Free Solomon's Oak by Jo-Ann Mapson

“Calm down, buddy, we’re almost there. Fresh hay awaits.”
    Dan slowed the truck down until they were side by side. “He’s doing great so far. Keep good hold of the reins.”
    “Dan, I’ve been riding horses for twenty years. I think I can get this one home without a wreck.”
    “I’m just here to provide conversation,” Dan had said.
    Was there ever a moment he failed to have her back?
    They made it up the long driveway, past the white mailbox that sometimes spooked Cricket, and past the bleating goats. Five hundred feet or so from the barn, Glory halted the gelding and dismounted. Holding the reins in her right hand, she reached for the cinch buckle with her left. That was as far as she got before Piper yanked the reins out of her hands and jumped the six-foot fence. There he stood, nose to nose with a squealing Cricket. So much for Glory’s idea of keeping them separate until she could slowly introduce them. The two old horses whinnied back and forth like long-lost cousins. Dan opened the gate and eased the saddle off, then the bridle, replacing it with a breakaway halter until they were sure of Piper’s temperament.
    “Looks like we need a taller fence,” Dan said as they stood watching the horses snorting and play biting. Over and over, Piper lifted his upper lip in flehmen, that peculiar curling ability ungulates possess and horses use to take in and process scent. “He’s got a lip tattoo,” Dan said while the horses reared up and bucked a few feet just for fun. “Bet we could find out where he came from.” Glory didn’t care about that. Witnessing this intense conversation reminded her of falling in love with her husband. It was like trying to condense your life story into five minutes so you could move on to the good stuff.
    After some digging, Dan verified the riding-school connection, fifteen years prior. From the day Piper arrived, those horses were no more than five feet from each other. Once, when Cricket colicked, Dan put her on pellet feed and confined her separately in a barn stall. When Glory went to check on her, she discovered that Piper, the food hog, had carried half his hay ration to the stall and dropped it into Cricket’s paddock.
    Glory’s last-chance dogs had to be convinced to bond with humans. They could survive in a shelter, bulk up with her, but in a home they would thrive. Glory taught Cadillac hand commands, a variety of whistles, and even played around with the rudimentary basics of search-and-rescue training. Whether she asked him to fetch a Frisbee, round up the goats, or lead the way home, she barely had time to think of the idea before he did it. Tonight she rubbed his ears and asked him to go to Juniper, who stood on the back porch, unwilling to come any further. “Hug,” Glory whispered.
    Cadillac headed for Juniper, but when he was only a couple feet away from her, without any cue, dropped down and crept on his belly, like a soldier crossing a field, relying on proximity instead of cover. When Cadillac reached Juniper, he sat for a handshake, and when that didn’t materialize, he rolled over to show her his belly and batted his paws in the air. He whimpered, sat up on his back legs, and practically wrote her an e-mail; he wanted her to touch him so badly. Glory was proud of him for waiting until the feeling was mutual. Juniper lasted a minute before she came down the porch steps and squatted down to put herself at the dog’s level. Cadillac turned over and shook himself, then began to squeal until she allowed him to come into her arms and give her a tongue bath. The moment they touched, his tail began to beat like a thresher. He yipped and licked, and the two of them stayed like that for so long that Glory had to look away. She watched moths circle the yellow porch light. She listened as the wind rushed through the great oak. Eventually, she went to Juniper and placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder.
    Juniper looked up through her tears and said, “If