Chapter 2


The Whitewood sale yards were abuzz with activity. Held on the last Friday of each month, they sold all manner of livestock and farming equipment. The day had become a family gathering as well, now that the local Country Women’s Association, and the local RSPCA branch ran stalls, jumble sales, pony rides, a jumping castle and various food stalls to raise money. Ebony eased the F100 and the old grey horse float into a parking spot, looking at Lisa apologetically as the truck belched and spluttered to a halt. Lisa just rolled her eyes and laughed as they hopped from the cab.

Ebony recognised a few of the families from her school. She waved at some teens eating chips and draped lazily about the tray of an old ute.
“G’day Miss”, they called.

The smell of Dagwood dogs, donuts and fairy floss hung in the air, mingling with the musty stench of animal manure, dust and heat. In patches, the green grass – well-trodden – had been replaced by areas of red-brown hard-packed dust. A few blow flies did the rounds, sticking to sweaty brows and tickling hot skin. The sleepy Australian summer afternoon did nothing to abate the energy of the children, who flipped and cavorted inside the plastic sagging jumping castle. It had a donkey’s head hanging lethargically from the centre of the roof. Occasionally a child was ejected roughly, crying from a bumped-head or a bit-lip.

Lisa lolled her tongue out from the side of her mouth and lifted her hand to her mouth in a ‘drinking’ motion. Ebony nodded her agreement and they made a bee-line for the nearest food stall.

Four raspberry slushies later, the two women wandered between the livestock holdings and admired the stock. The air inside the hug pavilion was slightly cooler, but unmoving. The sheep panted in their pens and chickens protested jerkily, beaks parted.

“Is it lot 67, or 76?”
“Ummm,” Ebony turned the pages of her catalogue. “74? No – wait. Here it is: ‘4 x 2 yo miniature goats - F.’ That was it, yeah?”
“Mmm hmm,” Nodded Lisa in agreement, stopping to scratch the wide, bristly behind of an enormous pig. The pig’s lips curled upward as it grunted its appreciation.

Ebony cast her eyes along the rows of stalls. Most of the smaller livestock was kept toward the back, which is why something caught her attention. Ebony had done a double-take, thinking that the corner stall held a large black mule. She’d never actually seen a real mule before and was just about to tug Lisa’s sleeve and point, when a second glance at the animal hit her like a fist in the gut. It was the biggest, ugliest, most decrepit horse Ebony had ever seen. Leaving Lisa to indulge the pig, Ebony sidled up to the horse feeling her heart break. The horse was black with a huge white blaze down his long face. His muzzle and dangling lower-lip brushed the dusty floor, as though lifting his head was just too much for his sinewy neck. His spine and rib cage resembled a rail hung with empty wire coat hangers, and his coat had the look and feel of Hessian. The horse’s dinner plate feet were spilt from floor to coronet, and a large gash on the horse’s chest exposed its flesh like raw meat hanging from a meat hook. The horse made no attempt to swish the flies from its wound or its sticky eyes. Ebony fought the urge to wretch, checked the animal’s teeth, and was stunned to see that it may have been only five or six. It looked like it had been suffering for about 80 years.

Ebony glanced around for Lisa and noticed an old man shovelling aside the manure of the three Hereford steers in the next stall.
“Excuse me?” The man looked up from under his old terry-cloth fishing hat. “Um, is this your horse?”
The old man spat with disgust. “No m’am. I wouldn’t have kept that animal alive long enough to bring it down here. Horrible, the way some people treat their animals.”
“I know.” Ebony agreed. “Do you know what he’s doing here?”
“Well, now. He came in with some business men. Real posh suits an’ all that. Think they were divvyin’ up some poor old sod’s deceased estate. Don’t think they knew what to do with ‘im.”
“Hmm. Hoping the doggers would take him I guess.”
“Yes m’am. Though I reckon they’d be hard up to find any meat on the poor wretch’s bones. Poor lad’s only good for the grave, aren’t you old timer?” The man conceded rubbing the horse’s sparse, grubby forelock. The glazed eyes hardly moved.
“Thanks. Good luck with your cattle. They’re really good-looking animals.” The old man raised a hand modestly and returned to his shovelling. Ebony trotted-off to find Lisa, knowing what she was about to do was foolish at best, but not being able resist.


A few hours later the ancient F100 grumbled and groaned its way around the barn and into its parking spot. With a final cough, and a shudder it shook its squeaky chassis and settled down to sleep. Ebony fell soggily out of the cabin, catching her foot in the truck’s step and tripping unceremoniously onto the driveway. It was dusk, hazy and grey. A sharp whinny trilled from the innards of the barn and Eb called out “Yeah, yeah Boss – in a minute!” She felt so dehydrated from the day, she took a few seconds to gulp a few handfuls of water straight from a nearby tap.
“Right Mister” she said straightening up and heading to the front access door of the float. Wrenching at the protesting handle, she reefed the door open and peered inside. The big black bulk stood where she had left him, one back leg resting on a toe. His nose was snuffling at the doorway – his dirty white blaze the only part of him discernable in the half-light.

