LEDDY'S POV
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Today's the day... This is my first thoughts as I wake up on the prickly, yet soft, hay. My plad shirt and jeans are covered in it. A sense of overwhelming peace is quickly replaced with the thought of my parent's divorce happening right now. If God would allow it, I would happily die right now. In the small town I love so much. Cody, Wyoming. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. Mom and dad are forcing me to live with my Grandma and Grandpa in Utah. They don't even live on a farm. The feeling of being fenced in, I know, is going to send me spiralling down to depression...
My brothers are already gone. Rowdy and Sam. They got to stay with my aunt and unlce in Washington State. Even got to take their horses with them. But me? No. Shorty has to stay here with a band of other wild Quarters and probably forget everything he's ever learned and go ferrel again. He's a Quarter Horse with the heart of a Mustang. I don't know when I'll see him again. But I do know it will be before I graduate High School. A familly friend is renting the house and farm until we figure out what we really want to do with it. It hurts to even ponder the word, goodbye.
My hands stretch forward as I lay on my left side and stroke the hide of my German Shephard asleep next to me. "At least you get to come, Charlie." I whisper.
He opens his eyes for a slip second and then closes them again and licks his teeth. Charlie's so old. He's twelve years of age and still going. That's another thing that hurts to think about. I'll have to be buying a new dog soon.
The barn door squeaks open and my nabor walks in carrying an empty bucket used to feed the chickens. That's my mom's job around our homestead. Must've meant they left too. It's really just me left here. Me and the nabors. Grandma and Grandpa should be here at noon or one.
"Good morning, Leddy," Mrs. Spiller says. She's a portlee lady with a warming smile and curly hair.
I start getting up and brushing off the sticky hay. "Mornin'."
Mrs. Spiller walks over to the bag of Poultry food and starts scooping some in. "Would you like to take a chicken from the barn as a farewell present? Dead of course. We can't let you take a live one." She giggles. "Only God knows what those city folk will think of it pooping on their lawn."
"Oh. Sure." I look around the barn like I lost something. "Don't know if we have a cooler anymore, though. Dad took most the outdoor cooking supplies with him yesterday."
"That's quite alright. You can have ours."
"No, I can't-"
"Please. I insist." She stands up straight and points the scooper at me. "I like you a lot better than your wild brothers. So consider it a token of our friendship."
I laugh. "Alright. When should we kill one?"
"I'm thinking after you take Shorty out for a last run."
My heart starts to flutter with a glimmer of happiness. It's like Mrs. Spiller read my mind. It's like I can hear my own personal music! That's all I wanted out of this day. One last run. One last ride on the lone green prairy that surrounds our house for miles an miles. I know what I'm going to do. Take my fishing pole and catch a few trout down at the creek. I can tell Mrs. Spiller that, but like always, I'm sure she already knows. Maybe that's another reason why she's bringing her cooler down. Sometimes I wish she was my mom.
I run out of the barn and toward the coral where Shorty is. His chestnut coat is dark without the sun over the hills yet. His head is low; eating a pile of hay. Someone must've fed him before I woke up. It seems about 5:30 am. Shorty perks his ears and sees me coming over.
