Three Turns From Home

Three Turns From Home

CHAPTER 1

There's no freedom like the freedom I felt on the back of a horse. The feeling of the powerful animal beneath me, it's rhythmic movement as the wind tickled my face and blew the remnants of reality through my locks of brown hair and away from my mind as they trickled off the ends. This feeling brought me peace allowing me to forget the craziness of teenage life and indulge in the one thing that had never evaded me, had never let me down, horses.
Lost in a daze of horse heaven, I loped around the arena, the reins bouncing loosely in my hand, only slightly tugging the rein to cue the horse to turn. About halfway along the length of the fence, I swayed the reins slightly to the right, and pushed my right heel into her side. She turned sharply against the fence and continued at a lope. Trixie was a barrel horse, sharp turns and immediate burst of speed were second nature to her even in her green broke 4 year old stage.
I bumped Trixie into a slow gallop, my body limp and relaxed in the saddle. I became hypnotized by the smooth motion of her gallop. Her movements were graceful and smooth as silk, this horse was a dream to ride. A dream that only I got to experience for the time being. Other then Tracy the stable owner, I had been the only rider allowed to ride Trixie. She was a good quiet mare, but being a young horse left her fresh and with the occasional misbehavior or spook she needed a firm hand on the reins.
Trixie galloped around steadily allowing me to be mesmerized by her strides. I slowed her to a walk to cool her down before I unsaddled and brushed her down for the night. I let the reins looser allowing her to hang her head and relax.
"That's it girl, relax." I said rubbing her neck. "You did awesome tonight."
From the far end of the arena she could see a stalky black horse approaching the arena gate with its head held low. Led by a figure that could only be Tracy, with her blond hair that gleaned in evening sunlight. Tracy owned Moorehouse Stables. Tracy had horses since she was a little girl and the obsession never died. She worked in town at a wholesale retailer, taking orders over the phone, not a job anyone could thoroughly enjoy, but her real passion was horses. Even as she sat at work she searched horse sales and tack sites looking for her next horse or a new flashy piece of show tack. She lived in a medium sized bungalow at the beginning of the driveway. She had bought the land and short of the barn and house she had built everything herself, fencing and all. Although she had a boyfriend, she was a self made woman, a woman that did things herself and relied on no man. I respected that about her aside from her incredible way with horses.
I watched her from atop Trixie as she opened the gate to the arena, led her horse into the arena and shut the gate. She slid one of her work boots into the left stirrup and threw herself up into the saddle. Her horse, Glory, stood motionless as she mounted and waited for a cue to go forward.
Tracy nudged her to go forward into a trot until she was beside me. She then pulled her back to a walk.
"Hey Shayne, how's little miss Trixie tonight?" Tracey said.
"She had a great night. She's tight on her barrel turns and she has amazing speed pick up coming out of them. Just cooling her off now." I said getting caught up in the excitement about the progress she was making.
"She's bound to make a good barrel horse it's in her blood." Tracey replied.
Tracy always said only some of the potential a horse has comes from their bloodlines, and always said a horse has a secret potential that only an intimate bond of trust with your horse can unlock. The way a true horse woman knows her horses, their strengths, their weaknesses, the understanding they have of each other, grows a respect inside the horse that will make them go lengths for their rider.
She clearly had that bond with all of her horses. Glory was her right hand girl, her faithful barrel horse. She was beautiful, as a result of carefully chosen breeding matches to produce a winning mare. She was sired by Down Home Dash, a champion on the barrel circuit in his day. Her jet black coat inherited from her father along with his muscle defined, stalky body. Though Glory had not always been used as a barrel horse Tracey seen the lineage of this horse and snagged her out of the potential she seen for her and this horse to be at the top. She describes the moment as just seeing her picture and immediately thinking "I'm going to own that horse", like it was destiny.
"She's an amazing horse." I said, sliding my hand up and down her neck. " Really for a four year old that still has a lot of energy and a wandering mind of curiosity, she's shaping up to be quite a horse under saddle, like she knows play time is for the field."
"She gets that from her mom," Tracy said referencing the dapple grey mare that often grazed in the perfect square acre pasture next to the barn. Whisper was as quiet as any horse could be. She carried kids on her back with care, head low, never taking advantage of their lack of strength, almost as though she knew how delicate the children on her back were and they were to be protected from harm.
"I'm going go unsaddle and brush Trixie," I said, gently tugging her to a halt. I jumped off, she bowed her head for me to pull the reins over her head. I opened the gate to lead her to the barn when I heard Tracy kiss and the sound of trotting foot prints burst into a lope. I would leave them to practice for next weekends race.
I led Trixie into the barn and clipped her in the cross ties. I pulled her saddle off and set it on the rack and grabbed a round brush and began brushing in circles, massaging every inch of her body. I grabbed a soft brush and began to flick away the arena dirt that I had loosened up. I grabbed the bottle of show sheen and began to comb her tail, starting from the bottom. Her tail and mane is a flaxen color matching her light brown body. She was a beautiful horse, I had never seen a horse quite her color, but that might just be my impartiality to her since I've known her since birth.
Tracy had bought Trixie's mom pregnant and paid to trailer her across the country. She called them her best two for one yet. Trixie was that foal, and I had watched her grow, I was promised that I would be the first other than Tracey to ride her, and every chance I got I made sure Tracy remembered that promise. The euphoria of sitting on her back the first time and every time after fostered my love for this horse. I didn't own Trixie, but the thought of someday this is going to be my horse always seemed to be the first to come to mind when I looked at her, like destiny ment it to be.
