Jigsaw Pony (2 page)

K
iera and Fran went with their father to the feed store.

It was hard to leave Jigsaw, even for a minute, but Mr. Shaw didn’t know what to buy. Kiera and Fran did. They’d wanted a pony for a long time. They’d wanted all the things a pony needs, too.

Ponies need a lot. By the time Fran and Kiera were through shopping, there was a huge pile to go into the car.

Fence posts.

Fence wire.

An electric fence charger. Hay.

A water pail.

Grain.

A grain pail.

Shavings. A shovel. A rake. Fly spray. A lead rope. A hoof pick. Two brushes. A mane comb. A salt brick. Saddle soap.

And two kinds of shampoo.

“I didn’t know ponies needed shampoo,” their father said. “Can we put one back?”

“He’s mostly black,” Fran said. “He needs black pony shampoo.”

“Actually, he’s mostly white,” Kiera said. “So he needs white pony shampoo.”

“Can’t he just borrow some of mine?” their father asked.

“Daddy!”
Fran said.

“Don’t say
Daddy
to Daddy!” Kiera said.

“Fine,” their father said. “Two kinds of shampoo.”

“It must be wonderful to be twins!” the feed store lady said. “You’d never be lonely.”

Fran and Kiera pretended not to hear her.

Back home Mrs. Shaw held Jigsaw’s rope. She watched him eat grass. She listened to the sound of his teeth.

“Wow!” somebody said behind her. “A pony!”

It was Jody Fran and Kiera’s friend from down the street.

“Yes,” Mrs. Shaw said. “Jody, meet Jigsaw.”

Jody patted Jigsaw’s neck. She found more burrs and started to take them out.

Another girl. Another good one. To Jigsaw, this seemed like a very nice neighborhood.

“What a great name!” Jody said. “His black parts and his white parts fit together like a puzzle.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Shaw said. “But they don’t come apart like a puzzle.”

Jody asked, “Are they—”

Mrs. Shaw nodded. “But they’ve always wanted a pony. Maybe they’ll finally learn to share.”

Jody didn’t answer. But she thought Mrs. Shaw was wrong.

Jody was Fran’s best friend. She was Kiera’s best friend, too. She knew how hard it was to be twins because Fran and Kiera told her.

Nobody remembers who’s the oldest—Fran—or the youngest—Kiera. People think they can tell you apart. They’re wrong. Someone is always finishing your sentences, or starting them.

And even though you’re very different—as different as black and white—lots of times you like the same things. The more you like them, the harder it is to share. That was true about jelly beans. It was true about Jody. It was going to be true about Jigsaw.

“But they’re
great,”
Jody whispered in Jigsaw’s ear. “You’ll love them both, and they’ll love you.”

Jigsaw rubbed his head against Jody. Hugs. Kisses. Whispers. He loved all the girls he’d met today.

The car pulled in, and two voices said, “I’m calling Jody!”

“No,
I’m
calling her!”

“Calling me what?” Jody asked. “I just met Jigsaw!”

“Midnight,” said Fran.

“Snowflake,” said Kiera.

Jody said, “I love his brown eyes.”

“Me too,” Kiera and Fran said together.

For the rest of the afternoon everyone, including Jody, worked hard. They took turns holding Jigsaw’s lead rope and letting him eat the lawn. They put up fence posts. They put up wire. They took the garden tools out of the shed. They turned it into a stall, and they put in shavings.

The sun went down. Jody went home. Just as it was getting dark, Fran and Kiera led Jigsaw inside the shed. They gave him hay and water and closed the door.

After supper their mother said, “It’s been a big day, girls. Time for bed.”

“I want to say good night to Snowflake.”

“I want to say good night to Midnight.”

“Go ahead,” said their father.

“But—” said Kiera.

“I wanted—” said Fran.

They looked at their plates. More than anything, Fran wanted time alone with Midnight. More than anything, Kiera wanted time alone with Snowflake. But only one of them could have that. They would have to take turns.

Kiera and Fran
hated
taking turns.

“I understand,” their mother said. “I really do understand.” She reached for the two sticks of spaghetti she always kept handy. “Whoever picks the long spaghetti goes out tonight.”

Kiera and Fran each chose a spaghetti. Kiera got the long one. “Hurray!” She took the flashlight and an apple and ran outside.

“I’m sorry, Fran,” Mrs. Shaw said. “Tomorrow night it’s your turn.”

“I know,” Fran said. She was already marking it on the calendar.

Kiera crossed the dark yard. She opened the stall door. “Hi, Snowflake.”

Jigsaw made a rumbling sound. He was glad to see Kiera and glad to see the apple, too. He reached for it. Crunch munch slobber.

When it was gone, Jigsaw lifted his nose to Kiera’s face. Kiera smelled apple and sweet pony breath. A shiver went down her back. This was just the way she’d always thought it would be.

F
ran woke early the next morning. She tiptoed out of the room. The door banged behind her.

“No fair!” Kiera said before her eyes were even open. She raced downstairs.

