Heart and Soul (rewrite)

Chapter Seven

Mom slowly taught me that she didn't want me to run just yet, that I could walk while she sat on my back, not doing anything, just sitting up there.

I liked walking, but it became boring after a while. Then she started picking up her reins, and putting them down. I learned to keep the same pace when Mom picked up my reins as I did when they were just resting on my neck. Next, Mom crossed the reins beneath my neck, and I quickly learned to neck rein. Still never breaking a walk, she taught me turns on the haunches and the forehand, and the basics of polo.

Chase a little white ball around. It's more fun than it sounds, I promise. She wrapped my legs, put bell boots around my hooves, and I wore leather almost everywhere you could look. I loved it.

The muscle mass in my neck returned as Mom taught me how to flex and get on the contact, and when we finally began to trot my hindquarters took on a healthy rounded look. Mom loved me, and Annie spent hours grooming me. She used to sing to me, soft, quiet sounds. One day she sang a sad tune, called Whiskey Lullaby. She hugged my neck.

"You like that? I think it fits you. You ran yourself into the ground for humans, and all they did was put you out." She turned back to currying a stubborn patch of mud off my rump. "Like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette."

My name was born: Whiskey Lullaby, Whiskey for short.

As I grew even better at polo Mom roached my mane. The clippers were hot and tickled as they glided down my neck, and the hair from my mane caused an itch I couldn't wait to scratch. The also clipped the top of my tail, and Vickingo told me it helps them tie it up.

Finally, polo season arrived. Our regular nylon halters were exchanged for soft leather ones, and one by one we followed Mom onto the trailer. Dad emerged from the house, led Paloma in. She was his favorite, and he was the only one who could ride her. I was Mom's favorite, Rex was Owen's, and Doxie held Annie's heart. Vickingo was the horse anyone could ride, and an easy keeper. I stood next to him for the trailer ride. To my left was Doxie, and she chattered away about polo games. She had never played in one, though. The drive was about ten minutes, and by the time we arrived my blood was up. Real polo sounded like a race, and that's what a Thoroughbred is born to do. What I was born to do.

Mom unloaded us and I looked at the expanse of green, trembling. Around us were trailers and horses standing placidly beside them. Dogs sat at the end of leashes, barking at other dogs, and late arrivals were chugging in, looking for a parking spot. Polo ponies cantered up and down the field, and scents assailed me. I snorted loudly, but the presence of steadfast Vickingo and done with it all Paloma. Doxie watched as Annie struggled under the weight of a martingale, saddle, saddle pad, girth, over girth, breastplate, and heavy, double reined bridle. Owen grudgingly helped her, and Dad tacked us up. Finally, our tails were tied up, our legs wrapped and bell boots secured, and we were covered in a healthy coat of fly spray. Mom came back to the trailer holding a sheet, and sat down in a chair.

"David, you're playing second and fifth with Paloma and seventh with Vickingo, I'm first on Vickingo, and third and sixth on Whiskey."

Dad nodded, and sat down on the step to the tack room to strap his knee guards on. Ready to play, he mounted Vickingo easily, and cantered on to the field. The air horn took some getting used to, but the chukkars flew by, and finally, finally, it was my turn.

Mom swung up onto my back and we trotted out to the field, where we hung back by the goal to defend. I watched the play as it sped up and down the field, more than a little jealous of those horses in the mix. The third chukkar ended, and I returned to the trailer frustrated and disappointed. Polo wasn't as fun as I thought it would be.

When the sixth chukkar rolled around I was cooler as I walked to the field, and we spent about four minutes at the goal posts. Then, the ball came streaking towards us. Mom squeezed my side and leaned forward.

"Let's go, Whiskey!" I rocketed off after that ball, lining myself up for Mom to hit it.

"Follow it!" Someone yelled. "Your horse is faster than mine, I'll defend!"

Mom nodded and nudged me again. I kicked my speed up a notch and bore down on the ball. Mom hit it again, a solid whack. Another horse came up on my left. Mom tapped me with her right leg and I pressed against the horse's shoulder, riding him off.

Then Mom missed a shot. But I was ready. I kicked it with my hind foot, sending it a few feet in front of us. Another horse came to ride me off, but I repeated my performance, leaning into him until he was forced off the line of the ball.

Polo was fun!

Mom sent the ball up field to an offender positioned in front of the goal, then cheered along with the crowds as the white ball sailed neatly through the white posts, the opposing team's horses barely a foot behind it.

The final air horn sounded almost regretful, as if it was upset about the end of the game. I couldn't blame it. We were untacked, hosed down, and loaded into the trailer. On the way back Paloma chattered about the goal she scored, Vickingo even piped up to add a few details to a couple goals he prevented, and Doxie was engaged with Rex, who was complaining about something, as usual. I couldn't help the tide of excitement that rose in my chest. I had finally found my purpose.

Polo.