Dreams of a Dancing Horse

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  The big cow shakes her head, but laughs this time.

  Bessie introduces me to her friend, Big Sal, and to another cow, called Natasha. “Natasha is a Russian cow. She comes all the way from Mos-cow.”

  “So, how many jokes has our Bessie made you sit through, Fred?” Sal asks.

  Bessie answers for me. “How do you expect poor Fred to know? He doesn’t have a cow-culator.”

  Sal shakes her head and wanders off.

  “You all seem like a nice bunch of cows,” I tell Bessie.

  “Not a bunch,” Bessie corrects. “Herd.”

  “Heard of what?” I ask.

  “Herd of cows, of course,” she counters.

  “Why, of course I’ve heard of cows,” I say.

  “No! A cow herd!” Bessie sounds frustrated with me.

  “Now, what do I care what a cow heard? I have no secrets from cows.”

  Bessie erupts in the loudest laughter yet. “You got me, Fred! Good one!”

  That night Bessie is still telling jokes as I drift to sleep. “Knock knock.”

  I rouse myself enough to play along. “Who’s there?”

  “Cows go,” Bessie says.

  “Cows go who?” I supply.

  “No, silly. Cows go moo! You really aren’t a cow, are you?”

  The last joke I remember hearing is, “Why did the cow jump over the moon? To get to the Milky Way!”

  In the morning I wake up to the low murmur of the cattle. They’re all moving about, shuffling and stirring. Something is definitely up.

  “What is it?” I ask Bessie.

  “Word is just in. The cowpokes plan to move us up to the North Country. Cattle drive starts this morning. And that means that you, Federico, need to get moooo-ving!”

  10

  Cattle Drive—Cowpoke Jive

  All around us cowboys whoop and holler from the back of their quarter horses. The horses are athletic and quick, not to mention fast. They race to the far ends of the field, herding stragglers toward the center.

  I have no idea what to do or where to go.

  “Can Fred come with us?” little Moony asks.

  I look to Moony’s mother, Bessie, and realize that I would very much enjoy accompanying this herd of my new friends. I believe I’m starting to understand the meaning of those famous lyrics: “Home, home on the range.”

  Jingles shakes her head, setting her bell jingling and jangling. “Fred can’t come on a cattle drive, not unless he’s a cow.”

  But Bessie’s cow eyes have a mischievous twinkle. “Then we’ll just have to make Fred an honorary cow.”

  I follow every direction Bessie gives me.

  “You’re brown like a cow,” she says, sizing me up. “And you’ve got four legs. But that’s about all we’ve got going for us. Just keep your head down. And whenever those cowpokes start poking around, you’ll have to bend your knees and make yourself short. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I agree.

  Bessie turns to the other cows in mooing distance and shouts, “What do you say, you cows? Can we gather around our new friend and make him one of the herd?”

  Consenting moos sound across the pasture. Cows close in from all sides, placing me in the center, farthest from the wranglers. I am touched that they wish to do this for me.

  And there’s something I wish to do for Bessie, something I’ve thought about during the night. “Bessie, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

  “This better not be a joke,” she warns.

  “I’m completely serious,” I assure her. The herd moves forward, and we inch along with it. “I believe you could be the world’s first comedy cow.”

  “What?” Bessie stops. Cows bump into her.

  I urge her forward again. “You’re by far the funniest cow I’ve ever met, and I’ve never encountered a horse with a better sense of humor. You should be telling jokes onstage and making people—and animals—laugh. All you need is a translator. I think you’d be grand!”

  Bessie grows more serious than I would have thought possible. “I can’t believe you said that, Fred. I used to dream about being a comedian.”

  “You can do it, Bessie!” I tell her. “You were born to tell jokes.”

  The day wears on, and the cows work to keep up my charade. They crowd together, keeping me in the center whenever a cowboy rides too close. Bessie gives me the cue to squat down when necessary.

  We trot mostly. When there are no humans around, we talk and walk a bit. I hear more cow jokes than we have cows in this cattle drive. And I am most grateful for my new friends.

