Suki Wingy
02-23-2005, 01:06 AM
Here is a three page story I wrote for english class just now.
The Third
Player. Track and Jockey Registry name “I’m A Player” sired by the great Fast Play, the best son of Seattle Slew. On May 6, 1999 on a farm in Kentucky, a great son was born, a tiny, unmarked seal brown colt. Un-flashy, like his father and grandfather before him. And so started the life of the one who would eventually change me, all while it was just starting for me.
In May of 1999 I was preparing to adopt my first dog. Late in May, my mother surprised us with a large male American Pit Bull Terrier, Great Dane cross. He was piebald, with short, jet black fur draped over the traditional back and head. I loved this “Little Man.” Clark, as I called him, was a great dog, however untrained and too large to peacefully coincide with my two-year-old sister, arrangements were made for his original rescuer to take him back. In the beginning of the third week of June, I went off to camp, my parents Lake Geneva, and Clark Carriage Hill Kennels. The last time I saw him, almost six years ago, he was being lead happily through the door, tail wagging, by a kennel aid, unsuspecting, unaware that this would be the last time I was to see him. It was arranged that while I was at camp my mom and dad would drive him back to Indiana to the Great Dane Lover. All the while at camp and thereafter I cried and struck conversations up with people about their dogs, and what an unlucky and painful experience I had gone through.
The very next week we piled the family up in our car and drove downtown to the Anti Cruelty Society. Not one dog caught my eye at first, and I don’t even remember much up until I saw her. Lady, as she was called, was absolutely astonishing. She was huddled in the corner of her dog run; tail flattened and curled up as tight as she could be, shaking. Her fur was a vibrant white, and such contrast there was between the same shining, raven black of Clark’s coat and this pearly essence. I quickly noticed her eyes, unlike anything I had ever seen before; her left eye was a soft brown and her right and icy blue. City kids would pass and exclaim very loudly and very promptly such remarks as, “Hey mom, look at this one, it’s blind!” and discusted mothers would shoot remarks such as, “Look at it, we’re NOT taking that one home!” Which would quickly be followed by quotes such as, “Good, I never wanted a blind dog.” Mumbled by the children who brought attention to her in the first place. I saw her and my heart melted. I stood by her side, afraid to leave her to find my family in fear of someone else looking at her. I would stand there and say flatly, with an are of nervousness to anyone to so much as to shoot a glance at her, or try to see who inhabited the run I was guarding, “She’s reserved, were taking her out.” Once I saw my family, I called to them to come at once, and of course, was scolded from afar for yelling. I made quick, little, heart pounding trips to the row in front of Lady. Feeling and looking like a frightened dog who is starving, but stuck on a bungee cord, with food at the very end of it. Always running out and taking a nibble, heart pounding with terror, and allowing it to spring back in before an owner comes out to see what the dog has done. I was so high on adrenalin by then that I could barley tell them the story. Lady came home with us and we had to think of a more suiting name for her. My mother’s old past dog was called Lady, but I didn’t want to change it that much; she had already learned it. I thought of my favorite name, Delilah. My mother was against giving dogs long names and disapproved. I was perfectly happy with calling her Dilly, but my mom didn’t like it at all. She said “Leila”, which I thought was appalling for this beast. Then it hit us, Layla. Layla was the absolute perfect name for the grandest dog of all times. She was the kindest do you could imagine, loved to sleep next to my head, and constantly needed company. This constant need for company drove her to extreme measures. She tore out of her crate when alone, ripped the window screen open, jumped out, and climbed the fence to find us. She made several daring attempts at finding us while we were gone. She also tore up our floors, her crate, and whatever she could get a hold of through the small air holes in her crate while trying to get out and get to us. She also was very easily startled, and would respond in nipping towards the direction of the starling object or sound before thinking.
Almost five months later, my parents made that awful, life altering experience again. I was very upset and would weare Layla’s collar as a necklace, and was teased for it. I also slept wit hit the same place she slept every night. I wouldn’t be until just over seven months later until I got my Nino, the dog I am keeping forever. I stayed only emotionally attached only to Nino and my lizard, Tigger until I started riding.
