Horsin' Around - Part Two

     Part two of this story.

Tussle was looking for somebody to talk to. She found Slinger in the corral behind the barn.

“Hey Sling, what’s up?”

“Nothin’ much, what’s up with you?” he returned the greeting. “Somethin’s on your mind, what is it?”

Tussle frowned. “How do you do that?”

He switched a fly away. “You’ve got a certain look.”

“Oh. What’d you think about Cyclone?” Tussle launched into her lead-in question.

“Huh?” He knew what she was driving at, but wanted to make sure.

“Well, doesn’t it seem like she likes messing with me and Misty? Like, humiliate us or something. And that deal with Rex, what'd you think of that, kind of weird, right?”

“Well,” he started. “I’m not sure. Seems to me like she’s just trying to fit in, find her place here. It’s hard when you get inserted into a new herd, and have to readjust your position and everything. And she hasn’t exactly had too much help in breaking in, ya know.”

Patriot entered the doorway, facing Sling.

“With Rex…no, I don’t think that’s weird. Seems like a bad idea, but perfectly normal. I also think you might be just the tiniest bit jealous.” continued Gunslinger.

“What - ! I am not!”

“You’re talking about my sister.”

Tussle spun around. “Uh…well….yeah.” she admitted, ner nerves too jangled to come up with an alibi.

“Cy’s just trying to fit in. She’s lonely.”

“Yeah?” This was a new idea.

Patriot looked at Gunslinger, questioning. He nodded.

“Yeah. Well, ya see, we’re part paint, part quarter horses, broke to herd cattle. We were both pretty good at it. But Cy…she loved something else. Can’t all be workaholics, I guess. She fell head over hooves for racing. I kind of did, too, but not as much, mostly just along for the ride. She was pretty good, best racer of all our girl’s friends’ horses, even won some real races. And she was likable, and sort of pretty, I guess. Hard to tell when it’s your twin you’ve seen every day of your life. Anyway, she was popular, had lots of friends. But then one day – one day she was on her way into the barn, and somehow the door swung shut, trapping her tail. The vet had to amputate it. She got a fake tail, but…it’s like the people who seems the happiest are those hurting the most. She’s always been kind of sensitive, kind of….fell into a depression, I think the people call it.  Didn’t help that some of the fillies she knew laughed at her prosthetic, or that Emily had to be doing something called studying constantly.

“She felt like someone had placed her inside the body of some filly named Cyclone; she’d known the other horses, cows and stuff, but now it was like a different world. And nobody knew, cause they just saw the same Cyclone as ever, she felt like an outsider, watching her life go by without actually living it. Emily went somewhere called college, and if we got ridden at all, it was to work. It wasn’t challenging anymore, all the fun seemed drained out of it. We were finally sold to a horse trader, and after about three weeks we came here. You’re Tussle, right?” he broke off abruptly. She nodded.

“Thought so. You and Misty’ve been acting like we have some kind of disease or something, West Nile.”

“We have? Um, well…yeah.” she ended lamely. “Yeah, we have.”

“She’s been through a lot. We both have, really. Hope you feel proud of yourself.”

“Well, I gotta go, Tussle,” Gunslinger excused himself, going with Patriot to scare turtles down by the fishing pond. They walked off.

Racing…thought Tussle. Racing. Yeah….it might work… “Guys! Wait up! I have an idea!”

They strolled over. “A good one?” Patriot jabbed dryly, impatient to get going.

“Shut up. Okay, here’s what I was thinking…”

…

“You want to do WHAT?!” Misty exploded. Tussle quickly sketched out Cyclone’s story as best she could. “Hmm…I don’t like it…” grumbled Misty. “Please?” Tussle begged. It was that tone she used, that just has to be agreed with. Quiet, urgent, serious. Misty sighed. “I guess we could try it…”

…

Meanwhile, Patriot was having an equally hard time convincing Cyclone to race, although he was trying a different angle. “It’s called the Rusty Barn Derby, it’s held every – three months, I think,’ he improvised rapidly. “It’d be fun, why don’t you enter?”

