Friendly Foal

Home > Other > Friendly Foal > Page 1
Friendly Foal Page 1

by Dandi Daley Mackall




  Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site for kids at www.tyndale.com/kids and the Winnie the Horse Gentler Web site at www.winniethehorsegentler.com.

  You can contact Dandi Daley Mackall through her Web site at

  www.dandibooks.com.

  The Tyndale Kids logo is a trademark of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Friendly Foal

  Copyright © 2004 by Dandi Daley Mackall. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph copyright © 2003 by Bob Langrish. All rights reserved.

  Interior horse chart given by permission, Arabian Horse Registry of America.® www.theregistry.org.

  Designed by Jacqueline L. Nuñez

  Edited by Ramona Cramer Tucker

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version,® NIV.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.

  www.zondervan.com.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.

  For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call

  1-800-323-9400.

  ISBN 978-0-8423-8723-1, mass paper

  For the Medina County Career Center

  Animal Care Program.

  Thanks for passing along your

  gift and love for animals.

  Our animals are in great hands!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Horse Talk!

  Horse-O-Pedia

  Author Talk

  A rare streak of sunlight poked through the barn slats and made the new black filly glow. Tiny frost clouds puffed from her nostrils as she stared, wide-eyed, at me across the stall.

  I held out the bottle of goat’s milk to her. “Come on. I’m not going to hurt you,” I pleaded.

  But the orphan foal ducked behind my horse Nickers and stood alert, her long, knobby-kneed legs stretched, giraffe-style.

  I gave up and rested my head against my white Arabian’s neck. “We’ve got to get that foal to trust me, Nickers,” I whispered. I breathed in her horsey warmth and could have fallen asleep right there.

  Since the birth of the foal on Christmas Eve, I’d spent three nights and three days in the barn, making sure she got the bottled colostrum, or first milk, she needed to survive. Now I wanted to get her used to goat’s milk, the next best thing to mare’s milk. Annie Goat was on loan to me from Granny Barker. As soon as the filly stopped being so scared of me, I planned to train her to nurse from the goat.

  Annie was in no hurry to take on the foal. Ignoring us, she stood at the opposite end of the stall, munching hay. She looked like an old man chewing tobacco. I’d been bringing her into the stall with Nickers and the foal, hoping they’d all get used to each other. I needed the foal to nurse from Annie Goat.

  Nickers licked the filly’s neck and jaw. It made me proud, seeing the way my horse had adopted this scraggly orphan. The foal was born with four white stockings, a blaze on her forehead, and a black coat that was bushy and curly. She was beautiful but fragile. It was going to take everything I had to keep her healthy.

  I stood on tiptoes to peek over Nickers at the foal.

  The filly bolted as if I’d attacked her. She bumped the wall and nearly toppled over.

  I stepped back to the stall door. “It’s okay, girl. I’ll stay away. I know how you feel.”

  She’d lost her mother, and the world didn’t look friendly to her. I did know how the orphan felt. It had been two years since I’d lost my mom, and I still had trouble trusting humans.

  I was born in Wyoming and had a pretty perfect life for my first ten years. My mom was the best horse gentler in the county, the state, maybe even the world. Everything I know about horses I learned from her. When she died, Dad moved my sister, Lizzy, and me from place to place until we ended up in Ashland, Ohio.

  Things were working out, though. I think Mom would have been proud of me. I’d already become known as Winnie the Horse Gentler. And even though I’m only in seventh grade, people bring me their problem horses and actually pay me to gentle them.

  That’s kind of how I ended up with the foal’s mother in my barn.

  I glanced into the next stall and felt the tears press against my eyeballs as I remembered Gracie there. The dapple-gray mare had just shown up in my pasture one morning, an anonymous problem-horse gift for Winnie the Horse Gentler. I’d dubbed her “Amazing Grace.”

  But Gracie’s only problem had been neglect. It had been a miracle that, sick as Gracie was, she held on until she delivered her foal.

