No Horse Wanted

Chapter Eighteen

I leaned back in the passenger seat of Jack’s truck while he drove home from Shamrock Stable. If we lived further away from the barn, I could have a nice snooze.

He glanced sideways at me while he waited for the light to change at the intersection on Highway 9. “Babysitting last night so Vicky made the game was above and beyond. She couldn’t believe you would step up like that.”

“Yeah, I’m great.” I yawned. “But if she messes with me again when I’m chasing Harry, all bets are off. You’ll have a bald girlfriend.”

Jack was still laughing when we pulled into our drive. “Go catch some zs, little sister. I’ll feed horse lunch, and then I’ll help you give Twaziem a bath when he finishes eating.”

I groaned. That had been my lesson today with Prince Charming. Sierra taught me the ins and outs of bathing a horse from wetting them down to scrubbing every inch, rinsing off all the soap, and finally drying them so they wouldn’t catch cold. Plus, I’d had to shampoo Charming’s mane and tail, condition them, and then comb out every hair. And now, I was supposed to apply everything I learned to Twaziem. It sounded like so much fun. Not!

I walked past my parents’ cars and wondered why both of them were around on a Saturday. Didn’t they have some riding activity to do? Usually, Mom took Singer out to work on the Centennial Trail and condition her for upcoming endurance rides. Dad would be off with his roping buddies.

I went in the kitchen door. Salt and Pepper, the black and white kittens, raced to meet me. They wound through my legs. I bent and scooped up the pair of small flea-lions as Dad called them. “Shall we find some meat for you?”

Salt mewed at me and Pepper tried to bat at my face with a paw. Mom glanced at me from the counter where she made roast beef sandwiches. “If I told you they were lying and I already fed them, would you believe me?”

“No.” I laughed, cuddling the little monsters close. “I can tell starving kitties when I see them.”

Dad came in from his office, rubbing his ear. “Hi, sweetie. I just heard all about you from Vicky’s mom.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. When he frowned at me, I mustered up a smile as I put the kittens on the floor. “Did you tell her what it would cost for a housekeeper-cum-caregiver for her brats for five hours, and that the bill is forthcoming?”

Mom winked at me when Dad chuckled. Then he said, “No, but I did tell her that I was very proud of you for helping Vicky stay in school, and I wished you’d clean the cat box the way you cleaned her house.”

Mom high-fived me. “When she sniveled at me and said she didn’t like the way you did laundry, I told her that I taught you how and asked if there was a better way to fold T-shirts and diapers.”

“Anything else?” I opened the cupboard to pull out a can of cat meat. “Did she gripe about me putting the kids to bed when the four of them got into a ‘knock-down, drag-out’ fight over the remote?”

“Yes,” Mom said, “and I said that was the way Felicia handled it with you and Jack. I thought it was a much more effective method than time-outs and spankings when the parents got home.”

“It sucked being sent to bed at seven.” I spooned meat into the double-sided dish and got out of the way before the kitten attack. “But, we never hassled Felicia again when she took care of us. And I don’t remember her ever having to clean the entire house, make dinner, do a day’s worth of dishes, run mountains of dirty clothes through the washer, and supervise bath time. No wonder Vick looks exhausted most of the time.”

“Well, her father is coming for the kids next Friday immediately after school.” Dad filled four glasses with milk, then placed the pitcher in the fridge. “And I told her mother that she was absolutely right about you going to the game next week with your friends, so your mom and I will take care of the little kids if he doesn’t show up. I’ll pick them up at day care when I get off work.”

“You are a very evil daddy and I love you lots.” I dropped the empty cat food can in the recycle bin, then hugged Mom. “Are you okay with it?”

“Yes,” Mom said. “You’ll have to cheer extra loud to make up for us missing Jack’s game, but I’m not taking Vicky’s brothers and sisters to high school football. We’ll talk to him about all of this at lunch.”

Later that afternoon, I headed down to the barn with an armload of old towels that Mom said were appropriate for horse bathing and a bucket of long, skinny carrots from the garden. I hoped Twaziem agreed this was a good idea. Charming had been a complete gentleman, but Sierra warned me that young horses might dance around the shower stall the first time they got wet. I was glad Jack promised to help, but figured I couldn’t go wrong with bribery too.

I hung the towels in the shower stall, took two carrots, and went after my horse. I didn’t use the flat nylon halter this time. I opted for what Sierra had called a training one. The thin rope halter had knots that placed pressure on nerves in a horse’s face. This should get Twaziem’s attention and keep him from biting my brother. I attached the lead to the bottom loop and led him out of his regular stall.

“I don’t think you’ve had this done before,” I said, “but you really need a bath to get rid of those dead lice and that awful smell from the delousing powder. This won’t be so bad because we’re not doing it the old-fashioned way with cold water from a garden hose the way I did Prince Charming. We have a nice shower with lots of warm water.”

