Free Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail by Lorraine Turner Page A

mid-sentence. There must be more to this story. Surely the purpose of the round-ups wasn’t to deliberately harm horses, was it? This news item was from a gathering last winter. Some of the members of Save Our Mustangs were meeting at the B&B to boost their membership and bring awareness to the problems facing the wild mustangs and burros. It was an ongoing dilemma, as people argued the best course of action for the herds that roamed the range. The wild animals, of course, had no say in the matter and so people tried to speak for them. That’s the biggest problem with this entire mess, thought Sam. If only the horses and burros could speak. They had their own language and a unique way of communicating but would people ever stop to listen?
    She heard a car door slam. Peering out the large picture window she spied the New Jersey tags. Finally, she thought, hurrying out to greet her best friend. Brenda was crying tears of joy as Sam gave her a bear hug. The girl got out of the car, grumpily looking everywhere for her collie.
    “Hi, Carrie,” said Sam, holding out her arms to greet her. Carrie allowed herself to be slightly squeezed and quickly backed away.
    “Where’s Flannel?” she asked, frowning. “Is she inside?”
    “She’s on her way. You’ll see her very soon,” Sam said, pointing toward the mountains. “Oh, I’m so excited you’re both finally here!” Brenda and Sam chatted and laughed as they began unloading the car. “Grab some of your stuff, Carrie,” Brenda said as she lugged a large suitcase up the front steps.
    Carrie was not one bit happy. Her mother promised that she would be reunited with her dog as soon as they reached Saddlecrest, but Flannel was nowhere around and nobody seemed the least bit bothered by it. What did Sam mean when she said, “She’s on her way”—and what was she pointing at, Carrie thought, looking around. The multicolored mountains she had seen earlier had turned a different shade now that the sun was much higher in the sky.
    She felt stiff all over and her body ached from the long ride. Carrie was so angry she felt like screaming and so she began stomping her feet. “This is so typical,” she said, kicking a small rock and watching it skitter beneath the porch. She looked at the faded sign hanging on rusty hinges from the post nearby. The red wooden sign was decorated with an emblem of two spotted horses. The rearing stallions faced each other under black letters reading, “Musical Mustangs Bed & Breakfast.” Carrie thought it looked old and worn and hoped her bedroom was a bit classier. Just then her mom called out a window. “Come see where we’re going to live, Carrie. You’re not gonna believe it!”
    Carrie clomped noisily up the front steps, carrying her overloaded navy blue duffle bag and orange backpack. The backpack held all of her personal items that even her mom wasn’t allowed to touch, like old birthday cards, photos, a few toys, some books, her shell collection, and her most prized possession of all—her journal. She followed her mother’s voice and made her way down a hallway lined in photographs of animals she’d never seen before. She stopped to look at a photo of a baby mountain lion. The frame was made of rough wood and a small square of fabric was dangling from a corner. She lifted the fabric and looked closely. It was a square of green cloth with tiny pink flowers. Carrie’s face burned in embarrassment, as she knew her mom must have told Sam about her dreams. She didn’t think this was such a funny joke and she put the swatch of fabric back on the photo frame, pretending to ignore it, and quickly found her way to a bungalow that was connected to the rear of the B&B.
    Carrie saw her mom and Sam out back through a screened door. They were standing in a patio decorated with outdoor furniture and lined with big pots of thorny plants. She looked around and noticed the wooden floors, a fireplace, and a large coffee table where her mom had