Well, his glory days are over, he needs your help.” And so I imagine were the words spoken to my riding instructor by Player’s trainer in the fall of 2003. “What glory days?” would have been my instructor’s reply, “You mean his foal days spent care free on the farm? They were over a long while ago.
The great, beautiful horse was free of charged, and inevitably doomed, so he came to stay at Wedgewood Farms Equestrian Center in Wheeling. My favorite Quarter Horse mare had just been transferred to the new facilities at the old Happy Trails place in Wauconda. I normally would have been upset, but Player caught my eye.
When I heard his story, I thought of Ferdinand, the unfortunate winner of the 1983 Kentucky Derby who ended up at a foreign slaughterhouse. I took care of Player two days a week and eventually shared to boarding costs on him with his owner and rode him three times a week. My instructor and Player’s owner graciously taught me how to teach him. How to be loved, how to be a pet, and how to be ridden. He loved to jump and so did I, even though we both were novice. He slowly became my next emotional investment, I unconsciously told myself in the back of my head that I would buy him when I would get a job to pay for him. One day my instructor told me I was the first person other than Donna, his owner and herself that Player was being sold to Krystal, the girl who rode him on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and they were looking for a share-boarder. Sine I had already share-boarded hi, they all thought I was the obvious first choice. I was in shock, my mind was numb, but I climbed up and rode him like I have never before and since ridden a horse, to show I can connect with this horse. I knew, Wauconda was forty-five minutes away and Krystal was moving there to be closer to him. I knew my parents weren’t going to drive me there and back three days a week while the other watched the other two children in our family. I panicked and announced to a full car that we would be needing to go to the new place. They replied in sweet tones, “Ok, we’ll try Saturdays to see if it will work out.”
“ No,” I said again, “We really need to go. “ They again replied,
“That’s fine, we can try that.” I kept repeating the same thing over and over again until I was angry with them,
“No, they’re selling Player and they want a share-boarder!”
“Oh, honey, I don’t think that’s going to work out, but we’ll…” It all faded as I laid back onto the back bench of the mini van and cried into the fuzzy grey upholstery. When I started to feel carsick I sat up and asked where we were going because I was disoriented. My answer made me lay back down and cry.
“It’s really hot so we’re all going to Dairy Queen, do you want a Blizzard? You can have anything you want.”
“No, “ I said, “I don’t know what I want.”
I tried to order a raspberry Mr. Freezee, but I guess I ordered a blue raspberry freezee. I mixed in the ice cream and played with it. Guess I looked really funny because some girls sitting at a small table adjacent to us looked at me and snickered. This might seem like a little over reacting, but remember I had already gone through two of those life-altering mishappenings before and knew what was probably in store.
Player was moved to Wauconda along with the rest of the horses in the very end of July, 2004. It was happily worked out that I would pay a girl to drive me to the barn and then back home at the end of the day on Saturdays and ride Player for Krystal. I was quite relieved and this time had to cry happy tears, I was wrong. I returned from two consecutive one-week vacations to a different Player. He, being a “baby” was very upset in this change of schedule and started having “temper tantrums” He would bolt on a regular basis, kick more often, bite a lot more, buck at random, and now fiercely protected his food. (All claimed by Krystal) I wasn’t aloud to ride him at all, she wasn’t allowed to buy him, and pretty soon he was isolated to the farthest stall. One day Krystal came and told me he was tailored off to “somewhere in Iowa last month” and I was right then and there felling very different then you would expect; I was happy for him. Here he was lonely, bored and depressed. There he would interact with other people and horses and once he was settled it, be (I thought) very happy there, wherever it he is.
Now, every time I think about my past animals, I choose to think of all the good times I had with them, how they are probably happier now, and how I have changed every time another one of those life-altering experiences has happened. I like to think of Layla, Clark, Player, and all the other animals I have ever known- with a smile.