  Toward afternoon, I tell Bessie and the cows closest to me about Lena. I try to describe the beauty and grace of her ballet. I miss my friend.

  Several times I fear that I have been discovered by a cowpoke who stays too long near us and looks too hard my way. Bessie sees it too and calls the other cows into action. Then they stamp their hooves and stomp the ground until we’re all covered in a cloud of dust and dirt that forces the cowboys to ride elsewhere.

  The sun sets, and still they drive us. Finally, we slow to a walk, then a standstill.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask, fearing they’re coming to get me at last.

  “No,” Jingles answers. “Now we get to rest up for our journey tomorrow.”

  We find a good spot under a tree that looks unfamiliar to me. Its leaves are broader than trees I know, greener too. Grass here is soft and long, with thick blades that taste like spring. For a good hour, we graze in silence, the only sound the tinkling of Jingles’s bell and the laughter of the cowboys in the distance.

  Smoke puffs up from the cowboys’ campsite. Then the low flames of a campfire dance and rise into the cool night air.

  Before long, a million stars are shining down on us.

  “Fred, did you mean what you said about me doing comedy for a living?” Bessie asks. She says it as if she’s been chewing on it our whole journey.

  “Every word, Bessie,” I say. “You are without a doubt the most amusing creature on four legs—perhaps on two—that I have ever known.”

  Bessie glances up toward the stars. The glow of the campfire splashes her cheek with light. “I’ll do it, Fred. When we reach the North Country, Moony and I will set out on our own. I’ll be a real cow comedian.”

  Suddenly, I hear a twang coming from the cowboy campsite. Then a note. And another. A strumming …

  “Are you all right, Fred?” Bessie asks. “There’s something odd about your eyes. I’d say they have stars in them, but—”

  “What is that?” I ask, every hair on my hide electrified and standing at attention.

  “That?” Bessie says, glancing toward the campfire. “Why, that’s mooo-sic.”

  I listen, and she’s right. One cowboy strums his guitar, and the second cowboy plays his harmonica. The music is soft and dreamy, and before I know it, it’s lulled me to sleep. Even asleep, I can hear the notes inside my head.

  I wake with a start. The music has changed. I must not have dozed long, but the campsite has come to life. Guitars are blaring, harmonicas zipping, tambourines jangling. Hands are clapping and boots stomping.

  And they’re playing the “Hokey Pokey.”

  I bound to my hooves and rear up. Lena and I danced to this song at our very first hoedown. I can almost see Lena dancing to the tune.

  I can’t stop myself. I hear Bessie, Jingles, and the others mooing for me to stop, to come back. But I can’t. I’m galloping toward the flames, toward the music. I turn myself around. I put my left hoof in. I put my left hoof out. I put my left hoof in, and I shake it all about.

  Bessie and Jingles follow me to the campsite, mooing.

  I know what I’m doing is foolish. And yet, I can’t stop myself. I’m on my hind legs, shaking myself about to the beat of the music.

  “There he is!” yells a young cowboy. “See? I told you there was a wild horse in the herd.”

  The music stops.

  For a second, I stay in the ai
r, on my hind legs, staring at the cowboys. Then I crash down and look over at Bessie. Her face tells me I’ve really done it this time.

  “After him! If he’s wild, he’s probably loco!” cries a cowpoke.

  “Of course he’s loco!” shouts an old codger of a cowboy. “Why else would he come this close to the campfire?”

  “Well, don’t just stand there!” shouts the one I think is the trail boss. “Get him!”

  “Run!” Bessie hollers.

  Finally, I snap to my senses. Run! I lower my head and take off at a gallop.

  The cowboys jump on their horses to come after me. Those quarter horses are the fastest in the world for a quarter mile. And they’re not exactly slow after that. They’ll catch me before I’m out of the herd.

  But the herd has other plans.

  Jingles and a pack of her friends trot off to the west, forcing one of the cowboys to turn back and bring them in.

  Moony and some of the calves frolic east. Another cowboy turns back.

  The entire herd splits into miniherds, and they head in all directions.

  “What in blazes is going on?” yells one of the cowhands.

