Willow King (12 page)

“What's that sound?” Katie cocked her head, trying to determine where the great engine-like huffing sounds were coming from.

“That noise is the horse that's swimming in the pool,” Jan's father explained.

“That's a horse?” the girls asked in unison. It was a noise unlike any they had ever heard before, except maybe from an old tractor. There was an explosion of sound like a giant machine puffing out a blast of smoke, then silence, then a repeat of the same noise seconds later.

“That's the horse's breathing.” Jan's father steered them in the right direction. “When the horse is swimming, only his head and some of his neck is out of the water. He's afraid to get water in his nostrils, so he takes a big gulp of air and holds it, trying to pinch his nostrils closed. What you're hearing is him releasing his breath and sucking in another one.”

They rounded the corner, and there lay the circular pool. It was about forty feet across. At one end was a ramp where the horse could wade in, gradually getting to the deep part. Once he settled into the deep water, he would swim in a circle at the end of a rope just like longeing, only in water instead of on land. Over the pool, a walkway led to a platform. Mr. Simon was standing on this platform at the center of the pool, holding a rope connected to the horse's halter.

The bell on the timer clock sounded, and the chestnut horse that was swimming in the pool pricked his ears and strained toward the ramp. Mr. Simon guided the tired horse out of the pool. The animal stood there on shaking legs, blowing as if he had just run a race.

“Wow!” Katie exclaimed. “How long does it take them to learn how to do that?” she asked Mr. Simon.

Mr. Simon greeted them, then snapped a lead line on the blowing steed and handed it to Katie while he scraped the excess water from the horse's coat. “They already know how to swim. That comes naturally. The hard part is getting them into the pool. At first, they're afraid. Some of them wade down to the drop-off point and then have to be pulled in. Others barely get their feet in the water before taking a big jump and landing in the middle of the pool.”

“You're kidding!” She couldn't imagine that.

“Those are the ones you have to watch out for. This pool is about fifteen feet deep. When horses jump in like that, they usually touch bottom and spring back up to the top like a submarine shooting to the surface. They can hurt themselves if they come up too close to the side of the pool, or they can pull their handler into the water with them. That's the most dangerous situation. But after they learn the rules of the game, they get to liking it. Especially in the summer.”

“How old does a horse have to be before it can start swimming?” Katie asked.

“Most of the horses I swim are about two, racing age, but we're also swimming a few colts, trying to give them some muscle and endurance. You don't want to subject their legs to too much pounding while they're still growing.”

Katie wondered if maybe she should be swimming, too. If it worked for horses, it might build up her strength without the damage that jogging would do.

Jan elbowed her in the ribs. “That would be perfect for King,” she whispered. “Go ahead, ask him.”

“Do you let other people swim their horses here?” She crossed her fingers, hoping the answer would be yes.

Mr. Simon finished scraping the water off the horse, then patted him and took the lead shank from Katie's hands. “Most of the horses here are mine, but I make an exception for some of my friends.”

Katie's hopes dropped. She didn't even know this man.

Jan stepped forward. “Katie's got this colt with excellent bloodlines, but he was born with crooked legs. They're straightening up, but they're not as strong as they should be. Do you think swimming would do him any good?”

Mr. Simon hooked the horse to the hot-walker, rubbing his chin as he watched the colt circle around the machine. “I don't know. I've never had a crooked-legged horse to work on. But I've swum many a bad-legged horse, and it works great on them. That would be an interesting experiment.” He turned to look at Katie. “Would you be willing to give it a try?”

Jan winked at her. Katie bit her tongue to keep from laughing. “Yes, I think it might be worth trying. Could you teach me how to swim him? He's only six months old. I haven't weaned him yet. Does he have to be weaned first?”

Mr. Simon stopped the hot-walker and gave the horse a sip of water. “Yes. It would be too traumatic for him and his dam. We could have some real accidents. You give me a call when you get that colt weaned, and we'll set something up.”

“That would be great, Mr. Simon. Thank you.”

