Friendly Foal

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  Catman returned from the barn. “Pat’s?” he asked Barker.

  “Sure,” Barker answered. “We can work on the help line. She’s open late tonight—holiday hours.”

  I hadn’t been to Pat’s Pets since before Christmas. “Tell Pat I’ll come in early tomorrow for the horse e-mails.” Sal wasn’t coming until 11, so I’d have time to answer e-mails first.

  Catman, Barker, and Zorro headed to the Barker Bus.

  “I better go too,” Madeline said.

  “But . . . but I thought we were going in for hot chocolate,” Dad stammered. “And you said you’d take a look at the golf buddy.”

  The golf buddy was Dad’s latest invention. It was supposed to send out smoke signals so bad golfers wouldn’t have to hunt for their balls. But judging by all of the charcoal golf balls lying around our house, Dad hadn’t quite worked out the kinks yet.

  I was just glad this invention didn’t have the potential to make my personal life miserable—unlike the backward bike, which I pedal backwards to school and still get teased for. Or the singing watch that wouldn’t take “off” for an answer, even during my English final. Or the self-tying shoelaces that wrecked my gym career.

  Madeline leaned down and tightened the chin string on Mason’s hood and stared at it, as if she’d never seen a hood before and was thinking of inventing one.

  “Madeline,” Dad started.

  “Tomorrow morning. I’ll come first thing. Right now I have to move on the new bounceon formula. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Well, I suppose—”

  “Less cotton. More gel . . .” She was muttering to herself. She picked up Mason and jogged toward her van, with Mason staring back at us over her shoulder. She overtook Catman and Barker.

  “Early, Madeline! Be here by eight!” Dad called.

  “Will do!” Madeline yelled back without turning around.

  Dad took giant steps to our house as Madeline and Mason piled into their van.

  Catman and Barker climbed into the Barker Bus. Mrs. Barker rolled down her window and waved to me before pulling away from the curb.

  I waved back as they made a U-turn in the street.

  A bitter wind wrapped itself around me. And suddenly I was alone. Totally alone. On a cold, dark night.

  I watched as Mrs. Barker drove off down the street, the Barker Bus growing smaller and the taillights dimmer and dimmer until they disappeared altogether.

  And I couldn’t keep myself from wondering what it would feel like to be driven by your mom anywhere, for something as little as noseprinting your pet.

  I finally dragged into the house after bedding down Amigo, Nickers, and Friendly Foal. Lizzy had green hot chocolate waiting for me and red candy that tasted like raspberries and radishes. I ate four pieces.

  Geri hadn’t come over, and she hadn’t called.

  “Do you have to go back out?” Lizzy asked, wrapping the candies individually so they looked like Hershey’s Kisses.

  “Not tonight.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in my own bed. “The foal won’t need another feeding until 5 A.M. Besides, she’ll rest better without me.”

  That was the truth. When I’d sprinkled fresh straw in the stalls, the filly had tried as hard as Amigo to stay out of my way.

  Lizzy pulled up a chair. “You could use a good night’s sleep.”

  Something banged from Dad’s workshop off the kitchen.

  “Poor Dad,” Lizzy said. “He’s been burning golf balls ever since Madeline left.”

  Dad stormed into the kitchen. Without even a glance at us, he filled a huge plastic glass with water and ran back to the workshop. I smelled smoke.

  Lizzy sighed. “Hey, has Hawk called yet?”

  Hawk had been great about phoning me from her dad’s place in Florida. At school she mostly hangs out with Summer, Sal, Grant, and the other popular kids. We’d talked more on the phone during the past week than we had in person all year. Still, I couldn’t wait for her to get back.

  I yawned. “Nope. But I’d probably fall asleep on the phone anyway. Think I’ll take a nice hot bath and climb into a real bed, Lizzy.”

  I was clean, dry, and dressed in pj’s when Hawk called.

  “Hi, Hawk. When are you coming home?”

  She laughed. Hawk’s laugh is refined, almost musical. It fits her real name, which is Victoria Hawkins. Summer and the kids at school call her Victoria.