  I keep running. Only the trail boss is on my trail. He’s closing in. I glance back and see him whipping his lariat, circling it over his head.

  Then just as it seems he’ll catch me for sure, Bessie appears. She strolls leisurely between us.

  “Move!” yells the trail boss. “Get out of the way, you crazy cow!” He yanks his horse to a grinding halt so he won’t ram into her.

  I look back. Bessie winks at me and begins to graze.

  I know I have to go. But before I do, I shout back to her, “I’ll see you onstage one of these days, Bessie!”

  Then I take off at a gallop, wondering how many other friends I might have to leave in this life.

  11

  Pony Boy

  I run away from the range. Again, I race through the night. This time I try telling myself some of the cow jokes Bessie told. Only I’m not the comedian Bessie is. I simply cannot make myself laugh.

  Along the way, I find ponds and pastures where I can graze. But I don’t stop in any one place for long. The houses get farther and farther apart. Then the farms grow farther apart.

  On and on I journey, wondering if I will ever find a place to rest. I miss Lena. I miss my cow companions.

  I am bone weary and ready for sleep when I spot an old shed beside a tiny house. It is as if an Oklahoma tornado picked up this house and slammed it down here.

  Yet on further inspection, the house looks clean and as well kept as possible.

  I find a safe hiding place among the bushes behind the old shed. Instantly, I fall asleep.

  When I open my eyes, other eyes, tiny and brown, are staring at me.

  The little person, a girl perhaps half the size and age of Lena, clasps her hands together and exclaims, “Pony!”

  I’m so startled I bound to my feet.

  The little girl hugs my leg. “It’s true! I got my wish—a pony! A real, live pony! A pony friend! And all I had to do was lose a tooth and put it under my pillow.” She releases my leg and shouts, “Thank you, Tooth Fairy! My granny said I could make any wish I wanted, and I did. And you answered! I love my pony.” Again, she clings to my leg.

  I’m terrified that I might step on this tiny girl.

  “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!”

  “Mary? Mary, where in tarnation are you, gal?”

  “That’s my granny,” the little girl, Mary, whispers.

  “Mary, you better get in here right now and eat your breakfast! You hear me, gal?”

  Mary crouches in the bushes with me. “Granny said I couldn’t have a pony until I’m a big girl. I’ve asked her for one my whole life. Good thing the tooth fairy didn’t ask her.”

  “You’ve got two seconds to get in here, young’un, if you know what’s good for you!”

  “I better go, Pony,” Mary whispers. “Granny’s no fun when she gets mad. You stay here and hide.”

  I nod. It is my greatest wish to stay hidden.

  The house is so close to my bushes that I can hear the breakfast conversation through the kitchen window.

  “What were you up to so early this morning?” Granny asks.

  “Nothing,” Mary answers.

  A new voice asks, “Granny?” I’d guess the speaker is a young man. “Did one of the pigs get loose?”

  “I reckon it better not have done!” Granny answers. “Now sit down and eat your eggs.”

  “Why did you think a pig got out, Jeremy?” Mary asks.

  “I thought I saw one in the bushes when I looked out the window upstairs. Something mighty big.”

  The very idea! That rude boy is speaking of me! How dare he?

  “You probably dreamed it,” Mary says. “I’ll go look, though. I’m done with my breakfast.”

  A screen door slams. I peek through the bushes, relieved to see Mary. She glances back at the house and then runs over to me.

  But before Mary makes it, the screen slams again. A skinny young man in denim overalls steps outside. He bounces a rubber ball a couple of times. “Mary? There you are. Be careful. That pig could be dangerous.”

  Why I never—!

  “There’s nothing in the bushes,” Mary says, strolling back to her brother.

  “I know I saw a pig over there,” he insists. He tosses the ball into the bushes. It rolls directly in front of me. “I’ll get it.” The boy starts toward my hiding place.

  I can’t let him find me. There’s nothing left to do. I lean down and nudge the ball.

  “What the—?” The ball rolls to his feet. “Did you see that, Mary?”

  “See what?” she asks.

  “That ball. It rolled right back at me.”