  My mind flashed me a photo of the old gray mare, lying in the hay, craning her neck to see her newborn foal. I have a photographic memory, so the details were all there—Gracie’s big eyes glazed, the foal slick from birth, steam rising from the bed of hay.

  Sometimes having a photographic memory isn’t so great. Without my permission, my brain snaps pictures that etch their way deep into my mind forever, then pop up when I’d least like to see them. My brain has stored 100 photos of the accident that killed my mother. And now I have snapshots of Gracie dying too.

  I shut my eyes, but the picture grew even sharper. Gracie died in my arms.

  “Winnie? You okay?” Lizzy came up behind me. She didn’t have a coat on, even though the temperature was below freezing.

  “I still can’t get the filly to trust me, Lizzy. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  Mom used to say that the first 48 hours could determine how well a foal got along with humans for the rest of its life. I’d passed the 48-hour mark and still couldn’t get close to this filly.

  “I’m sure you’re not doing anything wrong. That little horse will come around!” Lizzy said, looking like a cheerleader. My sister is a year younger than me, but she’s two inches taller. We both caught Mom’s dark hair and lean build, but Lizzy dodged the freckles. “Just give her time. She’ll see what a terrific friend Winnie Willis can be!”

  Lizzy seemed to be glancing around the barn for something. “Geri hasn’t come by, has she?” she asked, picking up Churchill, a giant gray cat that belongs to our friend Catman Coolidge. The cat rubbed his smushed-in, flat face against Lizzy’s neck.

  “Geri? Nope.”

  Geri is Lizzy’s best friend. My sister loves all things lizard, and Geri is a frog nut. Sometimes I admit I’m a little jealous at how easily Lizzy makes great friends. If she got that from our mom, I guess I dodged it. Horses are so much easier to get along with than humans.

  I put another fleck of hay in the hay net for Nickers to play with. Nelson, my barn cat and Churchill’s son, got in on the action and hopped to the feed trough, where he could paw at the hay net with his one white paw. “I thought Geri was coming over to spend the night.”

  “She is. We’re supposed to work on her frog palace. Did I tell you she got a salamander for Christmas? I can’t wait to see him! Salamanders really rock, you know? They shed their skins and sometimes eat the old skin for nutrients. And when it’s cold—”

  “Lizzy,” I interrupted. Once she gets going, sh
e talks faster than a trotter trots. Somebody has to stop her. “Did you come out here for something?” My sister usually stays as far away from horses as she can. She’ll gladly hug spiders and toads and bugs, but she won’t even touch Nickers.

  Lizzy smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Telephone! For you!”

  “Me?” I almost never get phone calls. Except from Hawk, Victoria Hawkins, who was still in Florida visiting her dad. But Hawk had been calling at night.

  “Sorry.” Lizzy set down Churchill. “I can’t believe I forgot the phone call! Duh to me. It’s a girl. At first I thought it was Geri. But I think it might be Sal.”

  I doubted it. Sal, Salena Fry, is in most of my seventh-grade classes, and we get along okay. But she’s buddies with Summer Spidell and the popular kids. Summer and I got off on the wrong foot the first time we met, when I was shoveling manure in her dad’s fancy stable. I guess you could say we’ve pretty much stayed on the wrong foot since then.

  Lizzy and I plowed through the snow toward the house. Our yard looked a hundred times better snow-covered. You couldn’t even see the broken toasters, rolls of wires, and other machine parts Dad keeps around for his inventions and for repairing stuff. Snow had turned the tallest junk into white statues.

  Once inside I kicked off my boots and ran to the kitchen phone, hoping the mystery caller was still there. “Hello?”

  “Sal, she’s here! On the phone!” The voice on the line sounded familiar, but it wasn’t Sal. And whoever it was wasn’t talking to me. She was screaming away from the phone.

  “Hello?” I said again. “Who’s this?”

  “Uh . . . um . . . it’s going to be Sal.” Then away from the phone, she screamed, “Sal! You have to come right now! I’m not holding the phone any longer. I mean it!”

