Free Macadoo of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau Page B

tails wagging furiously in the tall grass.
    “Yip, yip, yip.” The hunt master called the pups back. “Yip, yip, yip.”
    This should have been a fun day of working with the young dogs who were all yelping and playing in the field, but something had gone terribly wrong.
    The kindly Doctor Russ stopped and pointed just beyond the beagles, where I saw Poppa on the ground.
    “There, Izzy, let’s go!” he shouted.
    Izzy had never galloped. Doctor Russ didn’t ask, but still we charged onto the field. Izzy grabbed even more mane, and we raced to Poppa.
    I called across the field to all who could hear. “I’m coming! Macadoo, the Belgian, is coming!”
    The mares and geldings of the hunt club whinnied back, and all the horses and dogs moved out of my path.
    Poppa held a bandage to his head, and his hunting jacket lay draped over his leg. He waved when he saw us. “Finally! Izzy, you’ve come! I wanted to see you, to tell you.”
    “Judge, you’re going to be fine,” said Doctor Russ. “You need to get to a doctor about that leg. It may take a while, but you’ll be fine.”
    Poppa’s faced paled, and he held his leg tighter. Izzy jumped down, ran the stirrups up the saddle, and slipped the reins beneath the stirrups. By doing this, Izzy was asking me to stand in this place until he came back. He pushed his way through the people crowded around Poppa. “Are you all right?” he asked.
    “I think so.” Poppa wiped his forehead and nodded. “Job took a long spot over the fence down at the bottom of the hill. Is that right?”
    “Poppa, you mean Molly. You rode her today,” Izzy corrected his grandfather.
    Doctor Russ, who had dismounted the mule, spoke up. “Your Poppa wasn’t riding Molly. I was. He took my green horse, Picasso, out today. He’s right about the long spot over the fence. Picasso clipped it just enough to throw Judge here off balance and out of the saddle.”
    “I’m still not sure how I ended up sprawled out in the grass or how my helmet came off. My head hurts.” Poppa winced. “My leg, too.” He reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a flask, and took a swig.
    Izzy asked him, “Poppa, what are you drinking?”
    For a moment, Poppa held the container out. “Here.”
    Izzy smelled the bottle, then took a sip. “Cider.” He smiled and bent down to kiss his poppa.
    We stayed on the field until the ambulance took Poppa away; then we walked home through the forest. Everything about our lives changed that day.

P oppa went to the hospital, and we went home to Cedarmont without him. When Izzy and I trotted back out of the woods, Job was standing guard at the gate, awaiting us, like he said he would be. Doctor Russ turned Molly out with Job and me. Izzy didn’t correct him and I was glad. I didn’t chase the white ducks or charge the sparrows that day. We all wanted to be together to await Poppa’s return.
    Molly blamed herself, but how could she have changed Poppa’s decision about riding the young, green horse? “You know Poppa,” Job consoled her. “Stubborn as you.”
    Izzy stayed out in the paddock with us well past nightfall. Even when Doctor Russ came out to get him, Izzy wouldn’t leave. A trace of moon peeked in and out of the clouds and made only a dim light. With no wishing stars in sight, I wished anyway that Poppa would be well and hurry home.
    Poppa didn’t come back to Cedarmont. Izzy went to stay with Doctor Russ, but still came to tend to us every day. During the daytime and nighttime, Izzy left the gate between our two fields open so Molly, Job, and I could graze freely together.
    One evening some weeks later when the nights turned cold, Izzy visited for a long while with us in the pasture. Like always, he scrambled atop my back. He took a flashlight from his pocket and read from his notebook. Then he wrote about Poppa, not birds or weather or insects.
    Poppa sat up today and ate oatmeal, toast, and black coffee. He tried to read the paper. I read it to him, then