In the car on the way home, Katie had mixed feelings. She was excited about the prospect of finding something that would help King's legs, but she was also a little apprehensive about weaning the colt. She knew it had to be done. Six months was the perfect age. He was eating hay and grain now, and was growing like the pine trees that dotted the Oregon landscape. The longer she waited, the harder it would be. Now was the time.

She turned to Jan. “Can you help me today?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I'm going to wean King.”

“Oh, this should be loads of fun.” Jan rolled her eyes.

“I'll call John when we get home to see if he can come pick up Grey Dancer. I'm going to miss that mare.” She felt the tears pricking her eyes, so she turned to look at the scenery. The hot August sun beat through the car's open window, and a warm wind blew in her hair. It wouldn't be long before school started again. She needed to get King weaned and settled into a new routine before classes resumed.

John arrived early that afternoon. He had several pairs of leg wraps with him. He tossed some of them to Katie and Jan. “Put these on the colt. I'll wrap the mare's legs.”

Katie and Jan took the wraps from him. “But the colt's not going anywhere. How come we're putting wraps on him?” asked Katie.

John looked up from his place in the straw at Grey Dancer's feet and paused in his work. “You've been around the farm at weaning time. You know how crazy the mares and colts get. This here colt's pretty strong willed. He might just take it in his head to go over or through the fence to join his mama. The leg wraps are just an extra precaution. He's got enough trouble with them legs without banging them up any more.”

“Should I keep him here in the stall or put him out in the pasture?”

“I think it would be best if we kept him in his stall for now. You can turn him out in a couple of days if he settles down. Get a rope on him and hold him tight till I get this mare in the trailer. If he gets too hard to handle, just take the rope off and get out of the stall. I don't want you getting hurt.”

“Maybe we should wait another month or two,” Katie said. She hadn't expected weaning to be such a problem.

John led the mare out of the stall and shut the door behind him. “The longer you wait, the worse it gets.”

“Maybe we could just let the mare wean him herself?”

“That doesn't always work unless the mare has a new foal at her side. No, now is the best time to do this. King's standing quiet now, but watch out when his dam is out of sight. I'll load her, then come back to see how you're doing.”

John and Grey Dancer walked though the barn door. The mare paused and turned her head, whinnying for her foal to follow. Until then, King had been standing fairly quietly. When he heard his mother's call, he pulled against Katie, trying to join his dam.

“Easy, fella,” Katie crooned. “Jan, make sure that door is latched.”

Jan rechecked the lock. “It's secure, but I'm wondering if maybe I shouldn't open it in case you have to come flying out of there. King doesn't look too happy about this.”

The bay colt stomped his feet and trumpeted his call to the mare, now in the trailer. John's face appeared above the boards of King's stall.

“How's he doing?”

“Not so good. He wants to go with his mother.” From outside, Katie could hear Grey Dancer whinnying and pawing in the trailer.

“Take off that rope and get out of the stall,” John instructed. “I want you to watch him for a little while after I leave. He'll be riled up for the rest of the day, and he'll probably make a lot of noise tonight, but he should settle down in a day or two. If you have any trouble, just give me a call.” John turned and left the barn.

Katie patted King on the neck and unsnapped the lead shank, then let herself out of the stall. “You take it easy. Don't go trying to hurt yourself,” she said. The truck engine started, and soon she could hear the mare's cries getting fainter in the distance.

When all was silent, King paused in his stall, every muscle taut and quivering. His little fox ears flicked back and forth, trying to capture the sound of his mother. He snorted and called urgently to her, but there was no response.

“Do you think he's going to be all right?” Jan asked.

Before Katie could answer, King reared back on his haunches, coiled like a spring, then shot forward, trying to get over the stall door. His front legs hooked over the door and he struggled to free himself, flinging his head back and forth, bumping it on the doorway.

“Whoa, whoa!” Katie yelled as she rushed forward, waving her arms in an attempt to shoo the colt backward. But he was stuck. His legs continued to beat a tattoo against the wood of the door as he screamed in fright. If she didn't do something quickly, King would break a leg or beat himself to death on the doorframe.

