No Horse Wanted Read Online Free PDF Page A

all
channeling teenagers. What was it about this situation that brought
out the immaturity in each of us?
    Mrs. Bartlett leaned heavily on her cane.
“Two people want Twaziem. That’s amazing since I only put the ad in
the paper for one day. Mr. Johnson, you’ve shared your plans for
the colt. Young lady, what are yours?”
    Her tone reminded me of my track coach’s when
my times sucked and I needed more practice to be considered for
state competition. I straightened up to my full five-feet-six.
“I’ll put him in a stall, feed him up, and do everything our vet
says he needs to look like a horse again. Once he’s ready for
training, I’ll turn him over to Rocky at Shamrock Stables and
she’ll break him to ride.”
    Utter silence, which always made me nervous,
so I added, “I don’t know why they call it ‘breaking’ because I’ve
never seen Rocky do anything mean to a horse or pony.”
    The comment led to a lecture from Felicia
about the history of horse training, like anyone really cared.
Blah, blah, blah. I could turn her on, and since she knew
everything about everything, she never shut up. While she
blathered, she looked in Twaziem’s mouth, then felt around with her
fingers.
    “What are you doing now?” I cut her off
mid-sentence. “He has teeth or he wouldn’t be able to chew the
horse-killer’s grain.”
    Dirty looks all around. Hey, I calls it as
I sees it. Most people figured I was charming because I was
blonde. A girl has to use what she’s got.
    New lecture from Felicia. This one was about
how horses had two sets of teeth in their lifetimes and how the
permanent set came into the mouth in a certain order. Twaziem would
get so many as a two-year-old, more as a four-year-old, some kind
of hook when he turned five and he’d really groove at seven. Yeah,
yeah, yeah. So, what? Who really cared?
    I turned to Mrs. Bartlett. “So, who gets him?
Me or the guy who thinks The Godfather was a great
movie?”
    She eyed me, then looked at Mom. “Do you
really want him?”
    “I’ll be honest with you,” Mom said. “I
prefer horses to the teen boys who chase my daughters and most of
the girls who constantly call and text my son. This is the first
horse we’ve seen all day that Robin has wanted. She’s got a mean
mouth and a crappy attitude, but she’s the best person I’ve ever
seen with a sick or needy critter.”
    “She brings home every stray in the world,
and then she visits them when she finds places for them to live.
None of them ever go to the pound or shelters.” Felicia picked up
Twaziem’s left front foot, inspecting the hoof. “I was really
surprised she hadn’t found any more puppies or abandoned dogs when
I got home from college.”
    “I probably will before too much longer,” I
said. “What are you looking for now?”
    “Stone bruises, abscesses and chipped or
cracked hooves.” When she finished with the hooves, Felicia moved
onto the horse’s legs. He continued to ignore her, hassling the old
guy for more grain. “Well, he doesn’t have splints.”
    I dreaded the next lecture, but I really
wanted to know. “What are those?”
    Mr. Johnson answered before Felicia could.
“They’re bruises or swellings that become permanent growths on the
cannon bones. And they’ll limit what he can do.”
    My sister nodded agreement, but before she
could add to what he said, Mr. Johnson hurried on, “I sympathize
with your desire to save this horse, but it’s not very
economical.”
    “My husband’s an accountant,” Mom said. “He’d
probably agree with you about the cost of saving him.”
    Felicia and I shared a look. Was she talking
about our father—the guy who always quoted Sir Winston Churchill at
us? “The outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man...”
Before either of us could say anything or argue with her, Mom gave
us the evil eye and we shut down.
    She turned on Mrs. Bartlett. “I’m sure you’ll
agree that the horse hasn’t done anything to deserve