No Horse Wanted (7 page)

“Why don’t you girls go up to the house?” Mom
cuddled next to Dad. “Felicia needs to get some rest so she can
drive back to Pullman tomorrow. Robin and Vicky can come back at
seven and take over. That way we’ll share looking after
Twaziem.”

Dr. Larry began packing up his supplies.
“Poor nursing is what causes the most deaths from colic. Splitting
up the shifts to look after Twaziem just makes sense.”

I considered the schedule while I led my
horse back to his stall. I unhooked the lead and left on the
halter. Then, whoever was nursing him would be able to catch him if
he suffered a relapse. “Actually, that sounds pretty good. Thanks,
Jack.”

“What about me?” Bill asked. “Aren’t you
going to thank me, Freckle-face?”

“Not when you call me names,” I retorted.
“And I haven’t had freckles for years.”

“Bill only does it to get your attention.”
Dad chuckled. “Guys, go get your sleeping bags. The rest of us will
stay here and watch Twaziem until you return.”

“Works for me,” Jack said. “Come on,
Bill.”

Dr. Larry leaned against the wall, continuing
to study Twaziem. “He looks like the kind of horse you’d bring
home, Robin. I’ll never forget the three-legged dog you found or
the way you coerced me into helping you find the owners.”

I shrugged. No matter how much he teased me
about rescuing animals, I knew he liked me because of what I did.
He didn’t care if I was Felicia and Jack’s baby sister. He never
judged me. “You were the one vet I could trust to scan him for a
microchip and not charge me a million dollars. And Zeke’s owners
were thrilled when he came home. I still visit them.”

“So do I,” Dr. Larry said. “Want to go with
me next time? You can help me doctor their feral cats for ear mites
and fleas.”

“You have the wrong kid, Larry.” Dad stopped
smiling. “Felicia and Jack are the ones who are going for medical
careers.”

Dr. Larry reached for a package of chewing
gum in his pocket and passed a stick to me, one to Felicia, and one
to Vicky. “I know that’s what you say. They’ll both be excellent
doctors, and Jack will make a good veterinarian. He’s smart and
skillful, but Robin is the one I’ve waited for. She’s got the heart
and empathy to make a great vet.”

“That’s news to me.” I stared up at the
short, paunchy man as I peeled the paper from the gum. “I hate
school and vets have to be smart.”

“She’s got you there, Larry,” Dad said. “Her
grades are terrible. If she wasn’t on cross-country and track,
she’d barely pass. You better concentrate on Jack.”

My cheeks burned with a painful blush. Maybe
my grades weren’t as good as my brother’s or sister’s, but what was
the point in trying when I couldn’t measure up to either of them?
Why didn’t Mom say something? She kept looking at the two men as if
she’d never seen them before. Did she even hear the discussion?

Dr. Larry eyed me. “Do you have learning
disabilities, Robin?”

“Of course not,” Mom finally spoke up. “We’ve
had every test done. We thought she’d get more stimulation in a
private school, so we enrolled her in the same one Jack attends.
Lincoln High is one of the top ranked schools in the state. They
hired Robin’s track coach to teach there last summer, but she
simply does the minimum amount of class assignments, just enough to
keep her athletic eligibility.”

“Sounds like me,” Dr. Larry said. “I didn’t
start working until I was a junior in high school. Then it was hard
to learn all the stuff I’d ignored for so long. You can still be a
veterinarian even if you play around, Robin.”

“I can? Then, why does everybody keep pushing
all this boring stuff at me?”

“Because you’ll have to work harder later
on,” Dr. Larry said. “It’s easier if you start studying now,
especially if you get good grades in math and science.”

“That’s how I got scholarships,” Felicia told
me. “The good thing about those is you don’t have to pay them back.
Otherwise, you end up with a ton of student loans when you graduate
from college.”

That made sense, and it explained why Vicky
studied so much. She was determined to go to a four year
university.

“But our classes are so boring,” I said,
“even math and science.”

“How can math be boring?” Dad asked. “It’s
challenging, a puzzle that stretches your mind.”

“Your books and accounting stuff aren’t
boring, Dad,” I explained. “It’s the junk we do over and over in
school. That’s really dull.”

“I have to admit that she’s right about
that,” Vicky agreed.

