Wind Dancer (5 page)

I was hoping you’d agree to help.” Dr. Forrester patted her on the back. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Why don’t you take notes?” He handed her his clipboard.

Jamie pulled a flake of alfalfa hay from the back of the truck. Ali could see several bales of the bright, leafy hay stacked there. She knew that each bale weighed about eighty pounds; when opened, it would flake into about fourteen little sections, making it easier to feed the horses.

“I thought alfalfa was really high in protein. Won’t it be hard for the horses to digest?” Ali asked. “Seems like plain ol’ grass hay would be easier on their stomachs.”

“Actually, that’s a really good question,” Dr. Forrester said. “It’s one of the big mistakes people make when they try to rehab a starved horse. There are a lot of scientific studies, but I’ll give you the short version. Basically, a starved horse isn’t used to having food in its system, so you can’t just throw them back into a regular routine. They can’t handle it and their body will rebel.”

“Is that refeeding syndrome?” Ali asked.

“Good memory!” Jamie said. He handed the flake of alfalfa to his dad.

“Alfalfa is high in nutrients and low in the sugars and starches that are in most grass hays and grains.” The vet pulled two feed buckets from the bed of the truck and set them on the ground. “A starved horse’s body can’t handle all those carbohydrates from grass hay or grain rations.”

Ali thought back to the night she and Cara had snuck onto Mrs. Marshall’s property. Thank goodness they hadn’t found any feed in the barn. If they
had
found a bag of grain or a bale of hay … “What exactly happens?” she asked.

“The sudden overload of carbohydrates can cause a depletion of electrolytes in the horse’s system,” he continued. “And that can lead to death by heart, respiratory, or kidney failure a few days after the initial feeding.”

Ali shuddered. “Why … how does that happen?”

“When an animal—even a human—has been starved, its body starts using fat deposits that have been stored in reserve,” Dr. Forrester explained. “When there aren’t any more fat reserves to use, the body resorts to stealing protein from the heart, muscles, and intestines to keep the animal alive.”

“Maybe that’s why the white mare is a little better off than the gelding?” Ali asked. “She used to be a lot fatter than him.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Jamie agreed. “That could explain the difference in their health.”

The vet broke up the alfalfa flake into quarters. “Okay, here’s what all of you need to know about their feed. We’re going to keep the horses in separate pens so we can keep track of exactly how much each is eating. For the first three days, they’ll need small portions every four hours, around the clock.”

“You divided it up into such small portions,” Ali’s mom said. “It looks like it’s barely enough to feed a mouse, let
alone a full-grown horse. How many of those sections does each horse get?”

Dr. Forrester shook one of them into a feed bucket. “Just one of these small sections per horse, every four hours, for three days. Understand?”

Ali looked at the small amount of food in each bucket. “I don’t think this would even fill
me
up.”

“It’s a feast compared to what they’ve been getting.” Jamie picked up the halter, buckled it over the white mare’s head, and led her into the next pen.

The vet continued with his instructions. “On days four through seven, we’re going to up their feed to a whole flake of alfalfa per horse, but we’re going to stretch the feedings out to every eight hours instead of every four.”

“That’s a little better,” Ali’s dad said as Ali scribbled furiously, afraid she might miss something.

Dr. Forrester handed her father one of the buckets. “On week two, we’ll up the hay intake just a little more. By the end of that week, we should be able to feed them as much as they want to eat. At that point, their energy levels should be coming up. You should notice a lot more movement of their ears, eyes, and heads. Right now, these poor animals are in such bad shape that they don’t really have much interest in anything.”

Ali took the bucket from her father and squeezed through the fence into the gelding’s pen. Quietly she approached the scrawny animal, speaking softly so as not to startle him. “Hey, big guy.” She held out the bucket of sweet-smelling alfalfa and waited for several moments, but the gelding just stood there, his ears out to the sides and his bottom lip drooping. His eyes looked distant and glazed, like he didn’t even know she was there.

Memories of Max flashed across her mind. This horse was
just a bigger version of her pony. The pony she had loved and couldn’t save.

She lowered the bucket and backed up several steps. Her shoulders slumped.
I shouldn’t have volunteered for this. I can’t do it
. She put the feed bucket down.

“What’s the matter?” Jamie asked.

Ali had been so wrapped up in the gelding’s sad eyes that she had forgotten Jamie was there. She turned back to look at the horse and her chest felt like it was caving in, crushing her heart.
I can’t do this
. She would have to tell everyone she’d changed her mind. They’d have to find someone else to care for the Appaloosas. Maybe Cara could do it? She’d love working with Jamie and his dad.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked again. He set his bucket on the ground and the mare poked her head into it, nibbling at the hay and chewing slowly.