  “Geri?” I was pretty sure I recognized her voice. “Are you at Sal’s house?”

  Lizzy was sticking a tray of cookies into the oven. She stopped and frowned at me.

  “Uh . . . hi, Winnie. How are you?”

  “What are you doing over there, Geri? Lizzy has been—”

  “Oops . . . here’s Sal!”

  The phone shuffled and clattered. Then another voice came over the line. “Winnie? Man, am I glad you’re there! I thought you’d never get to the phone.”

  “Sal? What’s Geri doing at your house?”

  “I can’t understand you, Winnie.”

  No wonder. There was a lot of commotion going on in the background at Sal’s house, and Sal wasn’t so easy to understand either. But I knew my voice wasn’t helping. I always sound hoarse. Lizzy says it’s exotic and she wishes she had my voice, but I think my words sound like they’re filtered through gravel.

  I cleared my throat, for all the good it would do me, and asked again why Geri was at Sal’s.

  “Nathan,” Sal answered.

  “Nathan?” Sal’s brother is in sixth grade, like Lizzy and Geri. I’d only seen him a couple of times, but I could picture him. The first time I’d seen Nathan and Lizzy had introduced him as her buddy, Nate, I’d had to fight to keep from laughing. Sal’s pretty out-there, with her wild jewelry and ever-changing hair colors. I’d expected her little brother to have tattoos and a shaved head. But Nathan looked like a regular kid—short dark hair, normal clothes, just a little on the chunky side.

  Now I glanced at Lizzy. She looked as confused as I felt.

  “If you ask me,” Sal said, “Geri’s got a king-size crush. And I don’t think Nathan even knows what’s up. Guys.” The phone clanked again. Then Sal shouted, “Keep your socks on, Gram! I’m coming!” This was followed by so much noise on the other end of the line that I had to hold the phone away from my ear to keep from going deaf.

  The phone rattled again, and Sal shouted, “Winnie, I’m coming right over!”

  “You are?” The last time—the only time—Sal had come over, she’d acted like our entire house should have been condemned. She’d made her escape as fast as she could.

  “Gram and I have a job for you. For Christmas she—” There was shuffling, then a bang, as if she’d dropped the phone. “All right! All right! I said I’m coming!” More shuffling, and Sal was back on the line. “Don’t go anywhere! Stay right where you are! I’ll explain everything when I get there. I need you desperately, Winnie Willis!”

  I hung up the phone and tried to imagine why Sal would ever need me. What kind of job could she and her grandmother possibly have for me? It’s no secret that Dad, Lizzy, and I are barely getting by. Dad used to be a big insurance boss in Laramie, Wyoming. But in Ashland, he’s just Odd-Job Willis, a not-so-great handyman and part-time inventor.

  Maybe Sal thought I was Junior Miss Odd-Job Willis. Maybe she wanted me to shovel walks. Do her laundry. Clean her room.

  The oven door slammed shut. Lizzy set the timer, which Dad had rewired to make it moo like a cow when it went off. Just another example of his helpful inventions.

  “Did Geri say if she’s still coming over?” Lizzy asked.

  I shook my head. “Sal is, though. She claims she has a job for me.” I watched Lizzy shove her hair back into a ponytail that looked tons better than my hair does after I’ve really worked on it.

  “Did you know Geri and Sal’s brother were . . . together?” I began. “I mean, last time I heard Sal mention Nathan, she said he couldn’t stop talking about the donut squares you brought in for Geri’s birthday and the Valentine sandwiches you made for everybody when it wasn’t even Valentine’s Day.”

  Lizzy grinned. “Nate loves to eat, all right.” She glanced at the tray of green salamander cookies cooling on the counter. “So Geri didn’t say if she’s still coming? I made a lot of cookies. I’m calling them Salamander Mint. Maybe Madeline and Mason will come over and help us eat them.”

  “Or you could take Madeline a doggie bag . . . a salamander bag?” I suggested.

  Madeline Edison is Dad’s friend. She’s an inventor too. She’s pretty weird, although Dad seems to like her.

