friends, but it’s not happening as fast as I hoped it would. I figured out that what she needs even more than human friendship right now is a horse friend.”
“You call this friendship? Look at them!”
Nickers has her ears back and teeth bared. She forces Cleo to back away so fast that the horse rams into the fence.
“Okay,” I admit. “They haven’t exactly hit it off as buddies. But once Nickers establishes herself as the dominant mare, then Cleo will know she’s safe. She’ll feel like she’s in a herd. She’ll understand the pecking order. That’s safety to a horse. I think she needs to know where she stands with another horse. And it should give her confidence with people, too.”
I don’t think Hank’s listening to a word I say. He’s too into watching the Nickers and Cleo show out in the pasture.
“I know you’re trying to help, Winnie. And I appreciate it. We all do. But this isn’t working. If I’d known you were planning to do this—”
“Well, you wouldn’t know, would you?” I interrupt. “Because you’re never out here. You have no idea what’s going on with this horse.”
“So,” Hank says, like he’s a volcano trying not to erupt, “that makes two of us then.” He turns and storms up the hill, back the way he came.
I stay there and keep an eye on Nickers and Cleo until they’re done fighting for position. Eventually they go to separate corners of the pasture, like boxers resting up for the next bout.
* * *
“How did it go?” Dakota rushes up to me as soon as I walk in the house. It’s clear that everybody else has gone to bed.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “They fought. And Hank was there.”
“Hank? So that would explain why he ran in here all mud-covered and mad.” Dakota grins at me. “Come on. I made you a sandwich. You can eat it in my room and tell me everything. I want details.”
We go to Dakota’s room, and I plop onto her hooked rug and scarf down the sandwich. “Hank came running out of the dark and scared me half to death.”
“What did he say?”
“Before or after he ordered me to get my wild horse out of there?”
Dakota plops onto the rug with me. “That bad?”
“Worse. Nickers was pretty tough on Cleo,” I admit. “She chased Cleo all around the pasture. You should have heard the squeals coming from that mare.” I shiver, thinking about it. “Hank did.”
“He heard Cleo cry out like that?” Dakota asks. “No wonder he came running. I’ve never heard squeals like the ones from Cleo during the fire. It was horrible. Hank heard those too. He had to be remembering that.”
I hadn’t thought about that. I was too busy being defensive. “I don’t know. I really thought putting Nickers in with Cleo would be such a good idea. That mare needs the stability horses only get in herds. I knew it might be rough until they had the pecking order worked out. I just didn’t know it would be that rough.”
Dakota scoots over to her dresser and returns with a candy bar. She hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I take a huge bite of the chocolate bar. “Maybe I made a mistake putting Nickers in the pasture with Cleo. What if Hank’s right? What if I’ve only made things worse for that poor horse?” I choke on the last word or the candy. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have come here at all.” I shut up because I think I’ll cry if I admit anything else.
Dakota scoots closer. She’s sitting cross-legged on the rug, facing me. “Winnie, have you prayed about all this stuff?”
“Of course.” And it’s true. I’ve prayed for Cleo every day we’ve been here and even before that.
“I mean,” Dakota presses, “have you prayed for yourself? Talked to God about everything—Cleo, Nickers, Hank . . . you. Have you talked to God about veterinarian school?”
I smile patiently at her. “Yeah. I’ve prayed about it, okay?”
“And?” She’s so intense.
“And . . . and if you want to know the truth,
“You call this friendship? Look at them!”
Nickers has her ears back and teeth bared. She forces Cleo to back away so fast that the horse rams into the fence.
“Okay,” I admit. “They haven’t exactly hit it off as buddies. But once Nickers establishes herself as the dominant mare, then Cleo will know she’s safe. She’ll feel like she’s in a herd. She’ll understand the pecking order. That’s safety to a horse. I think she needs to know where she stands with another horse. And it should give her confidence with people, too.”
I don’t think Hank’s listening to a word I say. He’s too into watching the Nickers and Cleo show out in the pasture.
“I know you’re trying to help, Winnie. And I appreciate it. We all do. But this isn’t working. If I’d known you were planning to do this—”
“Well, you wouldn’t know, would you?” I interrupt. “Because you’re never out here. You have no idea what’s going on with this horse.”
“So,” Hank says, like he’s a volcano trying not to erupt, “that makes two of us then.” He turns and storms up the hill, back the way he came.
I stay there and keep an eye on Nickers and Cleo until they’re done fighting for position. Eventually they go to separate corners of the pasture, like boxers resting up for the next bout.
* * *
“How did it go?” Dakota rushes up to me as soon as I walk in the house. It’s clear that everybody else has gone to bed.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “They fought. And Hank was there.”
“Hank? So that would explain why he ran in here all mud-covered and mad.” Dakota grins at me. “Come on. I made you a sandwich. You can eat it in my room and tell me everything. I want details.”
We go to Dakota’s room, and I plop onto her hooked rug and scarf down the sandwich. “Hank came running out of the dark and scared me half to death.”
“What did he say?”
“Before or after he ordered me to get my wild horse out of there?”
Dakota plops onto the rug with me. “That bad?”
“Worse. Nickers was pretty tough on Cleo,” I admit. “She chased Cleo all around the pasture. You should have heard the squeals coming from that mare.” I shiver, thinking about it. “Hank did.”
“He heard Cleo cry out like that?” Dakota asks. “No wonder he came running. I’ve never heard squeals like the ones from Cleo during the fire. It was horrible. Hank heard those too. He had to be remembering that.”
I hadn’t thought about that. I was too busy being defensive. “I don’t know. I really thought putting Nickers in with Cleo would be such a good idea. That mare needs the stability horses only get in herds. I knew it might be rough until they had the pecking order worked out. I just didn’t know it would be that rough.”
Dakota scoots over to her dresser and returns with a candy bar. She hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I take a huge bite of the chocolate bar. “Maybe I made a mistake putting Nickers in the pasture with Cleo. What if Hank’s right? What if I’ve only made things worse for that poor horse?” I choke on the last word or the candy. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have come here at all.” I shut up because I think I’ll cry if I admit anything else.
Dakota scoots closer. She’s sitting cross-legged on the rug, facing me. “Winnie, have you prayed about all this stuff?”
“Of course.” And it’s true. I’ve prayed for Cleo every day we’ve been here and even before that.
“I mean,” Dakota presses, “have you prayed for yourself? Talked to God about everything—Cleo, Nickers, Hank . . . you. Have you talked to God about veterinarian school?”
I smile patiently at her. “Yeah. I’ve prayed about it, okay?”
“And?” She’s so intense.
“And . . . and if you want to know the truth,
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