The Third
Player. Track and Jockey Registry name “I’m A Player” sired by the great Fast Play, the best son of Seattle Slew. On May 6, 1999 on a farm in Kentucky, a great son was born, a tiny, unmarked seal brown colt. Un-flashy, like his father and grandfather before him. And so started the life of the one who would eventually change me, all while it was just starting for me.
In May of 1999 I was preparing to adopt my first dog. Late in May, my mother surprised us with a large male American Pit Bull Terrier, Great Dane cross. He was piebald, with short, jet black fur draped over the traditional back and head. I loved this “Little Man.” Clark, as I called him, was a great dog, however untrained and too large to peacefully coincide with my two-year-old sister, arrangements were made for his original rescuer to take him back. In the beginning of the third week of June, I went off to camp, my parents Lake Geneva, and Clark Carriage Hill Kennels. The last time I saw him, almost six years ago, he was being lead happily through the door, tail wagging, by a kennel aid, unsuspecting, unaware that this would be the last time I was to see him. It was arranged that while I was at camp my mom and dad would drive him back to Indiana to the Great Dane Lover. All the while at camp and thereafter I cried and struck conversations up with people about their dogs, and what an unlucky and painful experience I had gone through.
The very next week we piled the family up in our car and drove downtown to the Anti Cruelty Society. Not one dog caught my eye at first, and I don’t even remember much up until I saw her. Lady, as she was called, was absolutely astonishing. She was huddled in the corner of her dog run; tail flattened and curled up as tight as she could be, shaking. Her fur was a vibrant white, and such contrast there was between the same shining, raven black of Clark’s coat and this pearly essence. I quickly noticed her eyes, unlike anything I had ever seen before; her left eye was a soft brown and her right and icy blue. City kids would pass and exclaim very loudly and very promptly such remarks as, “Hey mom, look at this one, it’s blind!” and discusted mothers would shoot remarks such as, “Look at it, we’re NOT taking that one home!” Which would quickly be followed by quotes such as, “Good, I never wanted a blind dog.” Mumbled by the children who brought attention to her in the first place. I saw her and my heart melted. I stood by her side, afraid to leave her to find my family in fear of someone else looking at her. I would stand there and say flatly, with an are of nervousness to anyone to so much as to shoot a glance at her, or try to see who inhabited the run I was guarding, “She’s reserved, were taking her out.” Once I saw my family, I called to them to come at once, and of course, was scolded from afar for yelling. I made quick, little, heart pounding trips to the row in front of Lady. Feeling and looking like a frightened dog who is starving, but stuck on a bungee cord, with food at the very end of it. Always running out and taking a nibble, heart pounding with terror, and allowing it to spring back in before an owner comes out to see what the dog has done. I was so high on adrenalin by then that I could barley tell them the story. Lady came home with us and we had to think of a more suiting name for her. My mother’s old past dog was called Lady, but I didn’t want to change it that much; she had already learned it. I thought of my favorite name, Delilah. My mother was against giving dogs long names and disapproved. I was perfectly happy with calling her Dilly, but my mom didn’t like it at all. She said “Leila”, which I thought was appalling for this beast. Then it hit us, Layla. Layla was the absolute perfect name for the grandest dog of all times. She was the kindest do you could imagine, loved to sleep next to my head, and constantly needed company. This constant need for company drove her to extreme measures. She tore out of her crate when alone, ripped the window screen open, jumped out, and climbed the fence to find us. She made several daring attempts at finding us while we were gone. She also tore up our floors, her crate, and whatever she could get a hold of through the small air holes in her crate while trying to get out and get to us. She also was very easily startled, and would respond in nipping towards the direction of the starling object or sound before thinking.
Almost five months later, my parents made that awful, life altering experience again. I was very upset and would weare Layla’s collar as a necklace, and was teased for it. I also slept wit hit the same place she slept every night. I wouldn’t be until just over seven months later until I got my Nino, the dog I am keeping forever. I stayed only emotionally attached only to Nino and my lizard, Tigger until I started riding.
