I tossed her the reins, and we rode off, with Summer yelling after us.
I led the way to a clearing on the edge of town, and we both broke into a canter. We galloped up a dirt road, passed through an open field, and splashed through a creek, crunching ice crystals at the edge of the water. The wind bit my cheeks and made my eyes water.
Hawk didn’t talk. It wasn’t the ideal ride with a best friend, not like I’d imagined. But I chose to appreciate it, to be glad Hawk and Towaco were there, to enjoy the padded thud of our horses’ hooves and the honking of geese overhead. I’d never thought of joy as something you choose, but that’s what it felt like as we rode through the hills.
I breathed in the cold air, amazed by the purple clouds swirling through the sky, promising snow. I chose to enjoy the feel of Nickers’ muscles carrying me so fast that the leafless trees blurred like tangles of crooked arms.
I glanced at Towaco and grinned at the little swish of his fetlocks. I remembered how much my mom had loved horse whiskers and velvet muzzles.
Before I even realized what I was doing, my heart was telling God thanks. It was as if I’d unlocked a door inside me, releasing a flood of thanksgiving—for fetlocks and purple clouds, for Hawk’s friendship, whatever it was.
Then Hawk pulled Towaco to a dead halt.
I cantered Nickers back to them. “What’s wrong?”
“I rode. Now I am going back to Summer’s.” Her face looked carved in stone.
“Hawk, what’s going on? Look at Towaco! He’s come out of his sadness or whatever it was. So what about you? You have so much to be thankful for!”
A rabbit hopped behind Towaco. Two squirrels chased circles around a big oak tree. Hawk didn’t seem to notice any of it. She kicked Towaco and trotted toward Summer’s.
“Hawk?” I thought about just letting her go. Then I pictured Mason, staying with Towaco, walking from side to side until the Appy let him in.
“Come on, Nickers,” I whispered. We overtook them easily. I pulled up right in front of the Appy.
Hawk sucked in her bottom lip. “You don’t know anything,” she said quietly.
She was right. I didn’t know what was making her like this. God, please help me understand.
Things rushed into my head, details of the past week, little things I hadn’t paid attention to because I’d been feeling sorry for myself. I thought about the look Hawk’s mother gave her father when they dropped off Hawk. I remembered how they’d made it clear which present was from which parent.
“Hawk, where did your parents go?” They’d said Nevada, but I couldn’t remember the specifics. I’d figured they were off on a romantic holiday.
Towaco stirred under Hawk. “Where?” Hawk repeated. “Reno. Ever hear of Reno, Winnie?”
I had heard of it. From TV or other kids. “Isn’t that where people go to . . . to get a . . .” I let my voice trail off as everything came together.
“A divorce! Say it, Winnie! By this time tomorrow, my mother will be just like Madeline Edison.”
I cringed, remembering what I’d said about Madeline being divorced. “I’m so sorry, Hawk.”
“Don’t be! Summer says she wishes her parents would get a divorce. She says most parents do sooner or later. And it works out just fine for the kids. Summer says they compete over you, let you do whatever you want, have anything you want.”
I urged Nickers closer. She and Towaco blew into each other’s nostrils, friends again. Towaco stretched his neck over Nickers’ neck.
Then Hawk leaned onto the Appy’s mane, wrapped her arms around his neck, and cried.
Nickers and I stayed beside them, totally still.
After a few minutes with no sound except Hawk’s quiet sobs, she sat up and stared right at me. “I’m sorry, Winnie. I have behaved so horribly toward you.” She stroked her horse’s neck. “And toward Towaco. I never wanted to sell him. But I don’t want to get too close—not to Towaco or to you.”
“Why?”
She fixed her gaze on me. “Because it is easier that way. It doesn’t hurt as much to lose things you are not close to. It’s why I don’t let myself have close friends.”
“But you and Summer—”
“Summer and I will never be close. That’s why we hang out. I have not told her how I really feel about the divorce. I couldn’t get away with that around you. Summer and I have fun together, but that’s it. That is how we both want it.”