Heedless of the danger of the flailing hooves, Katie reached for one of King's legs, but he tore it from her grasp. A burning sensation crossed her palms as his sharp hoof ripped some of the flesh from her hands. Katie tried again, grabbing for both legs this time. She pushed them up and over the top of the door when he renewed his struggles.

King fell over backward into the stall. He immediately got to his feet, determined to charge the door again.

“Oh, no, you don't!” Jan pushed Katie to the side, and slammed the top door of the stall shut, throwing the latch into the catch. King thudded against the wood and scurried around the stall. “Are you okay?” she asked Katie.

“Yeah, I think so.” Katie examined her torn hands. “It's just some deep scrapes, nothing that needs stitching.” She listened to King's cries as he rampaged around the stall. “I never would have thought he would be this wild,” she said in disbelief.

“They get pretty crazy when you wean them. He's taking it pretty hard. I think you better leave him locked in tonight.”

“What if he hurts himself?”

“He'll be okay. There's nothing in the stall he can cut himself on.”

Katie nodded. “I guess you're right. It's a good thing we wrapped his legs, or he wouldn't have any left.” She looked back at her own hands. “I think he's come out of this better than I have.”

“That looks like it hurts,” Jan sympathized. “Let's go into the house and get you cleaned up.”

Ten

By the end of the week, King was calm enough to work with. Katie's hands still hurt, but they were healed enough to use. She called Mr. Simon and made an appointment to bring King over.

The Simon ranch wasn't far. Rather than bother John about trailering the colt, she borrowed Jan's mare and ponied him to the ranch.

Going down the road was a new experience for King. Fortunately, there weren't many cars, but the first few that passed sent him charging against the rope. When he saw that the fast-moving vehicles didn't bother the older mare, he settled down but pricked his ears in interest each time a car went by.

Katie leaned over and patted King's sleek neck. “You're in for a real treat today.” She wiped the sweat from her brow. “I wish I were going swimming with you.” It was definitely bathing-suit weather. As they walked down the side of the road, Katie wondered if King's legs bothered him. He didn't seem to be limping, but he was a tough little guy. Maybe he had a high tolerance for pain.

“How about it, King, do your legs bother you?” she asked as she reached over to fiddle with his forelock. “Sometimes it's a real pain having to deal with a handicap, isn't it? I know there are days when I don't wear my elevated shoe, and I overdo it. Then the next day, my back hurts so bad, I don't feel like getting out of bed.

“But your legs are getting better, so I hope you outgrow this. And if you don't, then that's okay, too. We're in this together, pal. We're tough. We'll show them what we're made of.”

Katie wished it were that simple. King had it better in one respect—he didn't have a bunch of nasty kids to tease him. Kids could be so mean sometimes.

It hurt to be different.

A shout broke Katie out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Mr. Simon waving to them from the barn. “Come on up. We're ready for you.”

When Katie and the horses stopped in front of the stable, Mr. Simon let out a low whistle and ran a practiced eye over Willow King.

“This is some piece of horseflesh. Who's his sire and dam?”

Katie shifted in the saddle. She didn't want to lie to the man, but Mr. Ellis didn't want her disclosing King's bloodlines. She cleared her throat. “The breeder made me promise not to tell anyone King's pedigree.”

Mr. Simon scratched his head. “That's mighty strange. You'd think with a big, good-looking colt like this, the breeder would be shouting it from the rooftops.”

Katie proudly stroked King's neck. “He was born with a problem. The stallion's owner didn't want anyone to know about it.” She understood why a breeder would want to keep the colt from the public, but it still galled her how people wanted to shut away or ignore anything that wasn't perfect. Perfection wasn't everything.

“Yes, I remember you saying something about him having crooked legs. They seem to be straightening. In another six months or so, you won't be able to tell.” He ran his hand down King's legs, then stood. “Let's get inside, out of this heat.”