Horses
We were coming up on the final barrel, the one closest to the barn. Now, one lightning turn around it and...
The mare didn't turn. Instead, she had the bit in her teeth and was pounding straight for the barn, faster than she'd ever run before. I gave up trying to turn her. I just wanted to stop her. She was heading straight for the open barn door. There was only one problem. The doorway was high enough for a horse. But not for a horse with a rider on its back. If I didn't do something fast, I was about to lose my head.
He opens his hand, and there's this little plastic bag of powder. White powder. He reaches into his pocket again and pulls out a short straw. "Voila," he says. "Care for a toot?"
I stare at the cocaine, and while part of my brain wants to say, "No, jerk, get out," another voice inside me is saying, "Why not?"
The horses' iron shoes scraped, metal against solid stone. Slowly they struggled upward, legs bent, lungs wheezing. Society Girl's halter rope tightened in my hand. I looked back. The old mare was really having problems.
Groaning, she put her head down and lurched over one of the big rocks, her shoes slipping.
Then, as though in slow motion, she crumpled to the ground.