I couldn’t believe how wrong I’d gotten everything.
Hawk wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “But I do not want my parents to be divorced. My dad is moving out, Winnie. We might have to move. Nothing will ever be the same.”
I knew what she meant. “You’re right, Hawk. It won’t be like it used to be, but you still have two people who love you. I know it won’t be the same. Nothing has been the same for me since my mom died. But it hasn’t all been sad, not all the time. There’s been a lot of good too.”
“Do you know why I didn’t stay and help you with Mason yesterday or this morning?” Hawk asked. “I look at that little boy, with so many things he could be sad about, and I feel even worse.”
“But, Hawk, Mason’s the happiest person I know!” I struggled to get the thoughts and the words out. “Couldn’t you almost see joy pouring out of him when he got near Towaco?”
She almost smiled.
“He loves that funny, saddle-shaped spot on Towaco’s shoulder. And when Towaco sneezed once, I thought Mason would never stop laughing.”
Now Hawk definitely smiled.
“Mason grabs on to the little things and doesn’t let go. That’s what I want to do. I don’t want to miss all of God’s little surprises because I’m tied in knots over something I can’t change.”
“I do not understand, Winnie. What surprises?”
“Like Peter’s green-and-yellow wings, or Towaco’s spots, or Nickers’ nicker, or the way Lizzy snores . . .”
She laughed. She must have heard my sister too.
“Or Mason’s dimples! Or friendship—with your horse or with another person, even if it isn’t what you thought it would be. If we’re so hung up on what it isn’t, we lose what it is.”
Hawk stared down at Towaco’s shoulder. I wondered if she was looking for Mason’s favorite spot.
A flock of geese flew over us. We looked up at the crooked V and listened to their honking. I prayed it would mean something to Hawk, that she could feel the joy I felt watching those geese.
“My mom loved geese,” I said. “She used to say, ‘God’s in the details, Winnie.’ ” It had never made that much sense before, but now I understood at least a little of what she meant. “He delights in every detail of their lives.” If I paid attention, God was everywhere. And so was joy.
We sat on our horses, Towaco’s neck lopped over Nickers’, until Hawk said, “I am starving. You think Lizzy has that turkey ready yet?”
Madeline’s van wasn’t at our house when Hawk and I got back. We turned the horses out to pasture and headed inside the house.
Dad opened the door for us, letting out a surge of savory turkey smell. “I was wondering when you two would show up. Lizzy took the turkey out a while ago.”
“We need to wait just a little longer,” I said.
“Why?” Dad had black grease on his nose. Something about it made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
“Because everybody’s not here yet,” I answered.
As if on cue, the minivan roared up our street and came to a squealing stop.
Dad glanced over my head to see outside. “But . . . how did . . . ?”
“I called Madeline,” I confessed. “Don’t get me wrong. I still don’t think you should have invited her. And it feels weird to have her around, even if she’s not as bad as I thought she was.” How could I explain to Dad that it felt like betraying my mom to have another woman eat turkey with us?
Dad put his hand on my head. “Winnie, nobody could ever take your mom’s place.�
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I looked up at him and rubbed the grease off his nose. He knew. My dad understood.
“Madeline and I are just friends,” he said.
Hawk elbowed me. “Whatever that means. Right, Winnie?”
Mason pushed right past us and into the house, shouting, “Go, Towaco! Go, Towaco!”
Madeline walked in, wearing oven mitts and carrying a big bowl of sweet potatoes. Coils ran under the bowl, and a battery stuck out.
“I see you’re trying out your new battery warmer,” Dad said. “I was thinking that if you used a metal bowl, you might . . .”
We soon sat down to Lizzy’s amazing Thanksgiving feast, Hawk on my left, Mason on my right. Lizzy said grace, which included not only the Wyoming turkey, lizard potatoes, warmed sweet potatoes, and frog Jell-O, but all the people seated around our table and just about everybody we’d met since moving to Ashland.
We talked about school and horse therapy and inventions while we ate. And when nobody could eat another bite of carrot pie, Dad explained our tradition of naming three things we were thankful for.