  “Father has not told me for certain when I’ll be home. He will hire a professional to drive Towaco back, and I will fly. But I talked to Mother this morning, and she has it all arranged. Winnie, I am having the New Year’s Eve party for our class. And, of course, you have to come!”

  I’d never been to a real New Year’s Eve party, not one with classmates. I’ve been to a lot of schools, and I haven’t fit into any of them. “That’s great, Hawk!”

  “Summer and Sal will be there, of course,” she continued. “And Grant and Brian said they could come.”

  Hawk had called me last. Still, she was inviting me. Me, to a party the popular kids would talk about for the rest of the year. I hated it when everybody at school went on and on about how great a party was, and I hadn’t even known there was a party.

  Hawk kept talking about tacos and yard-long sundaes. Then suddenly her tone changed. “I had wanted to have an entirely Native American theme.”

  “Great idea!” We both like the fact that she’s Native American, although neither of her parents is into it.

  “I thought it was a great idea as well,” Hawk said, the energy draining from her voice. “Mother did not.”

  There was an awkward pause.

  Then Hawk asked, “How is that Friendly Foal today, Winnie? Lizzy said you get to sleep inside tonight, so I assume the foal must be doing better?”

  I filled Hawk in on Friendly and the Mini, but she already knew about Amigo from Sal. I also told her everything that had gone wrong with the foal and with Amigo.

  “Just keep trying with Amigo,” she said. “I don’t think Sal is convinced that this horse is a great gift.”

  I thought I heard Hawk yawn. Then I yawned, wondering if yawns were contagious over the phone. We said good night.

  I fell into bed and snuggled under the covers. I really did try to stay awake and pray about everything. But I’d barely gotten to the first “God bless . . .” when I dropped off.

  I don’t know what time it was when Lizzy sneaked in and her bedsprings creaked.

  I was too tired to move. But I fought off sleep and hoped this would be one of Lizzy’s pray-out-loud nights. I never know when Lizzy will talk to God out loud instead of in her head. I don’t think even she knows. But I’ve come to wait for Lizzy’s prayers. She prays like our mom did.

  “Father,” Lizzy whispered, and the room got so still that the whisper had the force of a shout. “I had a great day with you today. Thanks for helping me with those cookies and with my lizard.”

  Lizzy talked to God about Dad and Madeline and Mason. Then it was my turn.

  “Thanks for Winnie. You did such a great job in the sister department. And I love that Hawk’s being such a good friend to Winnie. Sweet! And now Sal too? Way to go! Help Winnie be patient with the new little horses out there.”

  I couldn’t believe it. It was like Lizzy had read my New Year’s resolutions.

  “And look out for my friend Geri. Let her know I’m here if she needs me. I’m not sure she knows how to handle this thing with Nate.”

  Lizzy was quiet for a whole minute, and I strained to pick up what she and God were talking privately about. Then she said, “You’re right! There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. Proverbs 18:24, right? Thanks for being my best friend. Night.”

  I started to say “Night” back, but I knew she’d said it to God.

  In seconds Lizzy was making her little snoring noises. Even though the conversation had been Lizzy’s and God’s, I felt better.

  My alarm went off a little before
five. I dressed in the dark, shivering as I pulled on cold jeans and the first sweatshirt I could grab. I glanced out of the window and was amazed at how many stars shone over the pasture. I could see the big oak tree just beyond the paddock. And through the V of the tree, I saw the same star Catman had shown me. Polaris, the North Star.

  I’d have to remember to tell Catman his star was in the exact same spot he left it.

  Dad was already hunkered over the tea-kettle, pouring steaming water into his instant coffee.

  “You’re up early, Dad.”

  “Ow!” He dropped the kettle back onto the burner and shook his hand.

  I ran over to him. “Sorry if I scared you.”

  He ran cold water on his finger, and I wiped up the spill. Then we sat down to chocolate donuts sprinkled with peppermints. Lizzy had left them out for us.

  “Up all night?” I asked.