His sister’s eyes had an empty look to them, where you’ve let out all the tears that you have. If horses wore makeup, they’d need some dark eyeshadow. “I don’t feel like it anymore.”

“Cause of your tail?”

She whirled around, eyes laid back. “Yes, because of my stupid tail! And, and – Well, I don’t know anybody, and they despise me, and I’m just – Scared!” she sobbed.

Patriot just looked at her. “Just think about it, all right?”

Cyclone rolled her eyes and gave a non-committal snort.

“I’m trying to help you here.” He walked over under a tree to take a nap. “Move it, Ferdinand, will you? Thanks, dude.” As an afterthought, he added, “Rex is sort of hoping you’ll enter.”

Her ears pricked up. “…Really?”

“…But I don’t know why he’d want that or anything. Probably just invited us to be polite. I mean, it’s not like we’ll win or anything. We aren’t fast enough.”

A dirt clod lifted itself out of the ground, helped by Cyclone’s hoof. “Did you just use that word about me?”

“Which word?” he asked unconcernedly, used to her frequent mood changes.

“The S-word.”

“Not that I know of,” he replied innocently.

“Are you calling me ‘slow’?” she asked, right up in his face.

“It got your attention, didn’t it?”

She shook her head. “You know me too well, bro. What’s the track?”

“Not sure…I think it’s starting at the blackberry bushes, turn at the fishing pond and ends at the south field gate.”

She smiled. “All right. I’m in.”

Luckily for Patriot, there had been a Rusty Barn Derby before, although nobody could remember exactly how many editions had taken place. Rex and Tussle estimated between nine and seventeen.

All nine horses gathered around by the bushes Puppy Cat sat off to the side on Penelope’s back, waiting for the seven racers to get set. “Ready….set….go!” she meowed.

Cyclone, Gunslinger, Misty, Tussle and Patriot all burst out of the starting line, bunched up together in a tight pack. Tanner cantered along, content to finish the race, and Rex, who had gotten sidetracked watching Cyclone and missed Puppy Cat’s command, hurriedly barreled to a gallop, hoping to at least pass Tanner. Penelope and Milky Way ambled along, observing the scene.   

“’Lord, what fools these mortals be!’” Penelope quoted Puck’s line from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, watching Rex sail by. “It makes a good show for us old girls to watch,” Milky Way reminded. “It does, yes.” Puppy Cat yawned. “You guys still aren’t cats, so why try to be?”

The lead pack had just passed the pond, trampling flat the hay stalks that were trying to grow. Cyclone led by a head, Tussle in second, Gunslinger in third at Cyclone’s left flank, Patriot a half-length behind in fourth, Misty about a quarter of a length behind him. Slinger slowed to a trot. “Ow…side stitch.” Patriot grinned.

Stay with Patriot, and you’ll have a chance…Misty told herself as they gained on the two leaders, who were scowling at each other from time to time. This is insane! How can she keep this up? Tussle wondered as they tore toward the finish line fence. They’re weakening, Cyclone’s competitive sense told her. All systems go. To Tussle’s dismay and Misty’s amazement, she actually increased her pace, her mane streaming and black-and-white tail flapping in her self-made breeze as she rocketed toward the target. “My turn, sis.” Patriot closed the gap to a reasonable distance by the end, a gasping Tussle and Misty eight lengths behind them.

“How’d they do that?” Tussle panted.

“Practice!” Patriot laughed, only breathing a little harder than normal.

“Can you teach us how to race like that?” Misty asked shyly.

“Sure, I can do that. When d’you wanna start?
            “When would be a good time for you?”

“Why not now? C’mon, Tussle,” Cyclone smiled. The three of them trotted off to practice. “Congrats,” Slinger said. “It worked,” Patriot sighed, with the relieved grin of someone who wasn’t sure whether a risky plan would turn out.

Cyclone was entered into the race at the fair, winning it after overcoming a bad start and then pulling away. She not only won that; but the suspicious glances and tension gradually disappeared as the old enemies became friends.

