Creatures Great and Small

I walk into Katy’s Place just after seven AM and look for my sister. I don’t see her so I look for a table. Seven men and a woman, each in a police uniform, are sitting at a long table eating breakfast. Two tables have not been bused yet from the day before. The other tables, except for one, are taken by couples and one family. I sit down at the last open table.

It’s Sunday morning in this small Indiana town. The streets are quiet. Traffic lights blink red. Some folks, I figure, are at home getting ready for church and others are sleeping in except for a gaggle of seniors sipping coffee down at the MacDonalds. The rest are here in this small diner near the town square and the courthouse and halfway to my sister’s house. It’s my first time here.

There is only one waitress and she can’t keep up with the tables. Is it always this busy early on a Sunday morning? It’ll be some time before I can ask for coffee and some menus. But it doesn’t matter. I’m waiting for my sister to drop off my eight-year-old niece.

While I wait, I look around. There’s a half-wall between the long table where the police are sitting and the entrance. Across the room there is a partial wall separating the kitchen from the served. On the wall I’m facing is a picture of a black horse standing in profile in front of a white fence. The horse reminds me of Black Beauty, a horse-memoir book my grandmother gave me when I was a little girl.

The waitress comes over and asks me what I want to drink. I tell her coffee and chocolate milk. I let her know that there will be two of us. Waiting for the coffee, I have an idea. I give my friend Anne a call. I ask her if my niece and I could come over this morning after breakfast. Anne says “Sure!”

I’m spending the day with my niece. My sister is headed to a day spa for the works: a massage, manicure, pedicure, and facial. She told me when she called yesterday and asked about today that she has to get rid of a lot of built-up stress.

The waitress brings my coffee and the chocolate milk. She takes two menus from under her arm and plunks them on the table. And she’s off.

After a half-hour I see Mandy and my niece come through the door. They walk over to the table. My sister looks at me and says “Aimee wants to be called Adam. Be sure to say Adam.”  I don’t know what to do with this information. I have no place for it. I just tell Mandy that we have a big day planned and that I’ll bring “my niece” home later this afternoon. Mandy says “That’s fine” and then tells “Adam” to “behave with aunt Nora”. She begins to leave and I stop her.

“Listen,” I say to my niece, “this is our special day together. No phones.”

Mandy looks at me, her eye brows in a ‘V’, and says “Really?”. I say “Really”.

My sister takes the phone from my niece and says “Just for today. Just for aunt Nora.” She pockets the phone and leaves.

My frowning niece sits down where I put the chocolate milk. I ask about the chocolate milk. She takes a drink and says “It’s good”. She uses her tongue to wipe her upper lip. Her blue eyes follow her tongue like they’re connected. I can’t help notice that my niece’s beautiful blond curls have been cut off, the sides of her head are shorn. I didn’t say anything. What was I going to say?

“Did your mom take you to church last Sunday for advent?”

“She took me to the library. For story hour.”

My sister is the head librarian in her town. She has a Masters of Library and Information Science. I think that means that she should be really good at putting things in their proper place. But now I am having doubts about that.

The out-of-breath waitress comes over. I tell her we’re ready to order. I don’t want to keep Anne waiting. I order a stack of pancakes for my niece and some scrambled eggs with bacon and an English muffin for myself.

The room is loud with conversations, shuffling chairs, and some piped rock music. I want to have a conversation with my niece but I’m having a hard time hearing her, so I have her sit next to me at the table.

“Did you hear about Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus at story hour?

“No.”

“What did you hear about?

“Ah, something about, ah, boys liking boys, girls liking girls and a girl who wanted to be a boy. Stuff like that. It wasn’t Charlotte’s Web. Like last time.”

“Who read the stories to you?”

“Ah, some man wearing ah dress and a wig. He talked funny.”

“Did he say it was OK to pretend to be a boy all the time?”

She nodded yes.

“Does your teacher call you Adam?”

“Uh-Huh.”

“Do the kids in school call you Adam?”

“Uh-Huh. Miss Bigelow said they had to or they would be punished.”

I raised five kids and never had to deal with any of this. My kids chose what musical instrument they wanted to play and what sport to play in. At this point in the conversation, I hear myself wanting to come down on the whole gender switcheroo business, but I stop myself. I’ll just be Aunt Nora today and see what happens.

Our food arrives. I watch my niece take her time carefully lathering the pancakes with butter and then pouring syrup on the stack. Looking at her wide wonderful eyes, I feel that I can’t say nothing. I want to say things without saying things.

“You know,” I began again, “A woman runs this place. This is Katy’s Place. And that police officer over there (I point my head) is a woman. Both were girls once.” I hear myself forcing things with the obvious and tell myself that it’s time to shut up.