Jack and Bill came back with armloads of
things they felt necessary for spending the night in the barn. They
had blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags, not to mention bags of
chips, bottles of soda and a package of candy bars.

Dad kept staring at me as if I’d grown two
heads. “You’re reading my books?”

“You said it was okay,” I reminded him. “And
Dr. Larry told me that most small businesses fail because of poor
bookkeeping practices. Veterinary clinics are considered small
businesses, so I read your textbooks and magazines.”

“That was last spring.” Dad shook his head,
obviously baffled. “I don’t understand, Robbie. If you can
comprehend difficult accounting principles, then why did you almost
fail math last June?”

“You just don’t get it.” Vicky and I started
toward the barn door. “School is boring. Accounting is interesting.
It’s all about money. What could be dull about that? I like
money.”

“Who doesn’t?” Felicia caught up with us.
“Anyway, I told you that you should pay her for grades, and Robin
would have a four-point.”

My car came to mind, and I said, “I could so
go for that.”

“I’ll bet you could,” Mom told me. “I just
don’t see why we should reward you for not working up to your
abilities.”

* * * *

Sunday, September
15
^th
, 4:00 p.m.

When I hit the barn that afternoon, I brought
my brushes so I could groom Twaziem for the first time. Vicky had
gone home shortly after Felicia left at noon. I’d promised to email
photos to my older sister so she could see how my horse progressed
between now and her Thanksgiving break. She might make it home
before then, but there weren’t any guarantees.

As for Vicky, I’d see her tomorrow at school.
I’d promised to help her figure out a way to do her internship so
she wouldn’t fail her core classes, and next time she was
overloaded, she said she’d share her problems, not chew me out.
Twaziem turned to look at me, but he refused to step away from the
manger of hay. Was it my imagination or had he already gained
weight?

“You can’t groom him,” Jack said, behind me.
“You’ll brush off the lice powder, and then it won’t kill the bugs.
Dr. Larry told me to dust him again in three days.”

I struggled to hide my disappointment. Why
did leaving him alone bother me so much? I was going to sell him
when he was healthy and trained. It’d be better not to become
attached to him. It was always harder to find homes for stray
kittens and puppies when I loved them. It wasn’t like I planned to
care for Twaziem, anyway. “Delousing him again means I won’t be
able to brush him for at least a week.”

“Yeah, but you can always brush Nitro for
me.”

“No way. Nitro always tries to bite me. He’s
mean.”

“Spirited. If you didn’t squeal and jump
around, Miss Wimpy, then he wouldn’t pick on you.”

“That’s Ms. Wimpy to you.” I tossed my head
and went to put my brushes in the tack room. It was the same size
as one of the stalls, with six saddle pegs. Only four of them held
western saddles. Tears misted my eyes when I spotted the tiny one
that Cobbie used to carry so proudly. On the front of the peg was a
hook and his old bridle.

Putting down my tote-box and brushes, I
crossed to the peg and picked up the bridle. The leather was soft,
and I wondered who had cleaned and oiled it. I remembered the times
I struggled to put on Cobbie’s bridle by myself. He was so patient.
He’d put his head down for me and open his mouth and just wait
while I slipped in the bit and fitted the headstall.

I forced back my tears. I’d forgotten the
number of times I bawled over Cobbie. None of my tears brought back
the Welsh pony mix. Feeling bad didn’t change the facts. Cobbie was
gone. All I could do was go forward with my life and learn from my
mistakes. It would be stupid to care as much about Twaziem as I had
my pony. I couldn’t handle the emotional investment.

I picked up my tote-box and put the brushes
on the shelf with my name. When had Dad painted ‘Robin’ on the wall
in the tack room? When did he know they were getting a horse for my
sixteenth birthday? Why didn’t he tell me the car wasn’t an
option?

I had a lot of questions, but no answers. I
went back to Twaziem’s stall. He kept eating, but he flicked his
ears while Jack mucked. I had a pocketful of carrots for Twaz, so I
went into the stall, too. He stomped his rear hooves, and I paused.
“If you kick Jack, I won’t give you any of these. I’ll feed them
all to that stinky, nasty, smelly Nitro.”

“Nitro doesn’t smell,” Jack said, indignant.
“I bathe him all the time.”

Twaziem stomped again, aiming a kick at my
brother. “I don’t think he likes you.”

“Grow up, Robin. Horses aren’t people.
They’re animals. They don’t like or hate things the way we do.”

