The Mare

Velvet

On my last day, Pat said she would have a surprise for me if I did a super-good job on my stalls. And I did. I worked really hard, mostly knowing I wouldn’t be back for a long time, maybe not ever. It was only me and Gare that day and I even didn’t mind her because she was quiet when Beth and Retard weren’t around. I almost liked her a little because her eyes weren’t fake nice, even when Pat told her to hand me the mucking fork and she did. She just looked at me the same way the fork touched my hand.

And then it was the end of the day and Pat said to me all normal: “So, you want to help me groom Fugly Girl?” And I said, “Yeah,” as normal as I could. And she told Gare to go clean up Officer Murphy’s stall, which was always the nastiest because he was a draft horse and made huge poops. And then she took me down and she handed me the halter. “Here,” she said. “You try putting it on her.” She opened Fugly’s stall and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Because all of a sudden my horse looked different, like she didn’t even know me.

I went to put the halter on; she moved away from me. I tried again; she turned her body. “No,” said Pat. “Not so direct with this horse.”

I said, “What do you mean?”

She made us step outside the stall and half closed the door. She said, “The way you’re coming right at her, looking right in her eye? It’s like you’re saying, I’m the biggest B here, and we’re gonna do it my way or not at all.”

I said, “But I don’t mean it that way.”

She said, “I know that, and the other horses know that. But you’ve got a powerful eye, did you know that?”

I looked down. “My mom tells me to stop looking at her sometimes.”

“I’ll bet she does! You have got a powerful eye. And this horse can get nervous. You look at her like that, she might decide to turn and kick you into your next life. You want to deal with her, put your head down and talk to her soft. Like she’s a kitten. So she knows you won’t hurt her.”

“But she knows I won’t hurt her. She lets me touch her.”

“She lets you touch her when there’s a door between you and her. That’s different.”

I understood. We went back in the stall, and I did like Pat said. Fugly Girl stood quiet for me this time, but when I went to put the halter on, she jerked away.

“Head-shy,” said Pat. “Remember, that’s where she got hurt. Be kind, but be in charge.”

I touched Fugly’s neck and then rubbed it and waited till I felt her muscle relax. I slipped my arm around her nose and guided it down. She followed me. I put the halter on and Pat clipped on the lead rope. She handed it to me and asked if I wanted to lead her. I did; I felt her through the rope. I felt her giant heart with thorns wrapped around it like Jesus in the picture, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Fugly Girl in the stall was not the same as Fugly Girl out, with me holding the rope. She was scared, scared like broke to pieces, but she was other things, too, big things. I held her. Pat got her on the cross-ties fast, reminding me to stay close to the horse so that if she kicked, the damage would be small. Fugly Girl pawed with her foot and move sideways. Pat said, “Knock it off!” I put my hand on the horse. I noticed her eye was looking at me, thinking, not sure. I tried to tell her it was sure. Pat gave me the round curry comb. I rubbed the thick muscles of Fugly Girl’s shoulders, working on the dirty knots in her coat. Her skin got softer as I brushed. I thought of the song Ginger sang to me. Fugly Girl pawed and moved sideways again. “Did I ever tell you about Scorpio?” asked Pat. “The first horse I bonded with?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, he was not only the first, he was the only one, really. I was fifteen, and it was my first job. He was just a yearling. He came running up to me the first day, right up to the fence.”

Fugly Girl cut mad nasty gas. It stank and it made me smile. I rubbed the sweet spot between her shoulders. She turned her head and I saw the beautiful long hairs she had under her eye, like horse eyelashes. She blinked and put her head down a little.

“I was the only one who could ride Scorpio, and still we almost killed each other. He kicked me, I kicked him. Which I do not recommend, by the way, if this one ever kicks you, because even though I got away with it the first time, Scorpio remembered. And the next time he had the chance, he kicked me so I saw both back feet coming right for my face. I saw the nails on the bottom of his shoes and I thought, I hope there’s a doctor here who can put my face back together. And the feet went right past my head on either side. After that, we were good. He’d made his point.”

“Miss Pat,” I said. “If it wasn’t the little girl that abused Fugly Girl, who did? Was it the girl’s parents?”

“I’d call it more neglect than abuse on their part. They took her off the bush track circuit and were racing her as a quarter horse. They had her in a trailer with some other horses on the way back from a race. It was a long trip and one of her back shoes came halfway off, and she somehow stepped on a nail. And they didn’t have money for the vet. I guess she hadn’t won nothin’ for ’em in a while, so they just kept her in her stall and hoped it would get better. Instead it got infected. They wound up selling her cheap to some freak, a doctor who treated the infection half-assed, then starved her and beat her when she didn’t ‘perform.’ Those scars on her face? Those are from a halter he strapped to her face too tight and never took off. It was months before I could get a halter on her. She was a real big B and you know what, that’s great. Being like that was the only way she stopped him from breaking her spirit.”

“Miss Pat, when she kicks and bites her stall, is she lashing out like you said, like a bad mood?”

“Oh no, that — well, kind of. The biting is a nervous habit. It’s called ‘cribbing’ and it’s like some people biting their nails. The kicking, some of that is hormone issues. She’s feeling uncomfortable because — well, basically, she’s just being a girl. Here, watch me do her feet.”

She leaned in and stroked her hand down Fugly’s leg, pinching when she reached a special place; the foot came up like a button got pushed. Pat took a sharp thing and dug dirt out of the hooves. Fugly Girl made her lips like a camel’s!

“So how’d you get her?”

“The freak’s neighbor knew about me. I’d given lessons to his daughter. He told the freak that he’d call the cops if he kept up the abuse. He gave him my number and the doctor called me. I met the child when I went to pick up the horse. For some weird reason, the doctor called her to say good-bye to her horse. When I got there she was feeding Fugly Girl an apple out of her hand. Her mother didn’t even get out of the car. The girl walked the mare into the trailer for me. I’m not sure I could’ve gotten that horse in without her, even with Beth. Here, you want to pick up her foot?”

Her leg when I slid my hand on it was like something with roots in the ground. Then I got to the spot; it was like butterfly bones, between the body and the wing. Her leg bent into my arm, and her heavy hoof came up.

“The kid held it together until the door to the trailer closed. Then she cried her guts out.”

I held Fugly Girl’s wing-hoof and thought about the girl who would never see this horse again. I cleaned the dirt out of the foot.