Her father entered the pen. “Ali, honey, are you okay?”

Ali crossed her arms and avoided looking at them all. “He won’t eat,” she mumbled. “He’s probably going to die.”

“Whoa, hold on there.” Jamie moved closer, forcing her to look at him. “Things might seem a little bleak at this moment, but how about a little optimism here? Let’s give this horse a chance.”

Ali turned her face away and dragged the back of her hand across her eyes.

“Are you crying?” Jamie asked.

“No,” Ali said, but she was pretty sure there were traces left on her cheeks.

“Look, Ali,” Dr. Forrester said. “I know this is hard. It’s always difficult to deal with situations like this—especially after what you went through with your pony. But we’re doing a really important thing here.”

Ali avoided everyone’s gaze. “I already lost one horse,” she murmured. “I don’t want to take a chance on another.”

Ali’s dad patted the black Appy on the neck. “Look, honey, I know this is rough on you. But these horses are here and they need help. You’ve just got to have a little faith and determination. Your mother and I wouldn’t have brought them home if we didn’t think we could do this. You’ve got a special way with horses; you seem to have forgotten how good you were with Max.”

Jamie picked up the gelding’s bucket and held it out for Ali. “Come on, let me show you how to convince this guy that he needs to eat this really tasty hay.”

Ali looked at the two abused horses. She wanted to turn away and pretend they didn’t exist, pretend she didn’t see Max every time she looked at the black gelding. But she couldn’t leave the sad scene before her, couldn’t ignore their blank, hopeless stares. Her heart ached for them. They needed someone to care for them. Someone who wouldn’t let them down like their owner had.

Her hand tightened on the feed bucket. Her father was right. These horses desperately needed help. She couldn’t bring Max back, but she
could
give this gelding and mare a second chance at life. It didn’t mean that she had to keep them, or fall in love with them. She could help make them well so that someone else could adopt them.

She took a deep breath and looked Jamie in the eye. “Okay, I’m ready to try again,” she said, embarrassed that she’d given up so easily a few moments ago.
This time
, she promised herself,
I won’t give up
.

Jamie took a small handful of the alfalfa and crushed the delicate green leaves and stems in his hand. Ali watched as he gently inserted a portion into the place at the side of the gelding’s mouth where horses have no teeth, then massaged his cheeks. The black horse moved his lips a bit, then rolled the alfalfa flakes around on his tongue.

“That a boy,” Jamie said encouragingly.

“I think he’s getting the idea.” Her mother looked relieved. “Can Ali try?”

Jamie motioned her closer and handed her some crushed leaves. Ali’s fingers were shaking as she inserted them into the gelding’s mouth.

“Be careful, Ali,” her father warned. “That horse has really big teeth and they’re about an inch from your fingers.”

Ali moved her hands to the horse’s jaw, remembering when she’d gotten her finger pinched trying to put the bit in Max’s mouth. It definitely hurt, and she didn’t want to repeat the experience. She rubbed the gelding’s cheeks and lips in an effort to get him to chew. She heard a grinding sound as his jaws worked back and forth a couple of times and her hopes climbed a notch. It would take them all day to get that food eaten at this pace. But it was a start.

Ali and her parents waved goodbye to Jamie and Dr. Forrester as they drove away. They had finally gotten the gelding to eat most of his ration. Now he stood with his head down and ears out to the side, looking more like a mule than a horse.

The mare was a lot more alert than the gelding. She had licked the bucket clean and seemed to be hoping for more. Her ears moved back and forth at the sound of their voices.

“I know you’re a bit ambivalent about this project,” her mother said, “but we think it’s the right thing to do. You didn’t mean to start this when you trespassed, but we’re going to finish it by getting these horses back into shape.”

Ali’s dad clapped her on the back. “It looks like you’re up to this task. We’re willing to pitch in when needed, and we’ll keep an eye on things, but this project is mainly yours. Do you understand?”

Ali nodded. Not that long ago, she had considered caring for horses to be the best job in the world. But now, with everything that had happened, it seemed like punishment—and it was, for breaking her parents’ rules.

She picked up the buckets and stacked them where Jamie had unloaded the bales. It hurt to be near horses, but she’d try to be strong and get through this. The horses deserved that much.

She had Dr. Forrester’s cell number in her pocket. He’d promised to return in the morning. That made her feel a lot better, but for now, Ali was on her own.

Cara was going to be so shocked. If only she could be here to help. Cara knew a lot about horses. Ali did too, but she didn’t completely trust herself right now. She didn’t want to make any mistakes.