“Bull.” I stepped up beside Twaziem and
offered him a long, stringy carrot. “I don’t see how you can go
places with Dr. Larry when you think animals don’t have
feelings.”

“Just because I’m not sentimental doesn’t
mean I won’t be a good vet. I can take care of sick animals without
crying.”

“You’re just being a macho jerk.” I held the
carrot closer. “Come on, Twaz. They taste good. They won’t hurt
your teeth like sugar.”

“If you feed him sugar, you’re brushing his
teeth. I’m not.” Jack finished scooping manure and tossed the last
pile into the wheelbarrow parked outside. He came back with a
plastic wrapped bale of shavings and dumped out half of it into the
stall. Then, he spread the bedding.

“Remember when Cobbie got that cavity? Dr.
Larry had to pull out the tooth with his forceps. You cried for
hours because he didn’t use a sedative.”

“He hurt Cobbie.” I broke off a piece of
carrot and eased the tip of it into Twaziem’s mouth. He tried a
cautious nibble, then crunched down on it. “See, Twaz, I told you
they were good. Nobody’s hurting him, Jack. I won’t let them.”

“I think he’s been hurt enough.” Jack headed
out of the stall, making sure he had his fork and rake. “So, are
you going to help me with the chores tonight? I’ll split the money
with you.”

“When I came down here, Dad was trying to
convince Mom that they should pay me for good grades like they do
for you and Felicia.”

Jack laughed. “They only pay for A’s and the
highest you’ve ever gotten is a C average.”

I shrugged and fed Twaziem another piece of
carrot. “I could get a four-point if I wanted.”

My brother just laughed again and walked
away.

“I could,” I told Twaz. He nickered and nosed
me. He believed in me even if nobody else did. Well, of course.
Who wouldn’t believe the person who saved you from certain
death?

Chapter Nine

Sunday, September 15
^th
, 4:30 p.m.

Jack had moved down the barn to his horse’s
stall. My brother was a sure thing, and he’d offered to share the
chores as well as the money with me. Grades could wait until my
parents came to a consensus. I stepped away from Twaziem and leaned
on his stall door. “I’ll take care of the horses and the pigs and
my cats, but I won’t do the steers or milk the cow.”

“Works for me.” Jack whistled as he unloaded
his tools and opened Nitro’s door. “I’ll do the chickens since the
hen house is on the way to the cow pasture.”

At the louder sound of his voice, Twaziem
lifted a hind foot and kicked at the back wall. His hoof missed the
wood by inches, and he followed up with another kick, this time
with his right hind. It seemed as if he really didn’t like my
brother, but I wasn’t going to say that again, not when Jack
laughed at me. What could I do about it?

Maybe if I made friends with Twaz, he’d
realize people weren’t all bad. Despite all of Jack’s macho claims
and the way he acted around his football buds, my brother wouldn’t
starve or abuse any animal. Sometimes I thought his tough exterior
was just the way he hid how he truly felt. When Cobbie died, Jack
cried with me. So did Dad.

“Why isn’t it okay for a guy to admit he has
feelings?” I stood next to Twaziem’s brown neck and smelled the
bitter odor of lice powder. “Jack would never hurt you. Mellow out,
Twaz.”

This time when I held out a piece of carrot,
he took it. His whiskery nose tickled my hand. I giggled when he
bobbed his head up and down, tasting the end of the carrot. The
greens hung from his mouth like weird spaghetti. Deciding he liked
the whole thing, he chewed it up and gulp, it was gone. He nudged
me for more. His old owners must have believed that horses
shouldn’t have treats. Some people said treats made horses mean,
that it caused them to bite. I remembered the training video Rocky
showed us with a guy who said, “Treats are a bonus, not a
requirement.”

Well, I wanted Twaziem to trust me, and we
had tons of carrots in the garden, so he could have all he’d eat.
Over the next half hour I fed carrots to Twaz, one small piece
after another. While he munched them, I told him about my car. My
beautiful Mustang with its deep Presidential blue exterior and the
blue and black interior. “I visit it all the time on my way from
school to Dad’s office.”

He nodded and nudged me for the last piece of
carrot. “A person shouldn’t love a machine the way they do an
animal,” I said. “I’ll find you the perfect home. You’ll have
people who love and care about you. It won’t be me, but I’ll visit.
I promise.”