Destiny and the Wild Horses. Stacy Gregg
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cooed. “What a good pig! Now, Butch, up!” Butch grunted again and lifted his head, then braced himself with his front trotters and rather ungracefully pushed himself up again so that he was standing facing Aunt Hester.
“Well done, good Butch,” she said as she fed him one more carrot.
“How did you teach him the tricks?” Issie asked.
“Oh, pigs are very easy to train; they’re smarter than dogs,” Hester said. “I’ve had Butch since he was a little piglet and I always knew he was clever. When he was a piglet Aidan caught him in the veggie garden and pelted him with an acorn. Butch has never forgiven him. That’s why you’ll have to look after him and keep his training up while you’re here.”
“But I don’t know anything about pig training!” Issie spluttered.
“Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything. It’s all quite simple,” Hester said. “I’ve figured out a roster. Aidan will take care of the chickens and ducks. They’ve got a big role in this movie and they all need to learn their cues. One of the ducks needs to open a door—you can imagine the fuss he’s made learning that…You’re in charge of the rabbits,” Hester continued. “There are seven of them and they’re quite a funny bunch, I can tell you. You’ll look after Butch too, of course, and then there’s Meadow and Blossom.”
“More pigs?” Issie asked.
“No, dear, a calf and a goat. Both of them are frightfully naughty and I’m afraid I’ve fallen quite behind in their training. You’ll have to be rather firm with them.”
“What exactly am I going to teach them?” Issie asked, feeling nervous.
“Oh, the usual. When to stop and go, nodding and shaking their heads…all the standard stuff,” Hester said. “It’s such bad timing to break my leg just when all my little stars are needed for such a big movie. Tenderfoot Farm, that’s what it’s called. It’s an American crew. They’re coming here next month to start filming. They need barnyard animals that can act on cue—and that’s where I come in. My darlings are the best in the business.” Hester gave Butch one last scratch behind the ears with the stick and then began to walk again towards the stables. The pig now joined them, trotting alongside with the dogs.
“The horses are my first love, of course,” Hester said as they approached the stables. “Other animals are lovely, but there is something truly magical about horses, don’t you think?” She gave Issie a strange look as she said this and Issie didn’t know what to say. Even Aunty Hess would be shocked if she knew about Mystic.
Issie’s grey gelding had been such a special horse. She had loved him so deeply; it felt like her world had been torn apart the day he died. But since then, well, maybe magical was exactly the word for it. Issie had missed her horse so much that at first she couldn’t believe it when Mystic had come back to her. He would appear just when she needed him most—and not like some ghost or anything, but a real horse. He had saved Issie and Blaze on more than one occasion. If anyone believed in the magic that horses held within them, it was Issie. But Issie knew somehow instinctively that Mystic was her secret now—and anyway, how could she possibly explain it all to Aunt Hester?
The stable was a large building, just a single storey with wide weatherboard planks painted a clean, crisp apple-white. Next to the stable block was a covered arena, not like a dressage arena, but a round pen with high walls and tiered seating. “That’s where I do all of my stunt training.” Hester gestured to it as she breezed past the pen towards the enormous sliding barn doors that led into the stable complex.
“It’s so beautiful in here!” Issie was amazed. The stable doors were pale, honey-coloured wood. Each stall had a horse’s head carved ornately on the door and a horse’s nameplate hanging from a hook.
“We have seven horses of our own here so there is plenty of room for Blaze,” Hester said as they walked. “We’ve put her right here, in the nearest stall to your right. Why don’t we check on her first and then you can meet the others?”
Issie walked up to the stall. She ran her hand over the carved head on the door. There was no nameplate on the hook, but she could hear her horse nickering softly on the other side of the door.
“Blaze? Hey, girl, it’s me.” Issie said.
The mare went quiet for a moment, listening to Issie’s voice. Then she nickered back, louder this time. Issie could hear her shifting about anxiously in the stall. She opened the top half of the Dutch door and bolted it back. There was Blaze, standing in the far corner of the stall next to her hay net. She nickered happily and came over immediately to Issie, nuzzling her soft muzzle against Issie’s hands, taking a carrot from her palm. Issie raised her hand up and stroked just behind Blaze’s ears, her fingers tangling in the mare’s long flaxen mane.
“Well, isn’t she something!” Aunt Hester said. “Your mother told me the whole story,” she added, “so I knew your Blaze would be a beauty. But she’s more than that, isn’t she? She’s a very special horse indeed.”
Issie nodded silently.
“I know a thing or two about special horses myself,” Hester said. “Come on. I want you to meet them.” Hester walked over to the next stall and unbolted the door. “Come and say hello to Titan,” she said.
Issie walked over and looked into the stall. It was completely empty. “Umm, Aunty Hess? There’s no horse in here.” Issie was confused. She stared at the unoccupied stall and back at her aunt, who had an amused smile on her face. And then she heard a noise, just a faint sound, the sound of a pony’s hooves on the straw. Issie stuck her head right over the top of the Dutch door and there, hidden from view on the other side, was the smallest pony she had ever seen!
“Titan is a Falabella—a miniature horse,” her Aunt said. “Nine hands tall. But such a big little horse, so much character! And quite the bossy-boots too! She keeps the big horses in line, I can tell you. Don’t you, Titan?”
The tiny pony looked up at Issie and Hester. Her eyes were barely visible beneath her shaggy brown mane as she gratefully accepted Hester’s offer of a carrot.
Hester left the top half of the Dutch door open and moved on to the next stall. “This is Dolomite,” she said. Issie looked down, expecting to meet another miniature, but in fact Dolomite was just the reverse; he was an enormous bay Clydesdale with a broad white stripe running down his nose.
“Dolly is eighteen hands,” Hester said. “You’d need a step ladder to get up on him, wouldn’t you?”
Issie reached her hand up to pat Dolomite’s nose. The gelding was so huge she had to stretch to reach him.
“He’s a big softie. And very good for vaulting tricks,” Hester said as she bustled along to the next stall.
“This is Diablo, the silly boy that broke my ankle,” she said merrily. Diablo, a very handsome black and white piebald Quarter Horse, stuck his two-toned face over the stall. “Diablo loves doing cowboy tricks. He’s a bit of show-off but I do love him,” Hester said. “Diablo! Count to ten!” Hester barked at the horse.
The handsome piebald began to tap against the floor of the stall with his hoof, “one…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…nine…ten!”
Issie was amazed, but Aunt Hester just shrugged. “It’s not so clever. A simple trick. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
She moved across now to the other side of the stable and worked her way along the row, opening the doors to another two stalls. To Issie’s surprise, each stall contained a palomino. The horses were so alike they were almost identical. “Meet the girls,” Hester said. “That’s Paris Hilton and this one is Nicole Ritchie.” Hester stood there in front of the golden mares. “They’re as pretty as their namesakes but much smarter.” She grinned.
Hester opened the doors to the last two stalls now. “This is Scott,” she said, patting the nose of a large skewbald gelding with a