Madeline had to start. She named Mason (Dad forgot to explain the no-family rule), new friends, and electricity.
Hawk was next. “Towaco, the sound of a whippoorwill, and Winnie.”
“Go, Towaco!” Mason cried.
We laughed. Then Lizzy named Jesus first; then Larry, her lizard; and Geri, her friend.
When it was my turn, I didn’t know what to say—not because I couldn’t think of anything. Twenty-four hours ago, I’d been afraid I couldn’t come up with three things I was thankful for. Now I didn’t know what to choose. “Nickers, Hawk, Mason . . . but I’m also thankful for the smell of hay, and the way light sneaks into the barn through tiny cracks, for fetlocks on Clydesdales, arched necks on American Saddle-breds, Arabian eyes, horse whiskers . . . and for Nelson, my barn cat. And Catman!” I wished Catman could have been right there so I could tell him I was thankful for our friendship, whatever it was.
I’d been so sure I needed a best friend. I thought I knew what that was. But God was filling that best-friend hole in his own way—with Catman and Hawk, with Mason and Nickers, with Lizzy and my dad . . . with himself.
My gaze fell on Mason. His face crinkled into a huge smile, and he pointed at the window. I turned and looked. “It’s snowing!” I cried.
Hawk and I grabbed our coats and dashed to the barn for our first ride in the snow. We cantered bareback through fields, heading for Catman’s to wish him a Happy Thanksgiving. Thick white flakes nearly blinded me, but Nickers knew the way.
The horses loved the snowfall as much as Hawk and I did. They kicked up their heels and whinnied back and forth through the snow.
God was in the details, and I talked with him: Thank you, God, for the sound of horses’ hooves, the caw of that crow, the swish of Nickers’ tail, tree shadows on fresh snow, Hawk’s laugh. . . .
I could have gone on and on, listing so many surprises. What I felt was more than happiness, more than a feeling, as if God had reached right past feelings to put his joy into the secret places of my heart.
There were as many things to give thanks for as there were snowflakes.
Hawk and I cantered onto the Coolidges’ almost-white lawn as Catman ran out, waving, and a blanket of white wrapped up the world, covering every bump in the frozen dirt, softening edges, and bringing beauty to thistles and weeds.
Horses communicate with one another . . . and with us, if we learn to read their cues. Here are some of the main ways a horse talks:
Whinny—A loud, long horse call that can be heard from a half mile away. Horses often whinny back and forth.
Possible translations: Is that you over there? Hello! I’m over here! See me? I heard you! What’s going on?
Neigh—To most horse people, a neigh is the same as a whinny. Some people call any vocalization from a horse a neigh.
Nicker—The friendliest horse greeting in the world. A nicker is a low sound made in the throat, sometimes rumbling. Horses use it as a warm greeting for another horse or a trusted person. A horse owner might hear a nicker at feeding time.
Possible translations: Welcome back! Good to see you. I missed you. Hey there! Come on over. Got anything good to eat?
Snort—This sounds like your snort, only much louder and more fluttering. It’s a hard exhale, with the air being forced out through the nostrils.
Possible translations: Look out! Something’s wrong out there! Yikes! What’s that?
Blow—Usually one huge exhale, like a snort, but in a large burst of wind.
Possible translations: What’s going on? Things aren’t so bad. Such is life.
Squeal—This high-pitched cry that sounds a bit like a scream can be heard a hundred yards away.
Possible translations: Don’t you dare! Stop it! I’m warning you! I’ve had it—I mean it! That hurts!
Grunts, groans, sighs, sniffs—Horses make a variety of sounds. Some grunts and groans mean nothing more than boredom. Others are natural outgrowths of exercise.
Horses also communicate without making a sound. You’ll need to observe each horse and tune in to the individual translations, but here are some possible versions of nonverbal horse talk:
EARS
Flat back ears—When a horse pins back its ears, pay attention and beware! If the ears go back slightly, the horse may just be irritated. The closer the ears are pressed back to the skull, the angrier the horse.