But Fran got to the stall first. Jigsaw was glad to see her. He made a rumbling sound. He lifted his nose to Fran’s face. She smelled hay and sweet pony breath. It made her shiver. All night she’d dreamed of this. Now her dream had come true.

Kiera came through the door. Behind her came their father. “I brought Jig some water.”

“He’s our pony!” Kiera said.

“We should take care of him,” Fran said.

Mr. Shaw said, “I thought it might be hard for you to get everything done before school.”

“School?”

“School!”

Kiera and Fran had forgotten about school. It seemed silly to go to school when they had a pony in their backyard for the first time ever.

“I have to clean Snowflake’s stall.”

“I was going to clean
Midnight’s
stall.”

“I’ve always wanted to clean my own pony’s stall.”

“No fair! You went out first last night. I should get to clean the stall first.”

“Fran is right,” their mother said. “She will clean the stall—after school.”

“Then who gets to feed him first?”

Mrs. Shaw looked tired, even though it was only morning. “I’ll draw up a chart,” she said. “We’ll work it all out.
After school!”

All day Kiera drew pictures of Snowflake. Fran wrote poems to Midnight. Jody stared into space and thought about Jigsaw.

After school they ran home. “Go change your clothes, Jody,” Fran said.

“We’ll ride,” Kiera said.

They all had taken riding lessons at Tish’s camp on a little red pony named Radish. Radish was a
good
bad pony. He
could
behave, but he wouldn’t—not until his riders learned how to make him.

Jigsaw wasn’t like that.

“Wow!” said Jody. “He picks his feet up before I even ask. He
wants
me to clean them out.”

“He doesn’t fill himself up with air when I tighten the girth,” Kiera said. “I think he
likes
being saddled.”

“He just
reached
for the bit,” said Fran. “He almost put the bridle on himself.”

There was only one thing Jigsaw couldn’t make easy. He couldn’t decide who would ride first.

More than anything, Kiera wanted it to be her. More than anything, Fran wanted it to be
her.
It was the same problem they always had with important things, only this was worse.

They didn’t want to choose spaghetti. They didn’t want to do Rock Paper Scissors. They didn’t even want to argue, which was unusual. It was so wonderful to have a pony that arguing didn’t seem right. But someone did have to ride first.

Fran and Kiera looked at Jody. She was kissing Jigsaw’s nose.

“Oh!” Fran said. She was good at thinking up ideas. “I know!”

“Yes,” Kiera said. She always understood Fran’s ideas, almost as quickly as Fran did.

They both said, “You go first, Jody.”

“But he’s not my pony!” Jody said.

“Yes, he is,” Fran said.

“We’re sharing him with you,” Kiera said.

“So you ride first,” they both said.

Jody got on Jigsaw. She rode him around the pasture. She was a good rider, Jigsaw could tell. She knew how to hang on tight. She knew how to ask a pony to do things. She was firm but not pushy Kiera and Fran chose spaghetti. Then they took their turns. They were good riders, too, and more polite than Jigsaw had expected.

Fran asked Jigsaw to canter. He did. Kiera asked him to jump over a stick. He did that, too. He was pleased with them, and they were pleased with him.

But the rides had to be short. There was a lot of work to do.

Fran cleaned the stall and wheeled the wheelbarrow to the compost pile and spread shavings. Jody helped her.

Kiera filled the water bucket.

“I was going to do that,” Fran said. “It’s part of stall cleaning.”

“No, it’s part of feeding. If you get to clean the stall, I get to feed.”

Mrs. Shaw stopped picking tomatoes. “Chart time!” She tacked a big piece of paper to the shed wall. Jody went into the pasture with Jigsaw. She always stayed out of the way when Fran and Kiera were making charts.

Kiera and Fran divided the chores.

Stall cleaning.

Saddle soaping.

Bridle polishing.

They divided morning watering and night watering. Morning feeding and night feeding. Letting Jigsaw out of his stall. Putting him in again. One twin got to kiss Jigsaw good night. The other got to go out first in the morning. Everything Fran did one day Kiera did the next. And the other way around.

“And on the days I go out first,” Kiera said, “I’ll put my nameplate on the door. I made it in art.”

“Snowflake,” said the nameplate, in flowing blue letters.

“On the days when I go out first,” Fran said,
“my
nameplate goes on the door!” “Midnight,” this nameplate said, in glowing red letters.

Mrs. Shaw wrote that on the chart. She had to write small. There was hardly any room.

It looked as if they were done. Jody came back just as Fran said, “Now we need a riding chart.”

Mrs. Shaw said, “Can’t you just take turns?”

“There are three of us,” Fran said. “So the turns have to be really short.”

“I don’t have to ride,” Jody said. “He’s not my po—”

Fran and Kiera looked hard at her. Jody stopped talking.

Fran said, “Every day two of us can take short rides—”

“I get it!” Kiera said. “And one can take a long ride.”

“Who gets the first long ride?” Fran asked.

Mrs. Shaw reached for the spaghetti.