Horse Tales: The Three Champions

By Mary Ann Powell

Kenturcky Bred:
Kentucky Bred is about a horse that that travels from
the east coast to the west coast, leading a very
adventurous life, even includes patrolling the streets
of Washington D.C., as a Police Horse.

Lots of Little Horses:
This story is about a very popular breed of horses;
'Miniature horses.' They love people, especially children.
They cannot be taller than 38 inches, and are very good
show animals. The Staley family of Maryland, breeds,
raises, trains and shows these little guys. Life with them
is exciting, fun and interesting.

Whisper of Seawind:
is a story about a young girl who raises a blind horse.
One must read this story to find out why she feels she
must raise Whisper. This story is very interesting and
holds a beautiful conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Native Ink Press
• Release date: Mar 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781939156334

Book preview

Chapter One

After spending the entire sixteen years of her life in the wide-open spaces of Kentucky farmland, moving to the congestion of the city had been tough on Connie Daniels. The sudden death of her father, Tom, the year before, had forced her mother, Ruth, to sell their farm in the country. With regret Ruth had gathered up Connie and her younger siblings, Sallie and Danny, and bought a small townhouse in Ellicott City. At forty-one, Tom had considered himself too young to think seriously about what would become of his family should something happen to him and the small insurance policy that he held had barely covered the funeral expenses and accumulated farm debts.

Connie thought back over the years at Briar Creek Farm. Her family wasn’t wealthy, but they had been comfortable and very happy. Even though Tom and Ruth hadn’t owned the large produce farm which included a small paddock housing Connie’s horse, Scooter, they had dreamed of someday making Briar Creek a breeding farm as well. Connie had loved the farm with its smell of tender melons growing there, its rolling hills, sunny knolls, peaceful meadows, and most especially, its animals. In many ways she was so much like her father who had been a hard worker, but had always found time to share his time, knowledge and love of animals with his children. Connie had loved being in her favorite spot, by his side, tending the animals.

Three years earlier Frank Keiser, owner of the Bit and Bridle Horse Farm, had offered Tom a two-week-old colt that had been born when many of his farm mares were foaling. My Morgan crossbred died during foaling. Keiser shook his head. I can’t explain it. Neither can Doc Thorne.

And the foal? Tom had asked.

Born healthy as can be. But after two weeks of hand feeding, I realize that I don’t have the time or the manpower to care for him. You and your older daughter work wonders with animals; I know you’ll take the best care of him. I’d like to give him to you. He looked at his booted foot making circles in the dirt. Let’s just say he’s a gift for Connie.

Connie had gone with her dad to pick up the two-week-old colt. As her green eyes rolled over him for the very first time, she saw that he stood square on all four hooves with ears thrust forward and busy brown eyes that missed nothing. The beginnings of love fluttered through Connie’s heart. She wanted nothing more than to grab his little fuzzy brown body, and stroke the newness of the white thumbprint on his forehead.

Connie cried with delight when she learned the colt was to be hers. However, she soon discovered that hand-raising a colt that young was hard and tedious work. On weekday mornings before school, she’d feed him his first bottle and brush his frosted coat diligently. Her mother would feed him twice while she was at school. After school and again before bedtime the colt enjoyed a bottle and a soothing brushing. On weekends everyone took turns feeding and brushing him. It had been a rigorous schedule, but after a few sleepless nights of colic and scours, the colt began to gain weight and maintain good health.

Thank goodness, Danny had moaned theatrically, human babies don’t need this much care.

Sallie nuzzled the colt affectionately. Yeah, we’d never get anything done! First my rabbits, then the chickens, then the melons, and now this little fellow. She scratched his ear.

Connie laughed at their teasing. The colt thrived on the attention and care. On quick wobbly legs he would dash about, following Connie all over the farm begging for more.

Her dad grinned. He just scoots all over the place trying to follow you! With that statement, the colt was christened Scooter.

That had been three years ago, Connie mused. During that time, Scooter grew phenomenally handsome as his chocolate fuzz melted away revealing a rich, shining, ebony coat against which the white thumbprint under his forelock peeked out, and a small snowy patch on the outside of his left rear leg blazed. His head was small, like his Morgan mother, and a gracefully arched neck blended beautifully into wide sloping shoulders. His mane and tail, gifts from his thoroughbred sire, were fine and silky and he would easily stand a magnificent sixteen hands tall in a year or two.

Scooter broke and trained easily. His gaits were so smooth that Connie felt as though she were sitting astride a cloud. He was neutered because there were no facilities on the farm for keeping a stallion and Tom had felt that a gelding would be easier than an unruly stallion for Connie to handle.

As Scooter grew rapidly, Connie began to find it difficult to mount him from the ground. Her problem was solved when she found a strong crate to use as a mounting block and then climbing on Scooter was no longer a problem. Connie and Scooter were inseparable, spending many happy hours roaming the countryside, visiting neighbors or wading and splashing in the broad creek that snaked across the farm. There were times when she’d ride Scooter bareback using only a halter and shank. Sometimes she’d lie or sit contentedly on his back and daydream while he grazed in the Briar Creek pastures. Those were the happiest of times.

Then had come the blackest day in Connie’s young life. She was riding home eager to tell her dad that she had taught Scooter to jump. They had sailed over eight coops and Scooter jumped as if he’d been doing it all his young life. As she cantered over the last hill and the Daniels’ sprawling farmhouse came into view she suddenly felt a strange apprehension that something was terribly wrong. From a distance she saw her mother and Aunt Dora, a family friend from Six Willows Farm whom Connie had known all her life, jump into her father’s Ford and speed away down the drive that led to the main road. Connie raced after them knowing that they’d have to stop and open the front gate. Scooter had flown like a hunting hawk on the wind. She reined him up at the fence line and jumped down.

