"Pidgy"

Chapter One - Daydreaming

Cindy Sawyer sat on the split rail fence of the pasture. Sadly, she watched a small Shetland mare cropping the tender spring grass. The pony still had most of her long winter coat. She looked almost like a very woolly teddy bear except for her heavy mane and tail. She had begun to shed. Patches of short summer coat were showing through on her shoulders and flanks, giving her a raggedy, nobody-loves-me appearance. Cindy sighed. It wasn't that she didn't love the pony but she just wished the little mare weren't so plain. Besides her rough coat and fuzzy mane, she was a peculiar color, too: sort of a dark chestnut but not quite. Sometimes she looked almost dun. Sometimes she was just brown—a dull, reddish, unlovely brown.

The pony's name was Pigeon but everyone called her Pidgy. Poor Pidgy. No one ever said, "Look at the pretty pony," or, "Gee, Cindy, I wish I had a pony like Pidgy." All anyone seemed to say about her was, "My, isn't she fat," or, "How do you ever get the tangles out of that mane," or "Isn't she a funny color!" Cindy would listen to all the things people said about little Pidgy and pat the pony mournfully and wish that Pidgy were a horse.

This was Cindy Sawyer's dream: a horse, a big spirited horse like Pete Greene's thoroughbred or even a middle-sized spirited horse like Shaw's Arabian….It didn't matter, really, as long as it had fire and vigor and was very beautiful.

This morning Cindy had ridden Pigeon around the town for an hour or so pretending she was riding Shaw's Arabian. With her heels nudging Pidgy's round sides she had tried to make the pony prance and toss her head as the Arabian did. But patient Pidgy, long used to thumping heels, plodded along evenly. She hadn't pranced since she was a filly and she had no intention of starting such nonsense now. Later, back in the pasture, she grazed peacefully while Cindy sat on the fence lost in misery over her.

"If only I had a horse," thought Cindy, "a beautiful spirited horse." Her dream was with her again, her almost constant companion. In Cindy's day dreams wild and wonderful horses galloped and leaped and pranced and tossed long silky manes and tails. Cindy rode these shining creatures clinging to their smooth backs with her hands in their flying manes…riding, riding, riding…while the wind rushed by, whipping the color to her cheeks, and the pounding of the horses' hoofs mingled with the pounding of her heart. As she rode, there would be other horses, too, all around her; palominos, golden with the sunlight on their coats, their manes and tails like the white clouds; glistening, satiny blacks with fire-red nostrils, snorting; glossy bays and chestnuts rearing and plunging; a blur of pintos and dappled grays and duns. But never were there any ponies; only horses, horses, horses. Everything was alive with them, pounding, snorting, neighing; a sea of flying manes and banner tails; the wonderful, heart stirring sound of horses. She could hear it; she could see it!

"Cindy, oh, Cindy!"

Suddenly the horses were gone. POP! They disappeared. Nothing remained. Nothing. Just Pidgy grazing. "Cindy, Cindy, where are you?”
Dazed, Cindy climbed off the fence. "I'm here, Mother, in the pasture," she called.

"Well, come and get washed up," called her Mother. "Lunch is ready. Hurry up!"

"Just when I was going to ride that palomino, too," muttered Cindy. Pidgy walked up to her slowly. She reached her tiny head through the rails of the fence to nose the little girl's pockets for a morsel of sugar. Finding none, she stretched her neck to reach the untouched grass beyond the fence. Cindy fondled the pony's long forelock.

"You're all right, Pidge," she said. "But I still wish you were a horse."

"CINDY, will you PLEASE hurry!" came the call from the house. "Lunch is getting cold."

Pidgy lifted her head and watched Cindy run across the lawn and disappear. For a moment she stood with her ears pricked. Then the sweet grass called her back to her grazing. She would have laughed a little pony laugh if anyone had called her "poor Pidgy" then. She was very happy.

"Mother," said Cindy, thoughtfully toying with her soup, "when can I have a horse?" She asked it without emotion, already prepared for the usual negative answer. She had asked the same question many, many times.

"Cindy, dear, you know Daddy has told you the subject is not to be brought up again," said her mother wearily. "Why do you keep pestering when you know it is impossible to have another horse now?"

"But Pidgy's not a horse," protested Cindy. "She's a pony and besides…"

"Cindy!"

Her mother sighed. It was the same thing over and over again. Cindy was obsessed with the idea of having a beautiful and spirited horse of her own. Nothing ever occupied her mind but horses, always horses. Mrs. Sawyer looked across the table at her little dark-haired daughter. Cindy's blue eyes were misty again as they always were after she had been refused her horse. "Why, oh why doesn't she understand?" sighed Mrs. Sawyer to herself. "I'll just have to get Bob to talk to her again."

