I heard the crunch of tires on snow, followed by the squeal of brakes.

  I made it outside in time to see Sal leap from a bright red van as it pulled up behind our cattle truck.

  “Over here, Sal!” I shouted, waving.

  She turned and came jogging toward the barn. Sal was wearing a green quilted ski jacket and mittens the size of Georgia and Alabama. Black boots came to her knees, which was a good thing because she was wearing a miniskirt. Green fuzzy earmuffs couldn’t hide the new purple stripe in her red hair. The stripe matched her eyeliner and the giant hoop earrings that dangled as she ran.

  “What’s up?” I hollered.

  “I’ve got a job for you,” Sal said, blowing into her mittens.

  I wondered if Summer Spidell could be hiding in the van, spying to see my expression when Sal asked me to dig for fishing worms or brush her teeth or whatever.

  “I’m pretty busy with an orphan foal, Sal,” I said.

  “Winnie! This is a real job.” She kept glancing back at the van like it was her getaway vehicle.

  I couldn’t see who was driving, but someone raced the engine. The van shook. Then the motor cut out, and a woman sprang out the driver’s door. She had boots and a miniskirt like Sal’s. Only her ski jacket was red. Red earmuffs covered short black hair.

  “Is that your mom?” I asked, realizing that I’d never seen either of Sal’s parents. Hawk had told me Sal’s parents were divorced, but they both lived in Ashland.

  “Graham Cracker.” Or at least that’s what I thought Sal said. “She’s my grandmother, not my mother,” she explained. “Mom’s maiden name was Cracker. So my grandmother is Gram Cracker.”

  I couldn’t believe the pretty woman tiptoeing toward us through the snow was anybody’s grandmother. Her long earrings sparkled, and her lipstick matched her red coat.

  “Wh-what’s your grandmother—”

  “I don’t have time for this, Winnie,” Sal interrupted, sounding as impatient as if I’d kept her waiting all afternoon. “Gram Cracker lives on the other end of town, County Road 1150. Both of my parents took off over Christmas, so I’ve been stuck at Gram’s. This whole thing is her idea.”

  “What whole thing?” I asked.

  I think Sal might have been about to answer me when a giant thump sounded from the van. It shook again, as if pounded by ocean waves.

  Gram Cracker yelled something I won’t repeat. Then she hurried back to the van and disappeared inside it.

  “Who else is in that van, Sal?” I asked. Maybe Summer had brought the entire popular group with her for the big laugh. “What’s this job you want me to do?”

  Sal sighed, like she was tired of trying to explain something to an idiot. “Gram Cracker gave me a horse for Christmas.”

  “A horse! You’re kidding! Wow! That’s terrific. What breed? Not that it matters. Any horse is great. Oh, Sal, you must be so excited!”

  But Sal didn’t look excited. “Yeah, right.”

  The horn honked.

  Sal glared at the van.

  The horn honked again.

  “I’m coming!” Sal shouted. “The woman has the patience of a tadpole.”

  My mind was racing. Sal had a horse, and they wanted me to train it! I could sure use the extra money. I’d spent January’s budget on colostrum and vet bills for Friendly Foal. I’d always thought Sal could be a friend, if it weren’t for Summer Spidell getting in the way. Maybe if I trained her horse . . .

  Sal had started picking her way back to the van.

  “Wait, Sal!” I called after her. “When can you bring your horse over?”

  Sal laughed. “Now!”

  She stopped where she was, then waved her arms over her head. “Now, Gram!”

  Gram Cracker flattened herself against the driver’s door. Then she shoved open the sliding rear door.

  For a minute, nothing happened.

  Gram looked scared, as if she expected a tiger to burst from the backseat.

  The van shook again.

  And as I watched, stunned, breathless, out jumped a horse!

  I stared across the snowy yard at the tiny gelding, who pranced through the snow as if he didn’t want to get his hooves wet. He was a black-and-white miniature, no more than seven hands high—29 inches, tops. But his body was perfectly proportioned, not like Shetland ponies or most miniatures. No big pony head or stubby legs. This horse looked exactly like a horse—lean, with a fine head and delicate legs. It was like somebody had taken a Pinto Thoroughbred or Arabian and shrunk it.