Twaziem nuzzled me as I led him into the stall. It had rubber mats on the floor so he couldn’t slip and drains so he wouldn’t have to stand in water. A lot of horses hated puddles because they couldn’t see into them. Jack arrived with bottles of soap and shampoo, and a bucket filled with sponges and scrapers. Twaziem made an ugly face at my brother.

“Okay,” I said. “What do you want to do? Be chewed into little Jack bits or scrub?”

He laughed. “I think I’ll scrub for a while if you can hold him.”

“Let’s try and see what happens,” I said.

Jack put the bucket with the sponges out of the way. He turned on the faucet and adjusted the temperature, holding the hose away from Twaziem until the water was warm, but not too hot.

Meanwhile, I used the sealant that Sierra recommended on the hooves. I didn’t want Twaz to have foot problems because his feet got too wet. Once I finished painting each hoof with the iodine mixture, I stepped back and held his head.

Jack slowly stepped up by Twaziem’s neck and began spraying him with warm water, up the front legs to his chest, over his left shoulder and then onto his neck. Twaz snorted, but he didn’t move, so my brother kept wetting him down. As Jack soaked the back, then the ribs and finally Twaz’s hindquarters, I saw the yellow patches of dead lice slide down the coat and onto the floor.

All right, I thought. This was going to work. My horse would feel and look so much better when the parasites were off his body. Once Twaziem was totally wet, Jack put the sponges out of the way while he filled the bucket with warm water and a couple squirts of dish soap. Then, he grabbed a sponge. “Do you want me to keep going or should I try holding him while you do it?”

I shook my head. “Like Sierra told me this morning, if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Right now, he’s standing super quiet. Let’s get this done. Next time, I’ll wash him. He has so many gender issues. Maybe, I can get Vicky here, and she’ll be able to hold him.”

Twaziem stomped his hooves at the sound of Jack’s voice but the bay settled down when we got quiet again. He was a strange one. Most of the other horses I’d known liked listening to people, but not this guy. Somehow, he associated chatter with abuse. I slipped him a couple carrots while Jack scrubbed him down with the sponge until suds covered Twaziem’s entire brown coat.

Next came his tail. Jack stayed carefully to the side while he washed it. After he finished with the tail, Jack worked shampoo into Twaz’s mane. And finally it was time to rinse off the horse. It took what seemed like a long time to get rid of all the soap and shampoo. More carrot pieces to eat and my bay colt stood like a rock. I praised him while I gave him another treat.

When Twaziem was soap free, Jack passed me a damp sponge. “Wipe off his face. We won’t use any shampoo this time. But if you do it, then he can’t bite me.”

“Okay.” I draped the lead over my arm so if my horse jerked, he could get away, and I wouldn’t get hurt. Then, I washed off Twaziem’s head, around his ears and down the center over his blaze. Jack took the sponge from me a couple of times and wrung it out in clean water. I even cleaned under the forelock and wiped around Twaz’s eyes. A couple snorts before he nudged me, looking for carrots, and we were good to go.

I handed back the sponge and adjusted the lead so I could hold the horse while Jack used a scraper to get rid of the excess water. After that we toweled Twaziem dry. I stayed up by the front end of him, and Jack did the rest. We couldn’t put him back in his usual stall until he was completely dry or he’d catch cold.

Jack left partway through to go clean Twaziem’s stall and reload the manger with a new bale of hay. This was the perfect time for daily maintenance since my horse couldn’t kick or bite if he was in the shower. I kept talking to him while I finished drying him and figured out that he didn’t mind my voice when it was just the two of us. For some reason, he just didn’t like the conversations people shared. They must pose some kind of threat.

So much of this was pure conjecture and detective work. It wasn’t as if I could ask the Bartletts what they’d done to Twaziem. I had to figure all of it out on my own. He nosed me and I passed him another carrot piece while I toweled his mane. He seemed to enjoy my company. He never tried to bite or kick me, much less charge at me the way Nitro did. I could tell Twaz my problems and he didn’t answer me, but at least he didn’t tell me I was stupid for wanting my Mustang.

Was this why my family loved their horses? Did they feel like I did? I didn’t have to do or be anything special for Twaziem to accept me. And he didn’t criticize me for not being perfect, or call my mom or dad and try to rat me out because I wasn’t nice or sweet like my brother or sister.

I turned and picked up a big comb. “You’re going to look so handsome,” I told Twaziem as I started to work on the tangles in his mane. “Singer will think you’re really hot. And if the weather’s nice tomorrow, I’ll let you go out to the paddock with her. Sierra says horses are social animals, and you’d probably like being with a mare for a couple hours. Besides, it doesn’t matter if the neighbors see you. They can’t report you to Animal Control for being skinny because that cop already has a case file on you.”