Gina, Queenie, and Brownie and the Men Who Loved Them

By F.B. Binc

Human nature and animal instincts make for interesting events. The characters in this story both human and animal represent people and animals I have known and remember. You dear reader, have known some of these types as well. I have tried to portray their traits from a true and good background.
Unfortunately good qualities seem to be disappearing today. This story is a contract to what is being portrayed by the various media in todays world of crime and violence and perverted sexual activities enjoy the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453580783

F.B. Binc

Born in the rurals of Nova Scotia, Canada, our author grew up during the war years and learned many trades. His rural roots started in farming and logging, then grew to the business world in sales and management and ownership. From putting worms on fish hooks to dining with bank presidents, our author has experienced many vignettes of life. Writing started as a pastime, but has become more of a new adventure, in the next page of this chapter.

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Copyright © 2010 by FB Binc.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010913998

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4535-8077-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4535-8076-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4535-8078-3

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Introduction

Introduction

TODAY, HE HAD just turned fifty. Gene Cameron loved his wife Rosy. Sometimes life could get messed up a bit, and today was one of those times.

Rosy was smart; she was clever, she was astute. Today, she was none of these.

As he sat on his usual bale of hay out there in the quiet of his stables, Rosy today was being a rough pain in the neck—only lower than that, he thought. She can connive and plot and plan the darnedest schemes.

To deal with her grandioseness, Gene had to have peace and quiet.

His one confidante these days was his prized stallion Red.

Most great men can talk to their prized steeds, knowing that they will never breathe or whinny a word to anyone about those sacred or secret thoughts that must be shared by them with someone.

Let it be said right here and now that Red was smart. He was intelligent. He was passionate and powerful. He was Gene’s answer to breeding successful progeny and a key to Gene’s future.

Red, old boy, you’re full of beans today—did someone slip you a super roll of oats? (Was that a positive snort or whinny?)

It wasn’t long after this conversation that Red became Gene’s pal, and eventually, his praiseworthy state-of-the-art ambassador. Let us tune into a scene of interest to many people in the horse-racing world.

IT ALL STARTED in the summer of the year. A rough-looking old mare in a run-down and scanty pasture surrounding a ramshackle wreck of a barn gave birth to one sorry-looking, and shall we say, scruffy old mare.

The previous mare, old Kate as the one farm horse was called, was grubbing away, trying to get a bit of nourishment to keep her ribs apart and her eyes blinking. The grazing was sparse indeed, and what little was available had precious little nourishment in it.

Nonetheless, Kate was a tough, old skeleton after the winter in the farmer’s dreary, old, windblown farm. Hay, rather musty and very dry straw, had been her basic diet. Not even a mention of bran or oats or nice vegetables for a poor, hard-working mare.

To add insult to neglect, currycombing or brushing of any kind never ever happened.

Kate’s human owner was what one human called a scalawag, who drank spirit a lot and smoked and chewed tobacco and did very little work.

Winter had been rather unkind to him and he expired in early March leaving Kate to an unknown fate. As is quite often the case, there were no known relatives, and the worthless, old farm was sold for taxes owed.

A business man, his wife, and his daughter came along in due course and purchased the old farm. As fate would have it, the daughter asked her father, What are we going to do with that sorry-looking, old horse?

Probably sell it for fox meat! No sense keeping something like that around here.

The following week, an old beat-up livestock truck appeared, and an equally beaten up, clothes-wise anyway man got out and put down a ramp; the idea being to load old Kate and take her to the glue factory—as he said—there isn’t much meat on this old nag, but you know she sure has a big gut.

He started feeling around, and his eyebrows sort of took a couple of hiccups, and he said to his helper Andy, This old nag is going to have a colt!

You’re kidding, his helper said.

Lordy, I don’t believe it! he exclaimed.

I tell you, as sure as my name is Willy Isanor, she’s about due too. It would be an awful shame to do her in and the colt. I know enough about horses to know she’s in bad shape and needs some decent food and attention.

While these two were discussing the pros and cons of what to do, who should show up but the daughter of the new owner and her mother! Of course, it was only fair that they relayed them of the current situation. If the new owner had realized just what the situation really was, he would never have let these two females around the farm. The daughter Gina and her mother, Milly, just about started dancing saying—we’re going to be mothers to a baby horse!

Oh god, help us, muttered Willy and raised his eyes heavenward.

This startling revelation started many wheels turning. Dad! You’ve got to get the vet out and check Kate out. Dad, to be perfectly honest, was still in total shock and must have felt he had too many martinis for lunch or else someone must have slipped him something now just what the sam hell is going on?

What have I got myself into now? he groaned. It slowly started to dawn on him that girls and horses could be a mighty powerful arrangement to even begin to cope with. Also, Mama was on Gina’s side—that goes without saying.

The vet arrived at about three o’clock and took one disgusted look at old Kate and just shook his head.

What’s wrong with her? they asked in unison.

Better still what’s right with her? the vet asked, still in a state of total disbelief at what was before him.