  “Still think every breed is so terrific?” Sal asked, sounding like she didn’t.

  “Are you kidding? He’s wonderful, Sal! What a cutie!” As I said it, he kicked up his heels, then reared and pawed the air like a ferocious stallion. I laughed out loud.

  “Yeah,” Sal muttered. “Real funny. Like I’m going to get a lot of use out of this midget.”

  Gram Cracker darted to us, as if for protection. “You’re the horse girl? So what’s the matter with this horse? Is it a freak? What’s wrong with it?”

  I couldn’t take my gaze off the horse. “He’s perfect! You’re so lucky. He’s a miniature, but he’s got to be a Falabella horse, not a pony.”

  I pointed to the gelding, now pawing snow like he could dig himself an escape tunnel. “See those tiny hooves and that absolutely perfect conformation?”

  Gram Cracker elbowed Sal, who stood a head taller than her grandmother. Sal nearly fell over from the force. Gram Cracker reminded me of a spirited Tarpan pony, small but solid and not to be messed with. “I told you I picked out a great Christmas gift for you!” Gram said. “But no! Nothing is good enough for Salena.”

  Sal glared at her grandmother. “You didn’t pick that thing out! Raoul did.” She turned to me to explain. “Raoul is her boyfriend.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Gram corrected. “Never accept the love of an Argentine caballero.”

  “Argentina?” I repeated. “Then I’m right! It’s got to be a Falabella. That’s where they come from. I’ve never actually seen one, just pictures in books and on the Internet.”

  Gram Cracker frowned at me and patted my head. “Laryngitis? You should get out of the cold, girl.”

  Sal laughed. “She always talks like that, Gram.”

  I felt my face heat up and my freckles pop out.

  “You should get that taken care of,” Gram insisted. She turned to the little horse, who was busy sniffing the snow. “Shouldn’t you catch it?”

  “Oh yeah. Sorry.” I’d been so awed by the horse that I hadn’t even thought about what to do with him.

  I started toward him. “Hey, little fella. Let’s see about getting you in the barn.”

  He jerked up his head, his ears pointing straight up. Then he snorted and trotted off in the opposite direction.

  Behind me Gram Cracker said, “I thought you told me that girl has some kind of special powers with horses.”

  “That’s what Grant said, Gram. I wanted to take the little monster to Summer’s dad’s stable, but they were all full.”

  It didn’t help my ego to know that Sal’s first choice had been Spidells’ Stable-Mart. Their stable looks fancier than mine, but horses like mine better.

  Still, it was nice to know that Grant said I was good with horses. Grant Baines is probably the most popular guy in our middle school. I’d helped him train his barrel horse. I guess he and Summer are going out. At least Summer thinks they are. Poor Grant.

  I moved toward the little horse again. He darted away from me, faster than the fir
st time. But at least he wasn’t trying to run away. If I stayed with him, he’d let me come up to him eventually.

  “Winnie!” Sal shouted. “You want us to help trap him? That’s what we had to do.”

  I shook my head no. No wonder the horse wouldn’t let me near him. Sal and Gram must have scared him good by trapping him.

  “Tell her we haven’t got all night,” Gram Cracker said.

  Sal obeyed. “Winnie, we haven’t got all night!”

  “Come on, boy,” I coaxed, moving in again.

  He walked away from me, then stopped. I followed, moving from side to side, so he’d see me no matter where he turned. Sooner or later he’d get the idea that I was everywhere and he couldn’t lose me. Then he’d quit trying.

  Only I needed to catch him sooner, rather than later.

  “Horse girl!” Gram Cracker yelled.

  Startled, the gelding broke into a canter and raced past me.

  “I have an aerobics class in 10 minutes!” Gram complained. “Sal and I caught that wild, spotted pony faster than this, chasing him into a corner. Just chase him!”

  Gram turned to Sal but didn’t lower her voice. “I thought you said Winnie the Whatever was good at this.”

