Jigsaw Pony (3 page)

F
ran chose the long spaghetti.

The next afternoon Kiera and Jody took turns riding Jigsaw up and down the street.

Meanwhile Fran borrowed both garbage cans. She borrowed the umbrella stand. She set them up in a big triangle in the pasture.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Shaw asked.

“Barrel racing,” Fran said. “You ride around the barrels in a cloverleaf as fast as you can. I did it at camp. Radish was the fastest.”

“Jigsaw will be fast, too,” Jody said.

Fran got on Jigsaw. She rode to the starting line. She grabbed a handful of his mane. Jody said,
“Go!”

Jigsaw galloped toward the first garbage can. His hooves thundered, and his mane flew. Fran held on tight. It was just like riding Radish, just like riding in a real barrel race.

Jigsaw whirled around the garbage can. He started toward the umbrella stand. He was slowing down. Fran nudged him with her heels.

Jigsaw went slower.

He trotted around the umbrella stand. He headed for the second garbage can. Now he was jogging very slowly.

“Giddup!” Fran said. “Go!
Canter!”
She kicked Jigsaw’s sides.

Jigsaw didn’t go one bit faster. He headed straight toward the garbage can. His ears pointed forward. He looked cheerful, and he was cheerful. But he kept slowing down.

When Radish wouldn’t go, Tish used to say, “Smack him with your whip!”

But when Radish wouldn’t go, he was being naughty. Jigsaw was being good. At least that was how it seemed to Fran. She knew she could never smack him with a whip.

Kiera and Jody were watching. They would think she wasn’t a good rider.

So Fran slowed Jigsaw down even more. “Walk,” she said, and patted his neck. “Good boy! Thank you! That was enough for the first time.”

Kiera and Jody didn’t say anything.

That night Fran piled all the pony books on her bed. She got her flashlight. She turned off her lamp and pulled the covers over her head.

Kiera turned off her lamp, too. A tiny glow of light came through Fran’s covers. A tiny whispering sound came every time Fran turned a page.

Kiera knew what Fran was doing. It was just what
she
would have been doing. Fran was trying to figure out how to make Jigsaw keep going fast.

When they were younger, Kiera would have said, “We’re
supposed
to be sleeping!” She would have said it loud enough for their parents to hear.

Now she didn’t feel like doing that. She lay in bed watching the light until she fell asleep.

At breakfast Fran said, “We should have a blacksmith come.”

“Is something wrong with Jigsaw’s feet?” Mr. Shaw asked.

“I don’t know,” Fran said. “But the blacksmith should come every six weeks. That’s what the books say. If you ride a pony when his feet aren’t trimmed, you can hurt him.”

“Better not ride then,” Mr. Shaw said.

Mrs. Shaw looked in the phone book. “There are three blacksmiths. Who should we call?”

Mr. Shaw said, “I know who to ask.”

When Mr. Shaw got to the grandmother’s mailbox, he stepped out of his car. He waited. In a minute he saw the electric cart start down the driveway.

As soon as she was close enough, Valerie’s grandmother said, “I need to talk to you. Valerie’s upset that I gave away her pony.”

Mr. Shaw said, “I hope she doesn’t want him—”

“She’s moved to Australia! Too far to take a pony. But she would like to hear from him. Here’s her address.”

Mr. Shaw said, “I’ll have him write.”

“I’m sure he could,” said Valerie’s grandmother. “But while he’s learning, your girls can write for him. Are they taking good—”

“They fight about who gets to clean his stall,” said Mr. Shaw. “They fight about who gets to lug the water bucket. The only time I get to do anything for him is after they’ve gone to bed.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Valerie’s grandmother.

The best blacksmith, the grandmother said, was Mr. Fletcher. He promised to come next week.

That was a long time not to ride, but Kiera, Fran, and Jody were too busy to mind much. They brushed Jigsaw. They combed his mane and tail. They played games with him—Jigsaw was the horse—and shared their snacks.

Kiera and Fran wrote postcards to Valerie. “Jigsaw is the best pony ever,” Kiera wrote. “Did you know he likes bananas?”

“How did you make Jigsaw go fast?” Fran wrote. “Does he like barrel racing? Or not?”

“
F
ran. Kiera. Jody.”

It was the middle of the next week. Mrs. Ramsey, their teacher, looked at them sternly.

“This is a beautiful picture of a pony jumping. This is a fantastic picture of a pony barrel racing. I love this picture of a pony in the backseat of a car. But you’re in school. You’re supposed to be doing schoolwork.”