  “Winnie,” Lizzy scolded, “I think Madeline is really trying to fit in. I know you love having Mason around. Besides, shouldn’t he be helping you take care of that baby horse?”

  “True,” I admitted.

  Madeline’s son, Mason, has a condition, like autism, that makes him disappear inside himself sometimes, like he’s not even there. I kind of envy that. It’s what I feel like doing myself at least once a day. Only if I disappear, I’m taking Nickers with me.

  I did want Mason to get used to the foal, and vice versa. But the foal wasn’t even used to me yet. And I’m not always sure what Mason’s going to do. Once I saw him close his eyes in the middle of watching cartoons. And for the next three minutes he screamed louder and louder. Then he just stopped and went back to the cartoon show.

  Lizzy smiled at me, with the deep smile that reminds me of our mom. “You know, Winnie, giving that foal to Mason was about the nicest thing I’ve ever seen anybody do. I wish I had a picture of his face when you told him the foal was his.”

  Lizzy crumbled something into the lizard condo dad had invented for her collection. Larry the Lizard stuck out his snout and gobbled up whatever Lizzy had dropped in.

  “So what did you name the baby horse?” Lizzy asked.

  “I haven’t yet. I want Mason to name her.”

  Back in Wyoming Mom and I had worked out a system of dubbing horses with temporary names. That way it wouldn’t be so hard on us when the horses went back to their owners. It hadn’t worked, though. We were always sad to see any horse leave.

  Still, I’d fallen into the same naming game since I’d become Winnie the Horse Gentler. First there was my Nickers, who used to be called Wild Thing. Then there was Grant’s horse, Eager Star. Then Bold Beauty and Midnight Mystery. I used to call Towaco, Hawk’s Appaloosa, Unhappy Appy. Before Gracie had her foal, I’d dubbed her Gift Horse.

  And in my head I’d already found a fake name for the foal: Friendly Foal.

  The timer mooed, and Lizzy
pulled out the pan of cookies.

  She’d gone to so much work for Geri. “I can’t believe Geri’s doing this to you, Lizzy.”

  Lizzy smiled over at me as she poked a salamander to see if he was done. “You mean not coming over?” She set the cookie sheet on a dish towel. “Well, she should have called. But I’m not so surprised that she’s over there with Nate. I kind of thought Geri had a crush on him, even though she claimed she didn’t.”

  If I’d been Lizzy, I would have been fighting mad. I guess I got the freckles and the temper.

  I checked out the kitchen clock. “Sal should have been here by now. What kind of a job do you think she’s talking about, Lizzy?”

  Lizzy was pulling things out of the fridge. “Didn’t you ask her?”

  “Kind of.” I tried to remember what Sal had said exactly. Unfortunately, I don’t have a phonographic memory. I couldn’t replay the conversation. “But I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not doing anything stupid for her. I wouldn’t put it past Summer to put Sal up to this. She’ll probably want me to shine her shoes or clean under her bed.”

  I thought about the first time Summer’s dad, Spider Spidell, hired Odd-Job Willis to fix some broken halters for the horses in his fancy Stable-Mart. Nothing pleased him. Dad had to redo those halters four times, and Mr. Spidell still complained.

  “Help Winnie calm down and know what you want her to do about Sal,” Lizzy said. She looked like she was talking to one of the doughy salamanders, but she was talking to God. She prays as easily as a Tennessee Walking Horse walks.

  I still hadn’t taken off my barn coat, and my back was starting to sweat. “I better go out to the barn and wait. If Sal comes to the house, send her out, okay?”

  “Sweet,” Lizzy said. She wrapped a salamander in a napkin and handed him to me.

  It smelled minty. We still had our Christmas tree up, but it didn’t smell as evergreen minty as the salamander cookie.

  “Thanks, Lizzy.” I headed for the door. “Don’t forget to send Sal!”

  In the barn, I waited for Sal.

  And waited.

  And waited.

 

‹ Prev