Cindy looked up at her mother's troubled face. She saw that further discussion of the subject would be hopeless. "I'm sorry, Mother," she said. "I guess I just can't help it. I keep hoping that maybe someday you'll say yes."

Tossing her long dusky braids over her shoulder, Cindy got up from the table. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her faded blue jeans, she went toward the door.

"Cindy, you've hardly touched your lunch!" exclaimed Mrs. Sawyer. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, out to the barn. I haven't cleaned Pidgy's bridle yet and the bit's covered in green goo.  She kept grabbin' at leaves when I rode her on Shaw's trail this morning," Cindy answered.

"Well, take this apple and here's one for Pidgy," said her mother quickly. "And you eat yours, don't give them both to Pidgy. And, Cindy," she added, "don't feel bad, honey. Remember you are lucky to have even Pidgy. Think of all the little girls who can only dream of having ponies."

"Dream, Mom, dream!" cried Cindy. "That's what I…oh, never mind…" She took the apples, and letting the screen door of the kitchen slam, she hurried down the steps and across the lawn.

"Such a silly girl!" murmured Mrs. Sawyer and she turned and began to clear away the lunch dishes.

Pidgy's Palace, as Mr. Sawyer laughingly called the little barn, stood in the corner of the back lawn. It was built of neat white clapboards in a kind of salt box style. There was a Dutch door entry and a little aisle separating a box stall and a small feed and tack room. Overhead was a loft which held a ton of baled hay. The stall had iron grill-work in front and the door latch was a slide bolt decorated with a tiny pony shoe. It had all been built especially for Pidgy three years earlier.

Glancing briefly at Pidgy who was still grazing at the far side of the pasture, Cindy went into the barn. She took the pony's bridle down from the rack. Walking to the shelf above the feed box, she picked up a sponge and dampened it in a pail of water. Then she set to work cleaning the thick green stain off the snaffle bit. It was hard work. She really had to rub to loosen the stubborn coating of color. As she worked Cindy's thoughts returned again to her horses. Which breed would she choose if the choice were hers now? Of all the beautiful horses in her dreams, which one would stand out? For which one would she give up all the others?

Cindy pondered. Her imagination called back all the shining steeds from their ranges in her mind. They came swiftly, galloping to her with eager whinnying and flying hoofs. "Which of us do you want, Cindy?" they seemed to ask as they milled around her. "Which of us do you choose?"

A lovely palomino reared up in the midst of the group. His glinting golden coat reminded Cindy of the bright dome of the state capitol which she had seen on a school trip not long ago. His mane and tail were like the splashing waters of West River Falls in the spring. He pawed the air for a moment, flaunting himself. Then he disappeared among the others. Cindy sighed. Surely there could be nothing more beautiful.

With a squeal another horse separated from the group. This was a piebald mare. She stood for a moment with her head held very high. Her eyes, white-ringed, burned into Cindy's own. A breeze stirred her mane, blowing her black forelock over her face. She squealed again, snorting at the others. They opened their ranks and she, too, disappeared.

"If I had her I would call her Night and Day," breathed Cindy.

Other horses presented themselves. They were on review; each trying to outdo the other in beauty and vitality. An American saddlebred, a bay, appeared, with majestic, almost liquid action, seeming scarcely to touch the ground. He pranced momentarily, his silky mane and tail flowing about him. He arched his neck looking at Cindy with large lustrous eyes. Then he too wheeled and was gone.

Gradually all the horses disappeared, their color and brilliance fading like a summer sunset. Cindy sat on the overturned bucket in the feed room, with Pidgy's half-cleaned bridle in her lap. It was very quiet. There were no throbbing hoof beats, no piercing whinnies, no shining coats, no horses; just the gray light of the feed room and the green-stained bit on Pidgy's bridle.

Then suddenly there was a horse sound, a low nicker. Cindy jumped, startled. She turned quickly and there was Pidgy looking in the feed room door. There was a very mischievous pony expression on her face.

"Pidgy!" cried Cindy. "How in the world did you get out of the pasture?"

Pidgy peered longingly toward the feed box and looked innocent. "No luck this time," her expression seemed to say. "It was so quiet in here I was sure there was no one around." She admonished herself for not waiting to be sure the barn was empty before attempting a raid on the feed box. Now Cindy had caught her in the act and would take greater precautions to keep her from getting out again. Pidgy's intelligent pony face was the picture of dejection as Cindy led her back to the pasture. The latch of the gate was unfastened. The pony had been working on it with her teeth.

"Now you get back in there and behave yourself, Pidge," said Cindy, slapping the pony smartly on the rump. "I can see Daddy is going to have to put a pony-proof fastener on that gate for sure, now."