“So, what are you going to name them?” Her mother leaned over the fence and scratched the white mare on the shoulder.

“Don’t they already have names?” Ali asked. “Mrs. Marshall had these horses for years.”

Her father shrugged. “Mrs. Marshall didn’t tell anyone their names,” he said. “I hear she’s going to be moving to California to live with her son. The poor old woman has enough to deal with right now with her memory loss and all.”

“Besides,” her mother added, “I think it would be best if these guys started with a clean slate. They’ve got a new home and a new chance at life; I think they should start it with new names too.”

“I don’t need to pick out names,” Ali said, shaking her head. “They won’t be here long. I’ll just help them get better, then when someone adopts them, they’ll name them.”

“But, dear …,” her mother began. “They need names. You can’t just say Horse Number One and Horse Number Two.”

Ali’s dad put his arm around his wife. “I guess that’ll be okay for now, Ali. Once the horses are better, we’ll talk about it again.”

Ali heard hoofbeats. Cara rode up the driveway on her quarter horse gelding. His registered name was something fancy, but the little brown bay with the black mane and tail was so chubby that Cara had nicknamed him Dumpling.

Cara’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the horses. “Wow!”

“Have you come to see our new additions?” Ali’s mom asked.

“No, ma’am, I didn’t know they were here.” Cara dismounted and pulled Dumpling’s reins over his head, leading him toward Ali’s parents. “I came to see you and Mr. McCormick.”

What?
Now it was Ali’s turn for a jaw-dropping reaction.

Cara stood tall, her head bowed. “I want to apologize for getting Ali into trouble the other night.”

“That’s good of you, Cara,” Ali’s dad said. “But the choice was as much Ali’s fault as yours. It was her decision to go with you.”

“Ali is thirteen,” her mom added. “That’s plenty old enough to know right from wrong. She made the bad decision to go along with
your
bad decision.” Her tone softened. “But I’m proud of you, Cara, for having the nerve to come over and try to make things right.”

Cara
is
brave
, Ali thought. Hopefully some of that courage would rub off on her.

“I just feel bad about instigating the whole thing. It was a dangerous thing to do.” Cara fussed with Dumpling’s reins. “But I knew those horses were in a lot of trouble and I just had to see for myself. I know Ali was worried too.” She shoved her hair behind her ears. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry I got Ali into trouble.”

“Well, Cara, that’s very mature of you,” Ali’s dad said. “We appreciate it. Ali is still grounded from going places with you this week, but you’re welcome to come here and help out with the horses if you’d like.”

Ali’s mom smiled sadly. “I think our daughter has forgotten how good she is with horses. She could use a little help finding her way with them again, Cara.”

Ali’s parents walked back to the house, leaving the girls alone.

Cara opened the gate to one of the empty corrals and led Dumpling inside, removing his bridle and loosening his saddle. “See … I’m learning some good things from you,” she said. “A little while ago, I would have never thought about
apologizing to someone else’s parents. It’s scary! But I guess it did some good, because now they’re going to let me come over and help.”

Dumpling went to the fence and poked his head over the rail, nickering to the newcomers. The white mare turned her head slightly, but the gelding didn’t even seem to notice.

Cara pulled two red licorice vines from her saddlebag. She picked a few horse hairs off of them and handed one to Ali. They tapped their pieces of candy in a toast, then took big bites. “Now tell me how in the world all this happened,” Cara said.

Ali shrugged. “As far as I can tell, this is my punishment for trespassing. Plus, I think my parents have this crazy idea that if I take care of these horses, I’ll want one again.”

“Would that really be such a terrible thing?” Cara asked softly. “Horses are so awesome! I know you’ve made yourself some kind of crazy promise not to ever like them again, but
never
is a long, long time, Ali. Think of all you’re missing.”

Ali rested her chin on the top rail of the corral. She remembered riding across the desert, Max’s mane blowing in her face. It had been so much fun! “Maybe someday,” she said. “I’m just not ready yet.”

“I’d say it’s a little too late for that.”

Ali pursed her lips. “It wasn’t fair of my parents to do this without asking me first.”

“
Fair-schmair
,” Cara said. “Your parents are pretty cool. I’m sure they did what they thought was best. Just think … if you had a full-grown horse instead of a pony, you might stand a chance of beating me and Dumpling.”

Ali couldn’t help smiling. “Max couldn’t help it if he was short!”

She felt a nibble on her elbow and turned to look into the
kind eyes of the white mare. The horse lipped her shirt, begging for attention.