  My stomach threatened to return Lizzy’s minty salamander. What if Sal and her grandmother decided I couldn’t handle this horse? What if they took him back? Or sent him back to Argentina?

  I closed in behind the gelding. “Come on, boy. My reputation is on the line here. And so is your American citizenship.”

  “Winnie! Brian’s waiting for me at Pizza-Mart right now!” Sal screamed.

  “And I told Nate I’d pick him up from the bowling alley before I go to aerobics!” Gram complained.

  I had to catch this horse. They weren’t going to wait.

  He trotted by me, heading in the direction of the barn.

  “Gram, let’s just go and let Winnie worry about it!” Sal said.

  “Look, Sal,” Gram Cracker snipped back, “if the horse girl can’t even catch the horse, how can she train him?”

  I had to do it. I couldn’t wait any longer.

  He loped in front of the barn. He was two feet from the open barn door.

  “Heee-yah!” I charged him, waving my arms. “Get!”

  He stopped short, sliding in the snow and turning white-rimmed eyes on me.

  I swallowed, knowing I didn’t want to do this but not knowing what else to do. “Get on in!” I shouted. I shuffled my feet and advanced on him.

  He backed away from me, his rump heading straight for the barn. I ran at him. He pivoted and, with nowhere else to run, trotted into the barn.

  I hurried after him and blocked his exit with my body.

  “Finally!” Gram hollered. “All right then!”

  I felt sick inside. If I’d witnessed anybody else handle a horse like I just had, I would have jumped all over them.

  Sal came over, but Gram was already making her way back to the van.

  “You’ve got two minutes, Sal!” Gram shouted. “Then I’m leaving with or without you!”

  “You know what to do with it, right?” Sal asked. “I mean, if there’s anything you can do with a horse that small. You can’t even ride it.”

  “Falabellas make great pets, Sal.”

  “Right. It bites, kicks, and jumps up on its hind legs. Great pet.”

  “He’s just scared.” And I sure hadn’t helped that.

  “Whatever.” Sal frowned at the barn. “You do have a stall for him, though, right? At least he doesn’t take up much space.”

  “I’ll put him next to Nickers and the foal.”

  The foal. She was still my most important job. What was I doing, taking on another problem horse, when I hadn’t even started imprinting Friendly yet?

  “Listen, Sal, I’m really glad you trust me with your horse. And I want to help . . . besides the fact that I can use the money.”

  “Cool. We’re tight then.” She made a move to leave.

  “But you’re going to have to help me, Sal. I have this foal to work with. And anyway, this one is your horse. You’re the one we want him to get used to.”

  “He hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you, Sal. You just need to spend time with him. Time and patience.” I could almost hear my mom saying that. Maybe I did have a phonographic memory.

  Sal stamped her feet and blew into her mittens again. “Okay, okay, okay. I’ll be patient. I gotta go, though. Right now!”

  As if on cue, the van’s horn sounded.

  Sal turned to leave.

  “I mean it, Sal! I need you here. Tomorrow morning! Early!”

  “Early on vacation is 11 o’clock,” she said, making her getaway.

  “Okay. But be here at 11 sharp! Tomorrow.”

  Sal kept going, but gave me a one-mitten wave, which I took as an okay.

  I watched her climb into the van and slam the door. Then I thought of something. “Sal!” I yelled, stumbling over a snowdrift as I ran to the van. “Wait!”

  Gram Cracker backed up the van, then pulled it forward, as if she hadn’t heard me.

  I made it to the street just as she was ready to pull out. “What’s his name? What’s your horse’s name?” I shouted.

  Gram rolled down her window. “Amigo,” she answered, cutting the wheel for a sharp turnaround.

  Sal leaned forward from the passenger seat. “Funny, huh? Amigo, as in ‘friend’? Like that munchkin and I could ever be friends.”

  Gram gunned it. Tires spun. Snow sprayed. And the red van swerved toward town, minus one small horse.

  I hurried back to the barn, where I found the tiny, spotted horse shivering at the far end of the stallway.

  Amigo.

  It didn’t take a horse gentler to see that the little gelding wanted to be friends with me about as much as Sal did.

