Free Dante of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau Page B

mightily.
    “What in the devil’s hills are you doing coming up here in shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops?” he demanded.
    “And a towel.” She waved the rag in his face.
    He didn’t take to folks getting too comfortable or too familiar with him too soon. By too soon, I mean ever.
    On seeing Filipia, I, for one, felt something on the order of relief scurry along my spine and escape my muzzle as a whicker.
    “Monkey! Come on. Let’s go for a swim.”
    As puzzling as the whole situation was to me, I went along with the girl. Gary remained as predictable as ever by blowing a big fuse and throwing a tantrum that would have put any one of mine to shame.
    Filipia didn’t waiver. “Sir, Gary, looks like you could use a cooling-off swim, too. Want to come with us to the river?”
    “You bet your boots I’m coming with you. This is not what we agreed to. You’ve got about another inch before I shut this ridiculous scam down. This is not how you break a Thoroughbred.”
    She went on as if she hadn’t heard a word. I lowered my head. She slipped on my halter, then I followed her out of the barn down a narrow grassy path. Gary, an inquisition of one, came with us.
    “You’ll love being surrounded by water. The Willis is the closest thing I could find to the ocean, Dante’s Inferno,” Filipia said.
    Her calling me by my real name, not by her nickname for me, told me that she meant business. She kept on talking while we walked, and when a rabbit tore across the path in front of us, she laughed and pointed toward the cottontail vanishing in the brush. Nothing could spook her. “So, that’s all we’re doing today, Monkey. Going for a swim.”
    The path disappeared over a low rise in the land, and for the first time, I heard the soft tinkling of the Willis River. Filipia slung her towel over a low-hanging sycamore branch. She said to Gary, “You can wait here, if you want. Or we can meet you back at the barn.”
    “Are you nuts? You’re not leaving my sight.”
    “If you’re sure. We’ll be a couple of hours, probably more.”
    Gary held up his camera. “That’s okay. I’ll take pictures. So no funny business.”
    “You should take pictures. And video, too, because no one will believe you. You won’t even believe you.”
    Through all this yimmer-yammering back and forth, I stood quivering at all the strange sights and sounds bombarding me from every direction: the white bark of the sycamore, the dark opening at the end of the path, the field of sunflowers, and the
chip-chip-chip
of the goldfinches.
    Filipia patted my neck to reassure me. She didn’t seem scared at all. “Ready to go for a dip?” She held my lead lightly, and we waded into the Willis. Having been enlightened by Grandfather Dante that this was the course I was to follow, I went with her.
    She gave not a hint of concern that I might not follow. Hey, a horse can pop a stop on almost any movement just by deciding he ain’t going forward or backward. But I wanted Filipia to succeed. Heck, I wanted her to prove Gary wrong. So, step-for-step I followed her.
    Now, a river is a beast of many manifestations. Never the same from one moment to the next. Like horses. Like people.
    Where we entered that day, the water was smooth and deep. A horse’s feet get tired of standing. Sure, we lay down now and again, but try lifting this body up off the ground. Awkward, at best.
    But moving my weight around in the water? Light as a blessing. And even better was having Filipia there, holding on to my lead rope, swimming nearby. I filled up and overflowed with joy and relief. All the lonesomeness and misunderstandings of my life surged out. I felt strong beside her and let the Willis quench all my fire away.
    Somehow, I knew what to do. Same way I knew Filipia had my best interests at heart. Same way I knew Melody wasn’t going to stick me with a needle. Like how on the first day I was born, I could stand up, then walk.
    Before too long, Filipia scooted up