With a mouthful, my niece looks over at the long table. She turns back, swallows and says “What is advent?”

“Advent is the season of arrival – the arrival of Jesus our Savior into the world.”

“Oh.” She went back to eating.

“Hey kiddo. We’re gonna have a fun day. Right after this we’re going to a horse farm.” My niece tilted her head to one side and her eyes lit up. “My friend Anne has a new foal she wants you to see.”

We finished our breakfast and I paid the bill.

~~~

We drive over to next county where Anne has twenty flat acres of white-fenced property. The long driveway leading to her ranch house and the horse barns is lined with evergreen-shaped trees. The leaves are a deep green with a bluish tint. Birds dart back and forth between the dense branches.

I park the car near the front of the house and we get out. Anne leaves her porch chair and walks over. I introduce her to “my niece who wants to be called Adam” with a shake of my head “No”. Anne understands. She leads us over to the barn and the foaling stall. Inside is a baby horse – a foal.

“This filly was born last night,” Anne tells us. “I was sleeping by the stall and then got up for a bathroom break. Came back and found her waiting for me. It happens that quick.” Anne tells us that it takes around 11 months for a foal to fully develop inside of the mother- “the mare”.

“This one is already walking around, “I say.

“Foals can stand, walk, and trot shortly after birth,” Anne says. “They’re up and nursing within two hours of being born. It’s important that foals nurse. They get what they need in their mother’s milk. In about ten days they’ll be eating grass and hay.”

“What else can you tell us about fillies?” I ask, hoping she’ll say things without saying things.

“Like all foals, this one will grow rapidly and be playful. During their first year, they learn to walk, run, and develop strong bonds with their mothers. Fillies are delicate and refined in their build compared to colts. They are known for their grace and agility. They are calmer than colts.”

Anne turned to my niece. “What shall we call her?”

My niece’s jaw dropped and then, ten seconds later, out came “Addie. Let’s call her Addie.”

“Why Addie?” Anne asked.

“For Advent,” my niece came back.

“Addie it is,” Anne said. “Do you want to learn some tips on horsemanship?”

My niece said “Oh yeah.”

Anne started heading to the tackle room with my niece in hand but I stop them.

“Anne, hearing you say “tips” just reminded me that I forgot to leave a tip at the restaurant. Dear Lord! I get into my head and lose track of things like my keys and my glasses and tipping. I need to go and make this right before the waitress leaves. Can my niece stay with you while I do this?”

“Sure,” Anne replied. “There’s lots to see and do here.”

Back at the restaurant I walk past the tables and behind the kitchen wall. The waitress is surprised to see me. I hand her the tip money and apologize for forgetting. She looks relieved. Walking out, I see the horse picture again. On the way back to Anne’s I think about Black Beauty.

The story of a highbred horse’s life is told by Black Beauty. As a colt, Beauty enjoys carefree days on the farm. But things change when owners sell him. Some owners are kind, some are cruel, and some are bungling when it comes to horses.

Under one master, Beauty and his best horse friend Ginger are forced to wear the check rein – a piece of a carriage horse’s harness to keep the horse from lowering its head. This was done to make the horse look fashionably noble in Victorian times. But the check rein caused lasting pain and undercut a horse’s pulling strength. Beauty and Ginger had to learn to live with this.

Another owner, a man with a drinking problem, didn’t look after Beauty’s shoes. Beauty’s legs collapse at one point and the owner is thrown off and dies. After a corrective medical procedure, Beauty’s legs are permanently scarred. No longer considered presentable enough, Beauty is put to hard work as a job horse.

Beauty is rented out by drivers who do not know how to properly take care of horses. As a result, Beauty incurs long-term physical harm. The author Sewall wrote the story from the horse’s point of view “to induce kindness, sympathy, and an understanding treatment of horses”.

Back at Anne’s place I find my niece sitting on a chestnut horse called Sassy and wearing one of Anne’s wide-brimmed cowboy hats. From the look on my niece’s face, I didn’t have to ask Anne how it went.

Later, as my niece and I head to the car, Anne offers to have us come every weekend to see Addie grow and to teach us western riding. I ask about that.

She explains that it involves learning how to sit deep in the saddle, how to walk, jog, lope, and gallop a horse, how to hold the reins with the non-dominate hand, and teaching a horse to be responsive on very light rein contact to move in the direction you want instead of a pulling motion.

At the car, Anne tells my niece “Going forward, I’ll need your mom’s approval”.

“We’ll talk to her,” I say looking at my niece. “Let’s see what happens.”

©Jennifer Ann Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

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Black Beauty | Anna Sewell | Lit2Go ETC (usf.edu)

PDF>>> Microsoft Word – Black Beauty.doc (freeclassicebooks.com)