The fellow who was going to take her away says she is going to have a baby in a couple of months—he thinks.

Impossible! said the vet.

Well, let’s have a look. He opened Kate’s mouth, checked her hooves, her sides, her rear end, and few other spots of interest. He put his hands on his hips and said, I’ve got news for you! She’s going to have a baby, all right. She is in awful bad shape. Someone had better get her some decent feed quickly. The old man here has had her for years, and I don’t know how in the world she got in the family way, especially way out here! I’ll check this out with the neighbors—I know most of them. Maybe they can tell me who the proud papa is. He left, still shaking his head, and by the time he got to his car, they could tell he was finding this extremely amusing.

Mr. Jack Adams, the new owner of Kate, Gina, and Milly, now started to feed Kate decent hay, some mash and oats, a bit of bran and radishes, and sliced turnips—of all things.

Brushes and currycombs showed up. Kate got new shoes; her hooves were cut down properly; mane was cut and trimmed, and of course, the tail too; even ribbons on occasion; and all of a sudden, there was the appearance of a decent-looking mare—to say the least!

One Saturday morning soon after, who shows up but the vet! He took one look and asked, Did you get a new horse? What happened to the old bag of bones you used to have?

Needless to say, Gina was proud as punch about the transformation. She had literally spent hours at dolling up Kate, and even Kate seemed to have acquired a more queenly demeanor. You know, said the vet, I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it for myself!

Is your dad at home? he asked.

Oh yes, said Gina, he’s still grumbling about all the bills for Kate, but he’ll get over it someday.

The vet took Jack aside and said, rather secretively, There’s only one farm in these parts where they have a stallion. They breed show horses and racing stock and raise top-quality animals. I haven’t said anything to anyone, but there is a hint that one of their prized animals got out one day and sort of surveyed the area. These stallions can be very dangerous at times, especially when a mare is in heat. It’s just possible that he and the mare here had a romantic meeting. This was last summer, and with Kate, it’s just possible she is going to have one beautiful colt or filly—if that’s the case. The owners don’t want anyone to know about this because they are supposed to have proper control of their animals. I would suggest to your family that none of you say or mention a word about Kate—the people who own the stallion just might make a big fuss—if you know what I mean.

The grand night finally arrived, and Kate became a mother. Her baby was a beautiful filly. Gina was beside herself with joy, and Kate seemed proud indeed of her newborn—almost ecstatic, if a horse can be ecstatic.

The days and weeks passed quickly, and after a few months, the gangly legs and all that sort of thing eventually transformed into one really beautiful animal.

One day, about a year after the blessed event, the vet stopped in for a visit. Dad wasn’t home, but Milly and Gina were.

Could I have a look at your filly please? There were brief looks of apprehension, but they decided that it was time to reveal publicly just what kind of treasure they were raising out here in the wild country. The vet was deeply impressed. I think I know now who the daddy of this girl is. She doesn’t look much like Kate, does she?

No! That’s for sure. Can you please tell us what you think?

I’m sure Jack has told you my suspicions, he said.

Yes, he did, but do you think it’s possible?

Look at it this way, she didn’t get pregnant by herself, and there are no other stallions around except the ones over at the Birch Grove farms. My thinking is that one of those boys got out and he and Kate got together, all right. It was about the time when he—shall we say—went over the fence?

Have you decided on a name for this princess?

We thought ‘Queenie’ would describe her?

That’s a nice fitting name. Birch Grove farms have four stallions that they use for breeding purposes. I think the one that got out and went traveling was the one they call the Red Rocket. I was over there the other day on some business, and I think Queenie has Rocket’s eyes and bearing, she should turn out a beautiful animal with personality too. Have you started to ride her yet?

Not yet, she said.

Well, I know an old friend, and he would be a good sort to break her in for you, he loves horses and does a very good job. Would you like to meet him?

Of course, she said.

Keep in mind now that Gina is almost eighteen, a daddy’s girl and one that must be turning many male heads.

Louis Lebel was about fifty or so. Maybe even sixty—hard to tell. He didn’t talk much about himself, but when he rode over on one afternoon from his little farm, he asked for Gina or Milly and let them know why he had come to see them. Gina wasn’t yet home, so he got to talk to Milly; the questions were very insightful, and by the time Gina got home, he pretty much knew most of Queenie’s traits and fortes. Louis took one look at Gina and was almost starstruck. My . . . ! she was such an attractive and decent type of teenager.

When Gina grasped the full import of what was needed and expected, she just sort of gulped. My gosh, Mr. Lebel, it’s going to cost me a fortune. She may be far more than I can afford.

Good equipment is expensive, said Louis. Before we talk, am I going to see this queenly arrival or do I have to pay admission? he laughingly teased her.

Oh! I’m so sorry, of course, come out to the back shed where she is now.

When Louis laid eyes on Queenie, he was speechless. Holy smokes! he said. Where did you ever get this filly?

Didn’t the vet tell you? queried