One Bay Later

Chapter 1

Three months ago, I was standing in a barn, ready to buy a horse...or well looking at a horse I might buy. The owner leaned down and rubbed his hands again on the horse's cannon. What was he doing that for? He put the halter on the horse and led him out. The horse walked out no problem and seemed gentle and sweet. Again the owner, Mr. Dale leaned down to check the horse's cannons again.

The horse's name was Scotty and he was a ten year old mustang gelding. He was apparently "gentle, sweet, and friendly." So far, he showed most of those traits, no problem. But what was with the cannon checking?

We were looking at a mustang horse for me.

No it wasn't for riding.

It was for my halter class.

The owner tied the horse up and leaned down to check the cannons again.

There was something wrong.

I leaned over to my dad and whispered, "He keeps checking his cannons. There must be something wrong."

My dad nodded, "There is. I'm going to ask him to jog him up."

I nodded back. The man showed the horse's little quirks like a good seller would. This horse was sensitive on the stomach and was a bit antsy about his right front foot being picked up. He checked the horse's cannons once more. As he groomed with his back to me, I shook my head. This wasn't the horse.

Okay, the horse seemed fine so far, but there was something wrong with his cannons. The owner wouldn't check the cannons that often unless the horse had a tendon problem or some sort of problem with the cannons.

Throughout the grooming session, the owner kept on checking the cannons.

My dad asked the man to trot up the horse and he did so. The horse was not lame, but I noticed that the owner looked quite worried. There was something wrong.

The owner led the horse into a arena and again, before lunging the horse, he checked his cannons. My dad didn't want to be rude about it and ask about it but rather when the owner finished lunging, the owner asked, "So how do you like him?"

"He is a fine horse, very mannerly, but I don't like his gaits that much," Dad commented.

"His gaits are perfectly smooth."

"Well, I don't really like the sickle hocks"

Mr. Dale leaned nodded, understandingly.

The owner leaned down once more to check the cannons.

"Sorry if we wasted your time. Good luck on finding a buyer," my dad said politely.

"Thank you," I said a little to quietly probably.

"Don't worry. I am trying hard on finding a good home for him so I'm not much in a rush," Mr. Dale, nodding and waving.

I clambered back into the passenger seat of the truck.

My dad nodded and said, "The horse has something wrong with his leg. This horse business is hard. You see, more and more people don't want to buy horses so our business is going down. It's hard to find buyers these days." He drove out of the area.

I've lived on our horse breeding farm all my life. It was my home.

"We aren't doing that bad are we?" I asked, worried.

"We are doing fine so far, but I'm afraid that business will slow down a bit. We're doing fine though since I've started working at the tack shop. You want to take a drink at the cafe?" my dad asked, turning into the parking lot anyways, not waiting for me to respond.