Chapter Two

Buck Barnaby’s Old Plug

When I got home, Mom was in the kitchen. She was peeling potatoes for the potato salad. Angela, my bratty eight-year-old stepsister, sat at the kitchen table. She was eating a sandwich.

Messages to Horses4Chloe

	MonicaLuvsHorses said: I’m really upset.
	Horses4Chloe said: :( I hope you can figure out a way to come.
	Horses4Chloe said: It won’t be fun without you!

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked. She knew right away that I was upset.

Our dog, Buttons, knew something was wrong, too. Buttons shoved her nose in my hand and whined.

Angela could tell I was upset, but she wasn’t worried about me. Just curious. “Did you fall off your horse?” she asked.

“Sort of. Lancelot lost a shoe and hurt his foot,” I explained.

“Can’t he get new shoes and put on a Band-Aid?” Angela asked.

Mom laughed. “It’s different for horses, sweetie,” she said. Then she turned to me. “Will Lancelot be okay?” she asked.

“Yes, but I can’t ride him for a few days,” I said.

Mom frowned. “What about the trail ride? Is there another horse at the stable that you can borrow?” she asked.

“All the horses are taken,” I said. “I can’t go.”

Angela’s head jerked up. She asked, “Will you be home all day tomorrow?”

“I guess so,” I told her. I sighed and sat down.

“You can’t watch TV!” Angela shrieked. “There’s an Itsy Bitsy Betsey Beetle movie on tomorrow!”

Messages to ClaudiaCristina

	MonicaLuvsHorses said: My stepsister is driving me nuts. Any tips?
	ClaudiaCristina said: Little kids will scream, throw fits, and kick to get what they want. If they don’t get it, they scream, throw fits, and make everyone very, very sorry. My advice: Give in.

I hate Itsy Bitsy Betsey Beetle cartoons. The bugs have annoying teeny tiny voices, and they sing stupid songs. But Angela’s screech is worse. And she breaks stuff when she’s mad.

Besides, winning a Betsey Beetle battle wouldn’t make me feel better about missing the trip.

“You can watch your show,” I said. “I don’t care.”

Mom put the potatoes on the stove to boil. “Do you want a tuna sandwich, Monica?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you,” I said. “With pickles, please.” A tuna sandwich wouldn’t make me feel better, either, but I was hungry.

I was still eating when Grandpa Jones got home.

“Is the potato salad done?” Grandpa asked.

“Nope. You can have some for dinner,” Mom said. “How was your meeting?”

“The Senior Center Cowboys are all set to hit the trail tomorrow.” Grandpa chuckled. “I think we’re more excited than the kids.”

Mom gave me a quick look. “Monica’s not going to be able to go,” she told Grandpa. “Lancelot got hurt today, and there’s not another horse for her to ride.”

Grandpa’s face fell. “That takes the fun out of it for me!” he told me. “Maybe I’ll stay home, and we can do something fun together. I didn’t want to hang out with all those old people anyway.” He winked at me.

That gave me an idea. I couldn’t ride a horse on the trail ride, but maybe I didn’t have to miss it.

“Do you think the Chuck Wagon might have room for one more volunteer?” I asked.

Grandpa frowned and rubbed his chin. He does that when he’s thinking.

“I can help you cook,” I said quickly. “And Alice might need help with the lesson horses.”

“I don’t think there’s room in the trucks,” Grandpa said. “But I might have something better. Let me make a phone call.”

Grandpa left the room. “What do you think his idea is?” Mom asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe he’ll ask if someone can make room for me in their truck,” I said.

Angela wrinkled her nose. “Gross. I don’t know why you want to go on the dumb trail ride anyway. You’re going to get so dirty!”

Mom winked at me. “That’s part of the fun,” she told Angela.

Angela looked disgusted.

Before she could say anything else, Grandpa walked back in. He was grinning. “Good news!” he said. “My pal Buck Barnaby will let you ride his horse this weekend.”

I squealed and threw my arms around his neck.

“Thank you so much!” I said. “You’re the best grandpa in the world.”

Grandpa Jones smiled and pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go meet Joker,” he said.

Messages to Horses4Chloe

	MonicaLuvsHorses said: Grandpa might have found me a horse!
	Horses4Chloe said: AMAZING! :) :) Where???
	MonicaLuvsHorses said: His friend Buck has one . . .
	Horses4Chloe said: So GREAT! Who’s Buck?
	MonicaLuvsHorses said: This guy who used to work with Grandpa. I met him once. His name is Buck Barnaby, and he looks like a real cowboy. He wears a Western hat, faded jeans, and cowboy boots. He’s kind of crazy, but he’s nice, and I don’t care at all as long as I can borrow the horse!

When Grandpa and I got to Buck Barnaby’s farm, he was standing outside. He and Grandpa shook hands.

“I put the old plug in a stall,” Buck said.

I blinked. An old plug? That didn’t sound good.

Messages to Guitar_Rory

	MonicaLuvsHorses said: What does it mean if someone calls a horse an old plug?
	Guitar_Rory said: An old plug is an aging, worn-out old horse. They don’t have much energy, and they’re not very pretty.
	MonicaLuvsHorses said: Oh. Great. :(
	Guitar_Rory said: Did you find a horse to ride??
	MonicaLuvsHorses said: I thought so, but maybe not.

“How old is Joker?” I asked.

“Ten,” Buck told me. He laughed. “I just call him an old plug because I’m an old man. Makes me feel better.”

I smiled and relaxed.

Messages to Guitar_Rory

	MonicaLuvsHorses said: Joker is 10. That’s not too old, right?
	Guitar_Rory said: No. Ten is a good age for a riding horse. Young horses are too skittish, and old ones are too slow.
	Guitar_Rory said: So, does this mean you can come?
	MonicaLuvsHorses said: I hope so . . . !!!

We walked into the barn. It was full of farm equipment. Joker’s stall was at the far end.

“Wake up, Joker!” Buck called out.

My eyes popped when I looked into the stall. Joker’s brown coat was splattered with mud. His short black mane was tangled. He had long whiskers on his nose and long hair on his legs.

“How are you, boy?” Grandpa asked. He held his hand out.

Joker didn’t look up. He just swished his short, scraggly tail.

“You need a carrot to get his attention,” Buck said. He pulled a carrot out of his pocket and handed it to me.

I held out the carrot. Joker didn’t step forward to get the treat. He stretched out his neck. He didn’t want to move, not even for a carrot.

Then I saw the clunky old saddle in the next stall.

“Is that Joker’s tack?” I asked.

“Yep.” Buck looked at his watch. “It’s feeding time,” he told us. “I’ll be right back.”

When Buck was gone, Grandpa smiled at me. “What do you think?” he asked. “Isn’t this great? Now you can go on the trail ride!”

“I can’t ride Joker on the trail ride!” I whispered. I didn’t want Buck to hear.

Grandpa frowned. “Why can’t you?” he asked.

“He’s lazy and dirty and small,” I said. “Riding him would be too embarrassing.”

“I thought you didn’t care what other people think,” Grandpa said. “You always say the horse snobs at the barn are so awful.”

I stared at him.

He was right. I sounded just like the horse snobs!

“Joker doesn’t look like much, but he’s perfect for a cross-country ride,” Grandpa said. “You’ve got two choices, Monica. You can stay home, or you can ride Joker.”

I didn’t think Joker was perfect, but I didn’t want to be a horse snob. And I definitely didn’t want to stay home.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’d rather ride Joker than stay home.”

Messages to Guitar_Rory, Horses4Chloe

	MonicaLuvsHorses said: I’m coming on the trail ride!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!