Well, his glory days are over, he needs your help.” And so I imagine were the words spoken to my riding instructor by Player’s trainer in the fall of 2003. “What glory days?” would have been my instructor’s reply, “You mean his foal days spent care free on the farm? They were over a long while ago.
The great, beautiful horse was free of charged, and inevitably doomed, so he came to stay at Wedgewood Farms Equestrian Center in Wheeling. My favorite Quarter Horse mare had just been transferred to the new facilities at the old Happy Trails place in Wauconda. I normally would have been upset, but Player caught my eye.
When I heard his story, I thought of Ferdinand, the unfortunate winner of the 1983 Kentucky Derby who ended up at a foreign slaughterhouse. I took care of Player two days a week and eventually shared to boarding costs on him with his owner and rode him three times a week. My instructor and Player’s owner graciously taught me how to teach him. How to be loved, how to be a pet, and how to be ridden. He loved to jump and so did I, even though we both were novice. He slowly became my next emotional investment, I unconsciously told myself in the back of my head that I would buy him when I would get a job to pay for him. One day my instructor told me I was the first person other than Donna, his owner and herself that Player was being sold to Krystal, the girl who rode him on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and they were looking for a share-boarder. Sine I had already share-boarded hi, they all thought I was the obvious first choice. I was in shock, my mind was numb, but I climbed up and rode him like I have never before and since ridden a horse, to show I can connect with this horse. I knew, Wauconda was forty-five minutes away and Krystal was moving there to be closer to him. I knew my parents weren’t going to drive me there and back three days a week while the other watched the other two children in our family. I panicked and announced to a full car that we would be needing to go to the new place. They replied in sweet tones, “Ok, we’ll try Saturdays to see if it will work out.”
“ No,” I said again, “We really need to go. “ They again replied,
“That’s fine, we can try that.” I kept repeating the same thing over and over again until I was angry with them,
“No, they’re selling Player and they want a share-boarder!”
“Oh, honey, I don’t think that’s going to work out, but we’ll…” It all faded as I laid back onto the back bench of the mini van and cried into the fuzzy grey upholstery. When I started to feel carsick I sat up and asked where we were going because I was disoriented. My answer made me lay back down and cry.
“It’s really hot so we’re all going to Dairy Queen, do you want a Blizzard? You can have anything you want.”
“No, “ I said, “I don’t know what I want.”
I tried to order a raspberry Mr. Freezee, but I guess I ordered a blue raspberry freezee. I mixed in the ice cream and played with it. Guess I looked really funny because some girls sitting at a small table adjacent to us looked at me and snickered. This might seem like a little over reacting, but remember I had already gone through two of those life-altering mishappenings before and knew what was probably in store.
Player was moved to Wauconda along with the rest of the horses in the very end of July, 2004. It was happily worked out that I would pay a girl to drive me to the barn and then back home at the end of the day on Saturdays and ride Player for Krystal. I was quite relieved and this time had to cry happy tears, I was wrong. I returned from two consecutive one-week vacations to a different Player. He, being a “baby” was very upset in this change of schedule and started having “temper tantrums” He would bolt on a regular basis, kick more often, bite a lot more, buck at random, and now fiercely protected his food. (All claimed by Krystal) I wasn’t aloud to ride him at all, she wasn’t allowed to buy him, and pretty soon he was isolated to the farthest stall. One day Krystal came and told me he was tailored off to “somewhere in Iowa last month” and I was right then and there felling very different then you would expect; I was happy for him. Here he was lonely, bored and depressed. There he would interact with other people and horses and once he was settled it, be (I thought) very happy there, wherever it he is.
Now, every time I think about my past animals, I choose to think of all the good times I had with them, how they are probably happier now, and how I have changed every time another one of those life-altering experiences has happened. I like to think of Layla, Clark, Player, and all the other animals I have ever known- with a smile.