  “You’re crazy, Jeremy. It did not.”

  “Did too!” he declares. “Watch this!” He rolls the ball at me again.

  I have no other recourse. I kick the ball this time. It takes to the air in a wide arc.

  The boy reaches up and catches it. “Don’t try to tell me I imagined that,” he says. “Something’s in that bush.”

  “Rattlesnakes, more than likely,” Mary suggests.

  That stops him. “Rattlers? You think so?”

  “I know so,” Mary says.

  “Well, I’m going to go count Granny’s pigs. I’ll get to the bottom of this here. You see if I don’t.”

  12

  A Horse Named Priscilla

  As soon as her brother is gone, Mary runs over to me. “We’ve got to move you, Pony. Follow me!” She clears a path to the shed.

  I follow her. What else am I to do? The door to the shed is rather narrow. I barely fit.

  “You’ll be safe in here. I brought you some of my breakfast.” She unfolds the little apron that covers her checkered dress. Broken, cooked eggs fall out.

  I may be sick.

  “I’ll bring you some water soon as I can. That brother of mine is nosy. We’ll have to be careful because he’s a tattletale.” She hugs my leg again. “Oh, Pony, I still can’t believe you’re mine, all mine. I’ve been dreaming about having a pony for so long! We’ll be best friends forever!”

  Best friends forever. She’s a sweet little girl. I can imagine being her best friend. I could watch her grow up. I could protect her. Perhaps I could teach her to dance.

  But alas, I know I am not the pony she’s been dreaming of. I fear she is in for a big disappointment.

  Mary kisses my nose and skips out of the shed. The kiss stays behind with me.

  After some time passes, my logic comes back to me. As cute as young Mary is, she is not the boss of this farm. Her grandmother doesn’t want her to have a horse friend until she is older. If I had a brain left in my horse head, I would flee before Mary gets back.

  But how can I run away from the sweet child? I cannot. So I wait for her return.

  It grows hotter and hotter as the morning drags on.

  True to her word, Ma
ry manages to sneak water in for me. Unfortunately, she brings it in a glass made for humans. There is barely enough to wet my tongue.

  Mary brings out her dolls and puts them on my back when I’m lying down. She ties a pink bow around my neck—too tight. “Maybe I can find a dress to fit you,” she offers.

  In the afternoon, she brings me a sandwich. As hungry as I am, I can’t imagine how humans eat this. And yet I do find one piece of leafy lettuce to nibble on.

  The shed stinks. It reminds me of the tractor smell from that monstrosity at Quagmire Farms. During the long afternoon, I picture Lena, the way she twisted and turned, dancing on her toes. I remember the feel of her feet as she stood on my back and twirled in the moonlight. I hope she’s well. And I pray she’s finding a way to dance.

  Darkness has fallen outside the shed. Not a trace of light seeps in. The shed door swings open, and there stands Mary, adorable in her little nightgown. In one hand, she holds a worn teddy bear. In the other, she has a cookie for me.

  Mary rushes to my side. “I was afraid you runned away.” I’m lying down, and she snuggles in next to me. “All day I’ve been trying to come up with a name for you, Pony. And I have it. Priscilla Pony! Do you like it?”

  I don’t, of course, for obvious reasons. But I nod.

  Mary lays her head on me and begins telling me stories. I love the soft and musical sound of her voice, though the tales are rather bizarre. One is about three bears and a young human girl. Another is about a wolf, a young girl, and a grandmother. Mary is in the middle of a new bedtime story when she stops.

  I wait. When I peer into her face, I see that she’s fallen fast asleep. Her hair smells like soap and cherries. She looks like an angel. I remember thinking the same thing about Lena when I first saw her dancing. If I can’t have a home with my Lena, or with the cow herd, maybe I really can find a home here with Mary.

  “Mary?” I shake her a little. “Mary, you need to go to bed.” Of course she doesn’t understand. But one would think she would hear me.

  The girl doesn’t move. Her eyes don’t open.

  Suddenly, light streams in through the cracks of the shed. The house’s screen door slams. I hear footsteps.