The Dirt-Colored Pony
“I’m scared of that horse, Mom!” Megan groaned from under her pillow. “Why did you buy her anyway? She’ll never replace Bo.”
Her mother flipped on the lights and threw the covers off her daughter unsympathetically.
“Cagney is a great horse, Meg. She’s just misunderstood. I told you, when I saw her at the rescue auction, I couldn’t let her go.”
Megan tried to picture herself riding the cantankerous, muddy-brown pony, but couldn’t get the fear out of her mind.
“If I ride her again, she’s going to dump me just like she did yesterday. I’m still sore!”
Mrs. Robertson tossed her daughter a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
“C’mon Meg, toughen up. I’ll see you at the barn in ten minutes.” Her mother picked her way through Megan’s cluttered room and paused at the doorway. “I know you still miss Bo, hon, but if you give Cagney a chance – and a little love – you two could be great together.”
Megan looked at the framed picture on her nightstand. She was sitting on top of a muscled paint Quarter Horse, with a first-place ribbon pinned on his bridle. Bo had been an amazing horse, running barrels faster than competitors half his age. Closing her eyes, Megan could still see the proud expression that had been on his face after he had won his last barrel race at twenty years old. Bo had been her best friend since she was three, when she first sat unsteadily on his wide back and rode him around a little dirt ring with her father walking beside her and hanging onto her belt. Now, ten years later, Bo had died, and Megan was left without her barrel horse and best friend. She rolled out of bed and grabbed her clothes, wincing as her sore muscles protested.
Stomping up to the large ring, Megan saw her mother trying to hold Cagney. The cranky horse was pulling as hard as she could, attempting to bite at every occasion. The fear that had settled in Megan’s stomach stirred up again when she noticed her mother didn’t have a lunge line with her.
“Mom…Shouldn’t you have the line?”
Her mother handed her Cagney’s reins and checked the cinches. “You can’t run barrels with a lunge line attached, now can you?” She slapped her daughter on the back and stepped away. “Okay, mount up honey.”
The butterflies in Megan’s stomach went wild as she swung lightly into her barrel saddle. Sensing her uneasiness, Cagney snorted and took off at a bouncy trot, knocking over a plastic barrel on her way.
“That’s okay, just get her under control and warm her up,” Mrs. Robertson directed as she righted the barrel.
“I’m trying,” Megan muttered to herself as she sat back and applied pressure on her reins. “If you want to trot Cagney, we’re going to walk. You’re not the boss.”
Cagney rolled her eyes and tried to get her tongue over the bit as she grudgingly complied.
The rest of the lesson went just as yesterday’s had, with Cagney using every ounce of her energy to disobey her rider. When she wanted to turn right, Cagney fought to turn left. As soon as she was urged into a canter, she wanted to gallop, bucking whenever she was ridden near a corner. Even Mrs. Robertson looked tired as Megan led her horse back to the stable.
“Now are you convinced? She’s a bad horse.” Megan said resignedly as she untacked the sweating pony.
Mrs. Robertson dodged a kick as she began unbuckling the cinch.
“She just needs some training, Meg. From now on, I’ll take over riding her.”
Swinging the bridle over her shoulder and picking up the saddle, Jessie glared angrily at the pony, who glanced back with a defiant look.
“You’re the nastiest horse I’ve ever ridden,” she said irately.
Cagney just slapped Megan with her tail, and snorted.
The next day at breakfast, Megan was even achier from yesterday’s lesson, and still upset about Cagney.
“Now I won’t have a horse to ride, Dad,” she complained to her father as she cleared her dishes off the table.
“Maybe your mother can whip him into shape,” Mr. Robertson suggested vaguely from behind his paper.
“Cagney’s a mare, Dad,” Megan corrected. “Besides, it’ll be a long time before she’s ready to ride…If ever.”
Her father looked at her sympathetically.
“Well, if you get bored today, there’s a big hole in the East fence that needs fixing. If it doesn’t get done soon, I’m afraid the cattle will escape into the horse pasture. I don’t think I’m going to have time to do it today.”
Megan nodded.
“I’ll get to it, Dad.”
By the time Megan tramped out to the East fence, the sun was setting in a wild streak of colors in the large Western sky. She had spent most of the day walking in the back woods, and the rest of it watching her mother train Cagney from the open window in her bedroom. The rebellious pony was just as bad as always, even throwing Mrs. Robertson, who normally could control any horse she rode. Megan shook her head as she set down her tools, remembering her mother’s words. “This may be a long process, Jess…”
Suddenly, she heard a snort, and pounding hooves. Over the hill in the pasture, a calf came running, its knobby legs flying, squealing for help.
“What could have scared it like that?” Megan wondered as she hid behind the fence post to watch.
Her mouth dropped open as she saw a dirt-colored horse gallop over the rise, whinnying happily as it herded the calf. Instead of the ornery gleam in her eye, the pony looked like she was enjoying herself.
“Cagney,” Megan breathed as she looked on.
Each time the calf turned, Cagney would cut it off, almost as if she knew which way it was going beforehand.
“She must’ve gotten through hole in the fence,” Megan whispered to herself as she watched the miracle.
Finally, when Cagney’s brown coat was slick with sweat, and the calf scared nearly out of its wits, she let it go, and went trotting back toward the hole in the fence. Stopping when she saw Megan, Cagney blew at her softly through her nostrils.
“You’re not such a mean horse after all, are you?” Megan said as she got up and stroked her soft nose. “We just didn’t see what you were really meant to do. Cagney, you’re a Cutter, sure as anything.”
The pony whickered and rubbed her head against Megan’s shirt.
“Now that I know that, I think we’ll get along much better. How about some cow practice tomorrow?”