Kiera said, “Thank you.” Jody and Fran turned red.

Mrs. Ramsey said, “What can I do to help you three pay attention?”

“Let us bring our pony in?” Kiera said. The class laughed.

But Mrs. Ramsey said, “All right. Bring him in for show-and-tell. Just have someone come along to walk him back home.”

That afternoon Fran, Kiera, and Jody got out both kinds of shampoo. They got buckets and sponges and warm water. They washed Jigsaw. They dried him in the sun. They dried him with the hair dryer. They filled his stall with clean, fresh shavings, so he couldn’t get dirty overnight. In the morning they got up early to brush him. Jody came over to help.

“He’s so white,” Mrs. Shaw said. “Dazzling!”

“And so black,” Mr. Shaw said. “Inky!”

They started to school. Mrs. Shaw went, too, to bring Jigsaw back.

Neighbors came out. “Where are you all going with that pony?”

When they heard, the neighbors told stories about things
they’d
taken to show-and-tell.

“But never a pony.”

“Right into the classroom?” “Mrs. Ramsey says yes,” Fran said.

When they got to school, no one was on the playground. “Hurry,” Kiera said. “Everyone’s gone inside.”

At the front steps Mrs. Shaw asked, “Can ponies climb stairs?”

“Jigsaw can,” Jody said.

Jigsaw had never climbed stairs before. Most ponies haven’t. But he’d climbed lots of rocky hills. The school stairs looked easy, and they were. Jody and Mrs. Shaw held open the big doors. Fran and Kiera led Jigsaw inside.

“Don’t we need to stop at the office?” Mrs. Shaw asked. “Don’t we need to see the principal?”

“No,” Jody said. “Mrs. Ramsey said bring him in.”

They walked down the hall.
Ca-lip ca-lop ca-lippity-clop,
went Jigsaw’s feet on the hard floor. Heads popped out of classrooms. The principal’s door opened.

They walked into Mrs. Ramsey’s classroom.

Mrs. Ramsey was taking attendance. “Fran Shaw, not here? Kiera Shaw—oh, my goodness!”

“Are we early for show-and-tell?” Kiera asked.

Mrs. Ramsey shook her head. “N-no. But I thought you’d bring him to the playground. I thought the class would come outside to meet him.”

Kiera and Fran looked at each other. “Well, he’s here now,” Kiera said.

“So, can he stay?” Fran asked.

“I … guess so,” Mrs. Ramsey said. “Come right up to the front of the room!”

Fran and Kiera led Jigsaw up between the desks. Jody went with them. Mrs. Shaw stood back to watch.

Jigsaw looked bigger here than he did outdoors. He made the classroom seem small and crowded. One or two people looked scared.

Not Jigsaw. He tasted a blackboard eraser. It wasn’t good. Chalk wasn’t good either.

The principal came in. “I
thought
I saw a pony going down the hall!”

“He’s here for show-and-tell,” said Mrs. Ramsey. “I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s certainly a first,” the principal said.

“Class,” Mrs. Ramsey said, “raise your hands if you’d like to ask Kiera and Fran a question about their pony.”

A lot of hands went up. Six people asked, “What’s his name?” Fran and Kiera looked at each other. Fran wanted to say Midnight. Kiera wanted to say Snowflake. But they knew their friends would ask, “Don’t you know your own pony’s name?” And later they’d say, “Boy, the Shaw twins fight about
everything!”

“Jigsaw,” they both said together. “His name is Jigsaw.”

There were lots more questions. “What does he eat?” “Does he bite? Or kick?” “Can I ride him?” “Can
I?”

“We
don’t even ride him yet,” Kiera said.

“We’re waiting for the blacksmith,” Fran said.

Now people came up two by two to pat Jigsaw.

“I love his long whiskers!”

“I love his eyes.”

“His ears are so cute!”

“He’s been a wonderful guest,” Mrs. Ramsey said at last. “Thank you for visiting, Jigsaw.”

Mrs. Shaw led Jigsaw out of the classroom. They stopped in the hall so the principal could pat him, too. Jigsaw tasted some of the art on the walls. It was rather dry.

“I don’t suppose he’d like an apple?” the principal asked. “I brought one with my lunch.”

While Jigsaw was eating the principal’s apple, Mrs. Ramsey was trying to start the school day. “Fran, Kiera, and Jody are going to think about schoolwork now,” she said. “And so is everybody else.”

