The school would call my mom and tell her I was missing. She knew to check Baxter’s first. There I’d be on my paint horse, riding down the road with a big smile on my face.

If I was in a good mood, Rowdy might test me. If I was in a hurry, he wouldn’t let me catch him. He taught me trust. He taught me not to trust too much. I learned to be a little leery.

The other girls at the stable could use the hose on their horses but I had to give Rowdy a sponge bath with a five-gallon bucket of water. He never got used to the hose — it sounded like a snake.

My horse could tell if I was having a bad day. If I was sitting in the stall or out in the pasture crying, he’d nudge me with his head until I started laughing. If I was riding him and thought, I want to go a little faster, he’d go a little faster. He was always looking at me — and I’d be looking back at him.

If your parents don’t get along, if they argue, if there’s an abuse situation, you’ve got your horse. When things were bad I’d go to the horse and the horse would always make it better. That’s why I always say my horse raised me.

THREE

A LITTLE WIND-UP CLOCK

When I was sixteen I wrote letters to horse trainers and racetracks. I got their names and addresses from the racing programs I’d collected. I told them I would work for room and board to learn the ropes.

I got a call from an outfit in Denton, Iowa — BT Beau­regard, Buford Beauregard and his brother Lester. They had three thoroughbreds and a quarter horse. I lived with them on their farm all summer while school was out — Bud and Lester and their friend Riley Walker from Tindall.

I learned how to run bandages and how to put a mud knot in a horse’s tail. I learned to massage their legs to get the blood going.

I had a little wind-up clock. When they said to rub each leg for five minutes, I had my clock to make sure I did.

I had a favorite horse — Buckin’ Bones was his name. Oh, I loved that horse. I loved all my horses. I spent the day always with the horses. Everybody called me Bones.

SHORT-IRON