One spring day, later in the future, Cy gave birth to twins, named Pistol and Pete, another Cowboy entered the world with Tussle’s help, and Misty’s new foal blinked up at the big new world.

“Kinda wobbly, aren’t they?” asked Patriot, eyes dancing.

“Dirty, too,” replied Misty, licking Aggie all over.

“The Filly Gang rides again!” Penelope exclaimed, sending the assembled crowd in the waiting room of the barn into sheets of laughter.

“I wonder if they’ll set the barn on fire,” Milky Way teased.

“That wasn’t my fault!” Tussle complained from her stall.

“They might let the cows out,” grinned Tanner. Cyclone glared at her.

“Or maybe they’ll pour water on somebody who’s taking a nap, eh, Penelope?” Rex lobbed his way into the conversation.

“Sorry, Mom…” Misty muttered.

“They’re kind of like double twins…’ mused Gunslinger.

“Quadruplets, you mean?”

He nodded.

“Not really….just born on the same day, all of ‘em.” Milky Way pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“Look out world, here comes the Quad Squad!” Tanner hollered, throwing the place into hysterics again.

‘That. Is. Awesome.” Patriot choked out when he could finally regained some of his breath. “We’re gonna have to use that.”

The Quad Squad grew, and they, being rambunctious, fun-lovign adolescents, cause quite a few frustrations and headaches with their mischief, much like their mothers’ antics before them. It made for a lot of interesting Critter Stories that Linda would jot down to tell the boy. Like the time they decided to mess with the truck, for example.

 Linda was busy shoting water moccasins down at the pond, and the fishing truck was istting there on the bank, waiting patiently.

“I’ve got a GREAT idea!” Cowboy said gleefully. “What?” “I wanna hear!” He told the others. “Awesome.” Aggie grinned. “Sounds good to me!” Pistol agreed. “I don’t know…” Pete hesitated. He usually acted as the group’s conscience, and as he was smaller than the others, he was actually cautious when it came to hijinks and mischief. He was usually ignored.

“It’ll be fun,” Aggie protested. “Well, okay….” 

The four of them meandered over to get a drink of water, then they shoved against the tailgate, rolling the pickup into the mud, where it soon stuck. And besides, Linda was marching towards them yelling things that sounded unpleasant. “I think we’re in trouble.” said Pistol.

They were.

“…So, since you’ve shown that you can’t be trusted to act responsibly…” Cyclone wrapped up their lecture, trying hard not to look at Misty and Tussle, who were cracking up. “She used that word,” Pete whispered. Cowboy rolled his eyes. “Told you.” “Shut up.” “…You’ll have to stay by us for a few days.” Cyclone finished. “Aww!” Pistol muttered. “I knew that wasn’t a good idea…” said Pete. “I’ll say,” Aggie agreed gloomily. The mares went off to discuss grown-up topics, like punishment, or schooling methods, or something equally boring. “Wouldn’t that have been FUN?” whispered Tussle, eyes gleaming. “I wish we didn’t have to grow up,” Cyclone said wistfully.

Eight years went by.

Linda and Floyd both passed away, Betty rarely came to the farm any longer, except to feed the remnant of the feline tribe that still hung on. There were only four or five left.

No dog ran through the fields, and the pastures were being steadily overgrown by thistles. The truck just sat there in the driveway, no one drove it any more.

Cows no longer drank form the pond; there weren’t any cows left.

Somebody painted the barn white to cover up the rust stains, it looked awful.

The garden was bare of any growing vegetables or fruit in the trees, the weeds were waist-high.

And Misty was the only horse left. The others had died, or were sold at the sale barn, or given away to horse-crazed 4H kids.

Everything was in disrepair, threatening to fall apart any second. A state of gloom asd sadness hung over the entire farm. Brush piles were arranged in crazy collections from where the ice storms had left them, the fences were in indescribably bad shape.

But memories still were in good condition, and Misty often spent the days recalling the good times she’d had there. The boy did, too.

And that made it okay. Not perfect, by any means, but it was a little easier.

They were sad, but okay.