Free Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits by Peter Dickinson, Robin McKinley

stables?ʺ and ʺHave you cleaned the tack yet?ʺ with deadly accuracy; and her mother usually had two or three (or four or five) cats underfoot in the house (the tanks and terrariums all had cat-proof lids; the African grey had a permanent ʺmake my dayʺ look in her eye) as well as several generations of mousers patrolling the barns.
    And then there were the horses. Jane ran a riding stable. She gave lessons on her own horses and boarded other people’s. Tamari had been a boarder. When Jane had finally told his very nice owner that he had to go, the owner had sighed and said, ʺHe’s been here almost a year. That’s almost twice as long as he’s ever been anywhere else. I was beginning to hope . . . oh, well.ʺ Tamari was a show pony; his manners were always as perfect as his looks at shows, and he had the trophies and ribbons to prove it. It was only when he was home again that he turned into something out of a bad creature feature.
    Miri wanted a dog. When she’d been very young and they had first moved to the then-derelict farm, there had been a man who came several weekends in a row with what seemed to Miri, at six, to be at least forty terriers—ferocious ratters, who had dealt implacably with the resident population. Twelve years later the man was still coming occasionally (her mother refused to put down poison, and there are always rats around a barn), although he had less hair than he’d had and more waistline, and the number of terriers had dwindled to three. Miri had been fascinated from the first by the gallant, indomitable little dogs, even though she couldn’t bear to watch them at their grisly business for long. And the boarders often had dogs; her mother occasionally permitted barn privileges for these on a case by case basis—and on the understanding that any dog caught misbehaving was instantly banned.
    Miri’s favorite was a border collie named Fay. Fay’s owner Nora had once told Fay to lie down at some little distance from where she was hosing her horse off, so she wouldn’t hose Fay too. But the hose and tap were at the edge of the driveway, and Fay was lying in the middle of it. Miri and her mother were coming back from a show with two tired, eager-to-be-home horses in the trailer when her mother had to stop because Fay was lying in the way. Her mother tried a gentle toot on the horn. Fay raised her head long enough to direct a withering glare in their direction, and then laid her head back on her paws.
    Her mother laughed. ʺWell, that put us in our place. Go tell Nora to call her dratted dog, will you please? She’s got that radio turned up so loud she can’t hear us.ʺ
    But Miri liked Oscar too, and Sammy, and Bramble. Miri liked dogs.
    ÊºI want a dog,ʺ Miri often said.
    ÊºNo,ʺ her mother equally often replied. ʺThere are enough animals around the place already.ʺ
    ÊºEnough of your animals,ʺ Miri said.
    ÊºWhat is Balthazar, then?ʺ said her mother. ʺChopped liver?ʺ
    Balthazar was Miri’s horse. He could do anything, including nod, count, and lie down on request, but his chief virtue in her mother’s eyes was that he and Miri led the weekend trail rides and, with Miri on his back, nothing ever bothered him: rabbits, raccoons, frisky ownerless dogs appearing as if by magic, plastic bags left by careless picnickers fluttering threateningly from the undergrowth, horses and riders who behaved rationally and competently in the outdoor arena having sudden inexplicable meltdowns without a fence around them: all the standard trail hazards. Unflappability had a price above rubies at a stable that needed weekend trail rides to make ends meet, and for this he was forgiven anything, including how much he ate. He had been—and for that matter still was—the best birthday present Miri had ever had.
    She still wanted a dog.
    ÊºA stable needs a dog,ʺ she said. ʺThe next time somebody tries