Aunt Dora!

Dora turned just as she reached the gate. Connie! Oh, baby girl! She reached out to Connie.

Your dad and my John were working on the farm fencing when suddenly your dad collapsed. John ran to him and found him unconscious. He started CPR right away and I saw what was happening from the kitchen window and called an ambulance. I tried to call your mom and when I got no answer I drove up to the house and found her working in the garden. She got in and we tried to follow the ambulance. That’s when you saw us, honey. John went with him to Mercy Center and I’m taking your mom there now. It’d probably be best if you stayed here with Sallie and Danny. We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.

Connie rode Scooter back to the barn, her insides shaking. As she was taking off Scooter’s halter Sallie and Danny ran into the barn, frightened and teary-eyed. Connie drew them to her and hugged them fiercely, knowing that they wanted her to make it all better. She knew she couldn’t. She guided them toward the house and as they reached the bottom of the stairs the phone rang. Connie took them two at time, ran into the kitchen and snatched the receiver from its cradle.

Oh, Connie! He’s gone! Connie felt a pain in the pit of her stomach. Lord help us, he’s gone! Her mother began to sob.

Connie heard a rustling and muffled voices on the other end of the line. Through tear-filled eyes she looked up and saw Aunt Dora’s son, Rob, hurry through the kitchen door. He hugged her tightly and she heard Dora’s voice. Doctors did everything they could, honey.

Whaa... Connie began.

A massive heart attack. He was gone before we knew it. Dora’s strong voice cracked.

Connie’s eyes met Rob’s. He shuffled his feet and averted his dark brown eyes. Look. Why don’t I go outside and see about Scooter? he asked.

Connie whispered goodbye to Dora, nodded weakly to Rob, and headed to the bedroom where she heard Sallie and Danny’s small voices.

The next days were a blur as Connie moved about in a numbing trance. Her memory of the funeral and the kindnesses of neighbors and friends was a fog. She stayed very close to her mother’s side and Dora and John were always nearby for Sallie and Danny. Tom Daniels had been liked and respected. The medium sized church was hard pressed to seat the river of mourners who flowed in slowly like sailboats on a windless lake. Hymns soothed the ache in their hearts and the minister’s calming words brought them a cloaking peace. Soon the sadness of their grief faded and they quietly went back to their own affairs.

For Connie and her mother very difficult days passed into weeks, which soon became months. A creeping reality slid back in and demanded decisions; decisions that had to be made quicker than Connie or her mother were prepared for.

One big decision is going to be the farm, Ruth told Connie. We can’t afford to keep it. We need a place to live we can manage ourselves, so selling the farm would bring enough to buy a townhouse in Ellicott City.

But… what about Scooter?

Ruth gathered Connie into her arms. We’ll see.

Nearly a year passed before everything was settled and the move to Ellicott City was made. Dora and John stepped in with manpower and advice. They agreed to house Scooter in a small paddock until a decision could be made about what to do with him. Connie knew that this arrangement had to be temporary because the Spencers had no real facilities for keeping horses.

Connie was in her senior year in high school. Her short academic schedule gave her leeway to take a part-time position in a real estate office near the school. Ruth found work as a receptionist for a local dentist. Connie visited John, Dora, and Rob every weekend even though it was an hour’s ride on the bus. They had sold Tom’s truck with the farm. Each trip brought the joy of riding atop Scooter and feeling the wind in her face and hair. However, the trip also brought pain as she thought of other people, strangers, living on Briar Creek and the fact that she’d have to sell Scooter by the end of the coming fall.

Having grown up together, it seemed that Rob and Connie could often sense each other’s moods. Obviously, now it wasn’t hard for Rob to sense Connie’s sadness over the thought of losing Scooter. He tried very hard to reassure her that between the two of them they’d find a solution.

Rob put his hands on her shoulders as they stood outside of Scooter’s stall. Don’t worry. Something will turn up.

You say that every weekend, Connie replied, turning to scratch the white thumbprint under Scooter’s forelock. He nickered softly.

Rob smiled ruefully. Yeah, I do, don’t I?

Connie turned away and fixed her green eyes through the window on the gathering evening. I can’t expect your mom or dad to feed and care for him, as busy as they both are each day. I’ll definitely have to sell him.

Rob turned her around to him and shook her gently. Don’t worry!

Something will turn up, they both said together, and began to laugh.

Rob wasn’t surprised when Connie’s laughter turned to tears. He cradled her in his arms.

Shhh, he murmured. It’s all right. He held her tighter without thinking.

Soon her crying stopped. She raised her head from his chest and began to hiccup. Oh my! This is (hic)‘barassing. I need a (hic)‘lass of wah (hic)…er.

Rob smiled gently. You need to hold your breath.

Connie sucked in a mouthful of air. Rob watched in amusement as her cheeks ballooned out and she started to turn pink then red. Only when her eyes grew wider did Rob begin to howl. She could no longer hold her breath and with a little Whoosh! she began to laugh again too.

You’re a big help, she sniffed.

Ahh, but mademoiselle, he crooned in his worse French accent. I do help a leetle bit: I caution about zee worree-ing, I promees everee-zing will bee hokay, I make mademoiselle laugh, I hold her in my arms to stop zee tears, and I offer a remedee for zee hiccups. There was a short silence. Ah ha! Zee hiccups zey are gone! He bowed low. On his way back up his deep brown eyes trapped Connie’s moist green ones. I hope mademoiselle will always take my help, if she needs it, his voice rumbled low. The accent was gone, and his eyes held hers. Connie felt warm, flushed, and suddenly confused and moved away to look at the setting sun.

One unusually warm Sunday