CHAPTER FIVE
Barrel Racing

Fran 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?”