Possible translations: I don’t like that buzzing fly. You’re making me mad! I’m warning you! You try that, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t!
Pricked forward, stiff ears—Ears stiffly forward usually mean a horse is on the alert. Something ahead has captured its attention.
Possible translations: What’s that? Did you hear that? I want to know what that is! Forward ears may also say, I’m cool and proud of it!
Relaxed, loosely forward ears—When a horse is content, listening to sounds all around, ears relax, tilting loosely forward.
Possible translations: It’s a fine day, not too bad at all. Nothin’ new out here.
Uneven ears—When a horse swivels one ear up and one ear back, it’s just paying attention to the surroundings.
Possible translations: Sigh. So, anything interesting going on yet?
Stiff, twitching ears—If a horse twitches stiff ears, flicking them fast (in combination with overall body tension), be on guard! This horse may be terrified and ready to bolt.
Possible translations: Yikes! I’m outta here! Run for the hills!
Airplane ears—Ears lopped to the sides usually means the horse is bored or tired.
Possible translations: Nothing ever happens around here. So, what’s next already? Bor-ing.
Droopy ears—When a horse’s ears sag and droop to the sides, it may just be sleepy, or it might be in pain.
Possible translations: Yawn . . . I am so sleepy. I could sure use some shut-eye. I don’t feel so good. It really hurts.
TAIL
Tail switches hard and fast—An intensely angry horse will switch its tail hard enough to hurt anyone foolhardy enough to stand within striking distance. The tail flies side to side and maybe up and down as well.
Possible translations: I’ve had it, I tell you! Enough is enough! Stand back and get out of my way!
Tail held high—A horse who holds its tail high may be proud to be a horse!
Possible translations: Get a load of me! Hey! Look how gorgeous I am! I’m so amazing that I just may hightail it out of here!
Clamped-down tail—Fear can make a horse clamp its tail to its rump.
Possible translations: I don’t like this; it’s scary. What are they going to do to me? Can’t somebody help me?
Pointed tail swat—One sharp, well-aimed swat of the tail could mean something hurts there.
Possible translations: Ouch! That hurts! Got that pesky fly.
OTHER SIGNALS
Pay attention to other body language. Stamp
ing a hoof may mean impatience or eagerness to get going. A rear hoof raised slightly off the ground might be a sign of irritation. The same hoof raised, but relaxed, may signal sleepiness. When a horse is angry, the muscles tense, back stiffens, and the eyes flash, showing extra white of the eyeballs. One anxious horse may balk, standing stone still and stiff legged. Another horse just as anxious may dance sideways or paw the ground. A horse in pain might swing its head backward toward the pain, toss its head, shiver, or try to rub or nibble the sore spot. Sick horses tend to lower their heads and look dull, listless, and unresponsive.
As you attempt to communicate with your horse and understand what he or she is saying, remember that different horses may use the same sound or signal, but mean different things. One horse may flatten her ears in anger, while another horse lays back his ears to listen to a rider. Each horse has his or her own language, and it’s up to you to understand.
American Saddlebred (or American Saddle Horse)—A showy breed of horse with five gaits (walk, trot, canter, and two extras). They are usually high-spirited, often high-strung; mainly seen in horse shows.
Appaloosa—Horse with mottled skin and a pattern of spots, such as a solid white or brown with oblong, dark spots behind the withers. They’re usually good all- around horses.
Arabian—Believed to be the oldest breed or one of the oldest. Arabians are thought by many to be the most beautiful of all horses. They are characterized by a small head, large eyes, refined build, silky mane and tail, and often high spirits.
Bay—A horse with a mahogany or deep brown to reddish-brown color and a black mane and tail.
Blind-age—Without revealing age.
Buck—To thrust out the back legs, kicking off the ground.
Buckskin—Tan or grayish-yellow-colored horse with black mane and tail.
Cattle-pony stop—Sudden, sliding stop with drastically bent haunches and rear legs; the type of stop a cutting, or cowboy, horse might make to round up cattle.
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