“Okay, enough fun and games,” Tina said.  “Mom wants him ready to trot to town.” 

“Well, then, let’s get him shaved, washed and ready to go,” Michelle said. 

She took the leash connected to my nose ring.  “Come on, smelly boy,” she teased.  “Let’s
go get you all nice and groomed.” 

They quickly completed the job and were just hitching me to a buckboard when Beverly
walked towards us from the house.  As she climbed into the buckboard, Michelle came very
close to me.  She cupped my aching balls, leaned right up to my ear and whispered, “Think
about me while you run, horsy.” 

As Michelle stepped back, Beverly snapped the reins and said, “Giddyup,” and I was
running on shaky legs. 

It was the most agonizing run of my life. My legs were shaking, and I felt nauseous with
frustration, but every time I tried to slow down, I felt the whip raise a new welt or a
bleeding cut across my ass, or the reins would snap and dig the cruel bit into my swollen,
tender tongue.  Even so, Unlike her daughters she was not torturing me just for the sake
of torturing me.  It was always for a purpose.  I was truly just a beast of burden to her.


I was a sorry animal by the time we reached the town and she reined me in at the pony boy
stables.  Beverly did not tie the reins to a hitching post as others had always done
before.  She merely draped them over the post.  I knew this was her way of saying that I
was well-trained enough that I would stand there and the reins would still be in place
when she returned.  She left me standing there for probably over an hour while she went
into the main offices connected to the stables.  When she came out she smiled, rubbed and
massaged my neck.  “Good boy,” she whispered, and I knew she was referring to the fact
that the reins were still in place.  She walked me over to a watering trough and allowed
me to drink, only pulling my head up when I lost control and tried to drink too much too
quickly that would have made me sick.  She took some grainy food and held her hand to my
mouth, permitting me to eat out of her hand.  It felt like a great honor, something like a
bond of trust between us.  She then stroked my mane and whispered, “Just a little water
now, boy,” and once more I drank slowly, stopping when she tugged up lightly on the reins.
 I badly wanted more, but it would have made it worse for me when I had to run again. 

She rubbed my neck once more.  “Oh, good boy,” she said. “My horse is a fast learner.
That’s good.” 

Tears ran from my eyes and I pressed my head to her shoulder.  To my surprise, she
allowed it and kept rubbing my neck.  I realized that this, except for the crying, was
normal horse behavior and even now the only affection she was showing me was that of owner
to horse.

“Okay, good boy,” she whispered. “We need to get going now.”