But for the rest of that day everyone in class thought mostly about Jigsaw.

M
rs. Shaw enjoyed leading Jigsaw home so much she started taking him on her morning walks.

They met dogs on leashes. They met babies in strollers. They met people with canes, and people jogging, and everyone was surprised and pleased to see a pony.

Soon they started watching for him. They gave him apples, and carrots, and oatmeal raisin cookies.

On Saturday Mr. Fletcher came.

“Hello, Jig. Looks as if those feet need trimming.”

He bent down. Jigsaw lifted his foot before Mr. Fletcher even touched it. But Mr. Fletcher said,
“Ow!”

He straightened slowly. He put one hand on his back.

“Ponies are the hardest thing I do,” he said. “Too far
down!”

“Put him up on something,” said Mr. Shaw. “What about the back of your truck?”

Mr. Fletcher laughed. “You don’t know much about ponies, do you?”

Kiera and Fran looked at each other. That was true, but they didn’t think Mr. Fletcher should say it.

“Daddy
doesn’t
know much about ponies,” Kiera said.

“But
we
do,” Fran said.

“And
we
think it’s a good idea,” they said together.

Fran said, “Can you move your truck to where the sidewalk’s high?”

Mr. Fletcher moved his truck. Fran and Kiera got into the back. Kiera held the rope. Fran had an apple.

“Up you go, Jig,” said Mr. Shaw.

Jigsaw had never climbed into a pickup before. But it didn’t look hard. Fran and Kiera were up there. So was the apple. He put his front feet on the tailgate.

“Help me give him a boost,” said Mr. Shaw.

“Ow!”
said Mr. Fletcher. With a scramble and a couple of thuds, Jigsaw landed in the back of the truck.

He ate the apple. Then he let Kiera and Fran lead him to the edge of the tailgate. He held up his foot for Mr. Fletcher.

“Perfect!” said Mr. Fletcher. “I don’t have to bend a bit. Wish I’d thought of this years ago!”

Jigsaw looked across the front yards. He could see a lot more from up this high. Cars slowed down on the street. Neighbors came out to watch.

“I
never
saw a pony do anything like that!”

“I never even saw a picture of one doing that!”

When Mr. Fletcher was through with both left feet, Fran and Kiera turned Jigsaw around. Now he looked at the houses across the street. That was interesting, too.

Mr. Fletcher finished trimming Jigsaw’s feet. “Okay, let’s get him down.”

Fran and Kiera got out of the truck. “Come on, Jig! Hop down.”

Jigsaw looked at them. He was a long way up. Hopping down didn’t look easy. It didn’t look safe.

Jigsaw didn’t move.

“Uh-oh,” said Mr. Fletcher. “Now what?”

“It’s too far down,” said Mr. Shaw. For someone who didn’t know much about ponies, he was a very good guesser. “We need a step, so it’s easier for him.”

“A wheelbarrow?” one neighbor asked.

“Too tippy,” Fran said.

“What about my big plastic toolbox?” asked another neighbor.

“Not strong enough,” Kiera said.

“There’s a stump at the edge of our lawn,” Jody said.

“Good idea,” Fran said.

“He could use that for a step,” Kiera said.

“I’ll back up to it,” Mr. Fletcher said. “But somebody has to ride with him, and hold on tight. If he gets scared, he might jump out and hurt himself.”

Mr. Shaw got up with Jigsaw. Mr. Fletcher started the truck. He backed so slowly that the truck hardly seemed to move. Fran, Kiera, Jody, and the neighbors walked alongside.

“Easy, Jigsaw!”

“It’s okay.”

“Don’t be scared.”

Jigsaw wasn’t a bit scared. He’d been in horse trailers before. He’d ridden in a car. He watched the houses and yards creep past. He nuzzled Mr. Shaw’s hand.

“I used to be your only friend,” Mr. Shaw said. “Now you’ve got a whole neighborhood of friends.”

Jigsaw lifted his head. He and Mr. Shaw sniffed noses, just like the old days. “You’re a good little guy,” Mr. Shaw said.

Mr. Fletcher stopped next to the big stump. Fran and Kiera stood on each side of it. Fran held Jigsaw’s rope. Kiera said, “Come on, boy!”

Jigsaw looked at the stump. It was broad and flat and not very far down.

He stepped onto it with one round, trimmed hoof—then two, and three, and four. The neighbors cheered. Jigsaw stepped onto Jody’s lawn. He tasted it.

More good grass. This really was a very nice neighborhood.