Ali reached out hesitantly and stroked the mare’s muzzle. Both horses had the mottled spotting and striped hooves that Appaloosas were known for. At the peak of their health, they had been beautiful examples of the breed. It pained her to see them as they were now.

“You won’t believe how little their meals are,” she told Cara. “They get a quarter-flake of alfalfa every four hours. That’s it.”

“You’re kidding!” Cara said. “Dumpling would eat that in three bites. Why so little?”

Ali filled her in on all the details of the horses’ special care. “Oh, no!” Cara gasped. “Imagine if we’d found any food in the barn that night…. We might have caused serious harm.”

“I’m still afraid I’ll make a mistake that’s going to hurt them,” Ali admitted. “Especially the black horse. He’s a lot worse off.” She picked at a stem of hay and broke it into several pieces, letting them drift to the ground. “The vet says there’s a chance he might not make it.”

“And you don’t want to go through that again with the horse that looks just like Max?”

“Yup.” Ali pushed away from the fence and shoved her hands into her pockets.

“My dad says that animals can’t always help themselves,” Cara said. “So sometimes we have to forget about what
we
want and do what’s best for them. You did what was best for Max, Ali. Quit beating yourself up over it. A break that bad is a death sentence for a horse. You know that. Look how they spent millions when that famous racehorse broke his leg a
few years ago. He had the best veterinary care anyone could buy, and they still couldn’t save him.”

Cara was probably right, but it didn’t matter. Ali still felt horrible. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “These horses don’t even have names. Mrs. Marshall didn’t tell anyone what she called them.”

“Then let’s name them!” Cara said. “They’ve got to have names. What do you want to call the black gelding?”

Ali studied the horse, remembering how strong and proud he had been before he was neglected. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give him a name? It didn’t mean she was keeping them or anything. “He needs a strong name,” she said. “Something that goes along with his Appaloosa heritage.”

“Well, the Nez Perce Indians developed the breed a few hundred years ago,” Cara said. “Maybe you should pick something that shows that cool lineage.”

“Yeah!” Ali said. “When I got Max, I read up on Appaloosas. There are
cave
paintings in France that show spotted horses. Scientists said they date back to 18,000
BC
!”

“I remember when this guy used to run across Mrs. Marshall’s paddock, with the wind cutting across it,” Cara said, patting the black horse. “Bucking and kicking, with his mane waving in the breeze. Like he was dancing.”

“I hope he’ll be able to do that again someday soon,” Ali said. “Maybe we should call him Wind Dancer.”

“That’s a good name!”

Ali entered the gelding’s pen and stood beside him. He didn’t even acknowledge her. She reached out to finger-comb his thin mane, but he still didn’t react. In a way, it was probably good that he wasn’t friendly. It would make it easier to find another home for him once he was well again.

“Can I name the mare?” Cara asked.

“Only if you promise not to name her something silly like Muffin, or Cupcake, or
Dumpling
.”

Cara rolled her eyes. “Dumpling is a perfectly good name. And he lives up to it too.” She studied the white mare for moment, then declared, “I think we should call her Misty.”

“Misty.” Ali liked the sound of it. “Misty it is!”

The white mare wanted more attention, so Ali joined Cara on the top rail of the fence. Misty stood with her head between them for several minutes while Cara petted her. Ali gave the mare a couple of strokes. After a bit, Misty went to the other end of the pen to lie down.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” Ali said. “Jamie helped deliver the horses. He’s working with his dad. He’ll be here every day for a while.”

“Wooo-hooo!” Cara hollered. “Bonus! You can count on me to be here too.”

Ali felt a momentary twinge of jealousy, but she shook it off with a laugh. Of course Cara wanted to hang out with a cute boy.

“I’m going to head up to the house,” Ali said. “I want to tell my parents the horses’ names, and I need to finish my homework now. These around-the-clock feedings are going to really eat into my free time. It’s a good thing we’re out of school in a few days.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait!” Cara picked up Dumpling’s bridle and went to his pen to ready him for the ride home. She tightened the girth on the saddle, then glanced sideways at Ali. “I know you’re upset about your mom and dad bringing these horses home, but I’m glad they did. I think it’s all going to work out.” She slid her boot into the stirrup and swung aboard, then waved goodbye and trotted down the drive.

Ali watched them go, Dumpling’s big hindquarters swaying as they disappeared around the corner.

She walked up the back porch steps and kicked off her shoes. As she turned the doorknob, she heard raised voices inside the house. Danny stood by the staircase, his crutches under his arms; their father faced him, holding his prosthetic.

“Son, you’re never going to get used to this thing unless you wear it,” their dad said. “There’s a good Veteran’s Hospital in town. We can make you an appointment with them if you think it will help.”