I unclipped Trixie from her cross ties and led her to her box stall with her name plate burned in wood. I took her halter off and let her walk inside to the bundle of hay I had pulled her away from earlier. I filled her water bucket and hung the bucket in her stall.
Shutting the stall behind me, I walked out of the barn to see Tracy running the barrels. Glory was galloping at full speed towards the right barrel, abruptly slowing at the barrel as Tracy turned her into a tight turn, hugging the barrel. That horse could turn on a dime. Coming out of the turn she bolted fleeing towards the second barrel, drifting a perfect turn and heading straight for the final barrel. A quick wrap around the barrel and Tracy's hand moved up Glory's neck reins in hand giving her full length to run.
She pulled her to a stop just before the fence." Heading home?" Tracy asked.
"Yeah, I got some homework to do. Trixie is in her stall all brushed down. I'll come by tomorrow."
"Alright, maybe we'll get out for a ride, it's been awhile."
Tracy smiled and clicked to cue Glory onward into a trot. As she rode around the arena, I walked out the driveway, and down the road to my Nan's house.
I walked through the door and threw my boots down the basement stairs. My Nan insisted that even though the floors were dirty but I wasn't to walk across them in my barn boots. I slipped on my sneakers as my Nan appeared coming down the hallway.
She stopped at the counter and picked up her pack of cigarettes that were always sitting next to her ash tray. She pulled one out and lit it.
"How was the barn?" She questioned, exhaling smoke.
"Good, Tracy's is racing this weekend so she'll need me to watch the barn." I replied, heading to the fridge behind her.
I pulled out a bottle of Apple juice and poured myself a glass and sat down at the kitchen table. She was a very short woman. Standing face to face she stood just under my nose. Her eyes were dark, and her hair was snow white showing the remnants of being curled with rollers. I had learned not to think of her size as a weakness, she was a feisty woman, but she was often plagued by worrying too much.
"I didn't even hear you get home from school. I must have been laying down." She said as she picked up her ash tray and walked over to the table. "Got any homework tonight?"
"No," I replied instinctively. I often did have homework made up of questions from text books and sheets but the teachers rarely checked to see if we had actually done them.
"I'd love to go to school now. They used to give homework when I was a kid." She said rolling her eyes at my usual answer. "I made supper earlier if you want some."
I got up to inspect what she had made to decide if I was going to reach in the freezer for a pizza or if I was going to heat up food she made. I lifted the lid of the pan on the stove. Corned beef hash. I grabbed a plate and a spoon to scoop some out.
I took my food downstairs after the microwave beeped and turned on the tv. I ate as I began to watch an disk of Heartland that had been in the DVD player. I set my plate on the coffee table in front of me on the couch. My grandfather's old ash tray sat one the table. I didn't smoke but I kept it there.
My grandfather was a hard working man, only stopping because his heart wouldn't let him anymore. He'd had many heart problems in my younger years, heart attacks and strokes were a constant threat, but they couldn't take him. Cancer finally set in when I was 11, most likely from smoking a pack a day since his early teen years.
We'd argue over the tv when my Nan wasn't home and when he wanted to watch the news. I'd spent days in the summer helping him pile the wood to dry as it was delivered and throwing it in the basement window just before summer break was over. At the time it seemed like a inconvenience to take time from my summer to help him, now that he was gone I cherished those days, missing the big burly man with a belly only comparable to Santa Claus.
My grandmother and grandfather raised me since I was in grade one. My mom hand gotten herself in over her head with a drug addiction and not wanting to see me in foster care, they stepped in to raise me. For years I had not known where my mom was, imagining what got in her way of coming home, or even letting us know she was ok. I had eventually thought about it so long that I decided I would never know the answers so I pushed it to the back of my mind.
It was when Papa found out he had cancer and chemotherapy wouldn't help, that I again, began to wonder where she was. When my grandfather could no longer work, and my Nan retired from the seniors home, they soon realized they needed the government's help providing for me and there was benefit of having someone to talk to to process the confusion of the situation I was in. My social workers changed as I got older and they changed positions or moved, the social worker I had at the time of my grandfather's diagnosis had been my worker for 2 years.
During one of our meetings I brought up my mom, a conversation that was normal seeing as I was involved with them because of her. This time was different because of the motive behind it. I simply asked is there any way we can find her. I had been thinking about it a lot because I was about to lose the man who had been my father. What if I'd already lost her and it was too late, is she out there, and if she was my grandfather deserved to see his daughter again for everything he had done for me.
With the resources my social worker had, she found her living just a couple hours away. She had a new life recovered from her addiction. She had a new man and another little girl. Truth be told at the time I was more excited for the smile on my grandfather's face when I told him I had found her and he had another grand daughter, than I was about finally knowing where she was and I didn't know how I felt about having a younger sister.
The next Christmas was the Christmas we were finally all together again. My grandfather was usually a zombie from the medications he was now on, but finally having his daughter back and the bounding excitement of a meeting his grand daughter had him looking better than he had in months. He smiled ear to ear as he ate his turkey dinner, the first meal he'd had in days.
We lost him the February after. The days after his death were the coldest days of the winter, dropping below 40. My eyes welled with tears in the church until I heard my sister Lindsay, at the time 2 years old ask my mom if Grampy as she called him was in the box they wheeled up the aisle. She had such a short time with him, but I'd hoped she'd remember him. I began to feel at ease with her innocence, and relief that I had put us back together for him.