An Inconvenient Elephant by Judy Reene Singer Page A

this straight,” she said. “Your ex-horse is living in your ex-barn?”
    I nodded. “Yep. Behind my ex-house.”
    Diamond laughed. “You like to keep things simple, don’t you.”
    Â 
    A few minutes later I was pulling into the driveway of my old house. I’d had to sell it for the divorce, and luckily my brother was newly married and looking for a place to live, so it sort of stayed in the family. Now it stood, a paragon of suburban tidiness, a product of the painstaking care and attention lavished upon it by Reese and Marielle. There were new shrubs, a new mailbox, a newly blacktopped driveway. Reese’s and Marielle’s cars were gone. They were obviously both at work, and I was actually relieved that I didn’t have to put up with Reese’s teasing before I got over my jet lag.
    The barn in back had been repainted to match the house, and I could see that the two small back paddocks had been joined to make one comfortably large arena, enclosed with new post-and-rail fencing. In the middle stood Mousi, his face buried in a large pile of hay.
    â€œWait till Mousi hears me call his name,” I predicted as we drew closer to the paddock. “He’ll race right over for a kiss. Then he’ll put his head on my shoulder. He and I had a special bond, you know? A mystical bond.”
    â€œLovely,” Diamond murmured. “I’ve had dozens ofhorses over the years. I loved them all well enough, in my own way, but in the end, they were just transportation.”
    â€œHa,” I said. “Not Mousi. Mousi is my soul mate.”
    Â 
    Mousi was horse nobility. He was a Lipizzaner, descended from a long line of pure white steeds, and his real name was Maestoso Ariela. He was my first rescue, my surrogate child, my confidant, my past and my future, but then the divorce tsunami struck, and he needed a loving owner and a good home. Marielle, a horsewoman herself, happily provided both. But it was like giving your son to the gypsies. At some point you need to peek through the woods to see if he’s thriving, if he misses you, or worse, if he is getting along perfectly fine without you. I wasn’t sure which I wanted to see.
    Â 
    I stood by the back fence and scrutinized Mousi from ears to tail. The gypsies had done very well by my child. He was in good weight, his coat was brushed, his long mane didn’t have one tangle, and though Marielle taught at a nearby university, I could see that she took time in the morning to feed him, clean his stall, and turn him out with fresh hay and water.
    I cupped my hands around my mouth and called his name. Mousi picked up his head and gave me a vacant glance before returning to his hay. I called his name again.
    â€œA bond, you say,” Diamond said, leaning on the fence next to me.
    I rapped on the fence with my knuckles. Mousi took another mouthful of hay. “How long do you think it takes them to forget you?” I finally asked.
    â€œWhat makes you think they do?” Diamond replied.
    â€œHe always came to me before.”
    â€œHe just needs you to ride him,” Diamond said. “Horses remember the way you ride them.”
    Â 
    I slipped through the fence and walked over to Mousi. He stopped chewing his hay to sniff my outstretched hand, then dropped his head for another bite. I ran my hands along his neck and over his back, and then, with Diamond giving me a thumbs-up, pulled myself astride, gently easing onto his bare back. Mousi lifted his head and pricked his ears. I touched him with my legs and he walked forward, then halted with just the pressure of my seat. I pushed my left hip forward, and he arched his neck as though he had a bit in his mouth and swung left. My right hip turned him right. Then I sat up and asked for the canter, and in one elegant departure, his body thrust forward into its familiar rolling cadence that took me around the entire pasture. I lifted my face to the sky and