  It was just after seven that same night, but it felt a lot later as I edged down the stallway toward Amigo. Nickers gave a friendly nicker, and I hoped Amigo would get the message. Maybe he would trust my horse, even though he clearly didn’t trust me. If this kept up, people would have to start bringing their horses to Nickers the Horse Gentler.

  Slowly I closed the gap between Amigo and me. “It’s okay, Amigo.” I tried to keep my voice low and easy, but I was too wound up from Gram and Sal.

  The little gelding shied away from me.

  I reached out for him, but he flinched. “I’m so sorry, Amigo.” I had to get him to his stall. I grabbed for his halter.

  His head shot out, and he bit me.

  “Ow!” I jerked my hand away. He’d caught me a good one on my upper arm, biting right through my jacket.

  Amigo’s back twitched as if he had a swarm of flies after him. He cowered closer to the back wall, waiting for me to punish him.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I know you’re just scared.” I’d need to teach him not to bite. But it would have to wait until I gained his trust.

  Carefully I touched his withers, out of reach of those surprisingly sharp teeth. My arm still stung, hurting more as my jacket rubbed against the sore spot.

  Amigo flinched, but I didn’t pull away. I scratched him, lightly trailing my fingers over his withers, at the base of his white mane.

  He trembled but didn’t shy away. As I kept it up, I felt him relax a little. “That’s it,” I whispered.

  Nickers nickered. The foal made her muffled squeal. I was overdue getting her goat’s milk. I’d have to milk Annie again.

  “Easy, Amigo,” I urged, turning back to him. He tried to jerk his head from me, but I got a good grip on his rhinestone-studded halter.

  It wasn’t easy, but I put Amigo into the stall next to Nickers. Nickers tried to be friendly and snort hello over the stall divider, but Amigo wouldn’t have it. He turned his back on us and moved to the farthest corner of the stall. His neck drooped, and his tail was tucked between his legs.

  It was going to take a lot to win him over.

  Ann
ie Goat fought me while I milked her. I barely got enough for one bottle. I kept hoping Eddy Barker would stop by. Maybe he knew one of Granny Barker’s secrets about getting along with her goat.

  Barker is in seventh grade with me. His whole family—which includes his five brothers—got to see the foal’s birth on Christmas Eve. The next day Barker brought Annie Goat over, on loan from Granny Barker. Granny B claims her husband was the best African-American farmer in the Midwest. She’d moved into town to live with her son and family, but she refused to sell the farm, which is where she’d been keeping Annie.

  I could have used Barker’s help. I could have used M’s help too. M, a pretty unique friend of mine who goes by a letter instead of a name, had helped me deliver the foal. He’d helped me feed Friendly the first two days too, when we had to give her a little bit of colostrum every hour or so. But M’s parents had taken him along on one of their Habitat for Humanity trips. I figured that, about now, M and his parents were hammering shingles on a little house in Cleveland.

  I finally got the whole bottle of milk down Friendly, but she struggled so much she made Annie look like Miss Congeniality. I had to admit I was doing some struggling of my own. The best tool any horse person has is patience, but I kept ending up shorthanded.

  I walked over to Nickers, and she rested her head on my shoulder so we could talk eye-to-eye. I scratched her dish jowl and saw myself in her big brown eyes. “You know, girl, Lizzy has been after me to make my New Year’s resolutions this year. I think I just thought of my first resolution: I, Winnie Willis, resolve to be more patient.”

  Nickers exhaled, blowing gently in my face. It’s the way horses greet each other. Native Americans used to greet their horses by blowing into their nostrils. My mom taught me to do the same thing.

  I returned Nickers’ greeting, feeling myself calm down for the first time all day.

  Something bumped against the barn, right outside the stall.

  “Who’s there?” I shouted, my calm quick-freezing, then shattering into pieces. “Who’s out there?”

  Nickers backed away from me to hover over the foal. Why had I shouted like that?

  Annie didn’t like the shouting either. She hopped on her back legs and hooked her front hooves over the stable door, as if she might try scaling the wall.