CHAPTER SIX: HOW HIGH?
and I were turned out together one day when
Petey came to the paddock with an unfamiliar
man. This man was even thinner than Petey,
and older, his face hard and lined, like
leather on a worn saddle.
“Both these horses can jump,”
Petey said. “The mare is even scopier than
the black horse, but her temperament is sour
as a crabapple.” I remembered trying to eat
a crabapple that had fallen to the ground
when I was a colt. It looked like a little
apple. My mother bared her teeth in laughter
when she saw me spit it out.
The man nodded. His hair was a
very pale blonde shade, like a clayback
palomino. Suddenly, he bent down, picked up
a whole handful of small sharp stones and
threw them at us. One hit me right on my
backbone, where the skin is thin. We both
startled, then galloped away. Respect leaped
straight into the air and humped her back,
switching her long red tail at the same