  Dad touched the puffy bags under his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t have had to be up all night if certain people kept their promises about helping certain other people with their inventions.”

  I admit I’m not the fastest horse on the track, but I knew he was talking about Madeline. Part of me felt bad for both of them. When Dad’s in the middle of working out an invention, he forgets everything else too. And Madeline was coming this morning to help him.

  I got up and warmed a bottle of goat’s milk. I needed to get Friendly to nurse from Annie. But they’d both have to calm down quite a bit before that was going to happen.

  “I’m off to do barn chores, Dad. Sal’s coming at 11. I’ll stop by Pat’s first. Need anything?”

  “Uh-huh.” Dad was picking at the peppermint pieces on his donut while he frowned into outer space.

  I knew he was off in Inventorland. I kissed the top of his head and left. I don’t think he even noticed.

  The best thing about every day is the first time I see Nickers. She was lying next to the foal, her head arched over the filly’s back. As soon as she heard me, she nickered and got to her feet.

  That’s when I saw Catman Coolidge. He was lying in the straw on the other side of the foal in the exact same position. Flat on their sides, arms crossed, long legs stretched out.

  “It’s groovy down here, man,” he said. “Far-out, pint-sized horse view.”

  I couldn’t believe Friendly was letting Catman that close.

  He started to sit up. The filly lifted her head.

  “Stay down there, Catman,” I whispered.

  He lay back down, and so did the foal. Nickers lowered her head to nuzzle Friendly.

  “Perfect!” I whispered, easing in beside Catman. “I need Friendly’s head in my lap. But you have to keep her from pulling up. Then I’ll give her a real imprinting session. Got it?”

  “Negative,” he said.

  “Catman, you have to help! Half hour tops, okay?”

  “No can do, man. Overdue at my pad. Bart-and-Claire duty.”

  Catman calls his parents by their first names when they’re not around. “They’ll understand, Catman.”

  He shook his head. “No time. Promised I’d help them fill out expiring contest entries.”

  Catman claims his dad makes more money winning contests than selling cars. But they have to enter a zillion contests a year. “I’ll help!” I placed his hand on the filly’s withers. She didn’t budge. “So it will only take us half as long. Please, Catman?”

  “Bart will freak. But I’m down with it.”

  We’d have to hurry, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  I willed my hand to move at the speed of a snail. My fingertips touched the foal’s neck. She twitched, but that was all. I inched my hand up her neck, then slid my other hand under her head. With one sweep I lifted the filly’s head and scooted under her so her head lay in my lap. “You’ll like this once we get going, Friendly.”

  “Friendly?” Catman repeated. “Bad handle.”

  I was used to Catman’s 60s language, so I knew handle meant name. I also knew he was right. “It’s not her real name. I’m waiting for Mason to name her.”

  A picture jumped to my mind: Mason staring at the foal, the foal staring back, their eyes white with fear and distrust. Great. My photographic memory had snapped a picture of that.

  Then, as if a slide show had kicked in, my mind shot me more photos, all of them of Gracie. Friendly was her baby. I owed it to that mare to give her foal a good life. Gracie had died with her head in my lap, just like this.

  Catman peered over at me, his sharp, blue eyes cutting through the tiny, round lenses of his glasses. “It’s cool, Winnie.” That’s all he said, but it was enough.

  “We’ll start with her head,” I explained. It helped me to talk it through. And I knew it was a good idea to get the foal used to human voices.

  I stroked the blaze on her forehead. Then I touched her jaw and under her chin. When I got near her muzzle, she tossed her head to keep me away from her nose and mouth.

  “When she fusses, I have to keep repeating the same strokes,” I explained. “A hundred times or more. She needs to know I’ll never give up on her.”

  When Friendly finally stopped fussing, her eyelids drooped.

  “She digs it!” Catman whispered. He scooped up Nelson as the black-and-white kitty headed my way. The flat-faced Churchill, orange tabby Moggie, and Rice were already on his lap.

  When I was sure the foal wasn’t resisting my touch on her head, I moved to her ears. I started with the left ear, rubbing it, then massaging it. “This will make it easier to bridle her when it’s time.”

  I stuck my finger inside her ear and wiggled it. She shook her head like it tickled, but I kept at it. “Once she gets used to people messing with her ears, she won’t mind if somebody clips her ears later on. She’ll remember. It’s all a matter of trust, Catman.”

  It didn’t take long for her to get used to having her ears scratched. But I kept it up long after she stopped ear-flicking.

  I moved on to the nostrils. Then the lips.

  She definitely didn’t like me messing with her mouth. Her lips twitched. She squirmed and lifted her head.

  Amigo suddenly let out a mournful whinny.

  Nickers answered it.

  Annie Goat joined in.

  I started in again, only I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do after the lips. There’s a right order for imprinting. What if I got it wrong? I probably was doing it wrong. The filly was squirming more than ever.

  We’d been at it a half hour, maybe way over. I’d promised to help Catman. Then I had to get to Pat’s. Who knew how many e-mails had piled up for me on the Pet Help Line? Then I’d have to rush back to the barn before 11. I didn’t want to miss Sal in case she came early. And Amigo. Sal and I would have to put in a couple of hours with Amigo.

  “Chill, Winnie,” Catman said, using both hands to hold down the filly.

  Friendly twisted her neck, trying to see Nickers. The filly was picking up my nerves.

  I couldn’t do this. “You can let her up now, Catman. I think we need a break.” But I knew it wasn’t good to stop now, to give up on her.

  The second Catman took his hand from her shoulder, the filly bounced up and trotted straight to Nickers to be rescued.

  Nickers the Horse Gentler.

  Catman and I speed-walked through the pasture and across the field, kicking through ankle-deep snow. I was glad Catman had opted out of his usual sandals in favor of moccasins. His striped bell-bottom jeans had snow-covered fringe on the sides that swung as he walked. Turquoise beads peeked through his army jacket.

  “Did you get the beads for Christmas?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “So what did you get?”

  “Beatles,” he answered. “Eight-tracks.”

  I’d listened to the Coolidges’ eight-tracks before. They’re weird, box-shaped things that people used before CDs got invented.

  Cats swarmed between us, more of them falling in as we got nearer to Coolidge
Castle. That’s how I’d come to think of Catman’s home. The first time I saw it, though, I thought it was a haunted house.

  Rice, the big white cat, leaped into Catman’s arms. He stuck the cat inside his jacket.

  Long gray clouds widened in the sky, as if they were being inflated.

  “Hey, Catman,” I said, remembering the stars earlier. “Guess what. This morning that star of yours, the North Star, Polaris, was in the exact same spot as last night.”

  “Always is. Always will be.”

  I didn’t know much about astronomy. But I did know that every time I tried to find the Big Dipper or Orion, they were in different places. “I thought stars moved around.”

  “Not this one.”

  Who knew?

  Winter was definitely the best season for Coolidge Castle. The two boarded-up windows were covered with ice, and the gabled roof wore a white coating that took some of the spookiness out of the three-story rambling house.

  I always check the front lawn before going inside. Mr. Coolidge is big on lawn ornaments, and you never know what will turn up. He’d outdone himself for Christmas, filling the whole front yard with Santas—Santa mice, Santa bears, Santa dwarfs (left over from Snow White’s crew).

  But something new had been added. The biggest Santa Claus had been transformed into an old man, dressed in rags and holding a scythe. Next to him, one of the elves wore nothing but a diaper.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Old Year, New Year?”

  Catman just grinned.

  We found Catman’s parents at the dining-room table—a long, heavy piece of furniture with big claw feet. You could barely see the tabletop under the stacks of paper.

  Coolidge Castle makes me feel like I’ve stepped inside a time machine and shot backward 100 years. Thick red-velvet curtains shut out the world. A giant spiral staircase leads to more rooms than I can count. You walk on Persian rugs and thick red carpet and stare up at sky-high ceilings.

  “Calvin!” cried his mother. “Is that you?”

  We couldn’t see her over the paper piles, but nobody except Claire Coolidge would call Catman “Calvin.”