“There’yar buddy, all done. We’ll get ya inside and mix you up some dinner, ok?” She scratched his long, knotty forelock and untied his lead before letting down the tail ramp. This was a habit from the years she’d owned Boss. When Boss had come to her, he’d had a habit of running backwards madly out of the float and hitting his head on the roof. If he was tied up, it only made matters worse, as he often struggled against the rope too. Having to go to-and-from events mostly alone, Ebony had realised quickly that she was unable to undo the float’s tail bars, undo the lead, and avoid being trampled at the same time. It had taken weeks and weeks of patient training, but now Boss stood quietly in the float – whether tied or not – until Ebony gave him the command to “Back Up”. She intended to keep up this routine with all her horses.

The big black animal trundled clumsily backward down the ramp and stood at the end sniffing the air. He shook heartily and looked around. It was the most energetic thing Ebony had seen him do so far. “Good boy” she murmured patting him on the neck. A pair of headlights appeared in the driveway, and began winding down the track as Ebony recognised her Mum’s old station wagon.

“Hi Sweety – I hoped you’d be home! Did you get the goats? How was school? Did you have a good day? Goodness - he’s skinny? Whose horse is he?” Dale Tyler Busted around her daughter in a fug of patchouli, ylang ylang and wooden beads. Even the horse eyed her with interest. She wore a long green sari-style sarong, and her medusa hair was piled in an erupting volcano on top of her head. Her arms jangled with wooden beads and bracelet’s.

“Yes, yes, good. Yes, yes, and mine.” Ebony laughed. She was used to her mother’s flamboyance and habit of asking several questions without taking a breath. It was her infectious energy which made her such a hit with the day-care kids.
“Oh look at him” Dale breathed, closing her eyes. She breathed in deeply and nodded slowly. “Oh yeah, Eb, he’s an ‘old soul’. A very old soul. He’s been here before, yeah.”
Ebony smiled. “Well he’s not gonna be around much longer if I don’t hurry up and get some food into him, hey buddy? Can you help me get him settled, Mum? I kinda wasn’t planning on bringing a horse home with me today!” she laughed.

Inside the barn, the light was dim, but the atmosphere was quiet and warm. Ebony loved it. The building was a two story barn, corrugated iron outside, but lined inside. It was a temporary fixture: Erected to house the owner-builder while they built the permanent home, but it suited Ebony perfectly. Down stairs contained 4 stalls, a laundry, feed and tack room, and a small area with a couch, coffee table, and a few odd chairs. Upstairs was where Ebony lived. It was small: Just a kitchenette, ensuite, and a large room, which was used as the all purpose lounge room, bedroom, and everything else! The corrugated iron meant that sometimes when the weather was bad, the sound of the rain was deafening! It had taken her a few sleepless winter nights to get used to the noise. But she loved being close to the horses, and having them downstairs meant she could keep a close eye on them. They also kept it amazingly warm; Ebony found she hardly needed any extra heating!

There was a scrabbling sound as a mass of rust-coloured fur buffeted down the stairs. "Hi Spud!" cooed Ebony as she smoothed the little mongrel's wirey hair back from his big watery eyes. Ebony had named him 'Spud' because he was short, round, and always covered in dirt. Spud curled his brushy tail in welcome, and trotted expectantly over to Dale, hoping for bickies.

Boston flipped his head impatiently. “Sorry Boss, let’s get you out” Ebony soothed. As it was a hot Australian summer, many riders decided to reverse their stabling routine, stabling the horses during the heat of the day, then letting them out to graze in the cool of the night. Ebony straightened Boston’s white cotton combo so that it laid evenly over his back, clipped a dark green lead to his leather halter, and lead him outside. He jogged bouncily at her side, flirting his hooves and puffing excitedly. “Hang on, hang on,” she laughed, fumbling with the chain around the gate. Boston stood patiently while she undid his halter, then trotted merrily off into the darkness toward the creek. Ebony tossed a flake of lucerne hay into the feed bin and checked the water trough, knowing that after a cursory lap of the field to check all was in order, Boston would come to the gate for his hay.

Back in the barn Ebony flipped on the electric jug in the downstairs lounge room, and picked two mugs from a shelf under the coffee table.
“Cuppa, Mum?” she called, looking around.
“Yes!” came the reply, as Dale’s head popped up above one of the stall dividers. She held a rake and had straw in her hair. “Have you got camomile?”
“Of course!” laughed Ebony, “I only keep in here for you!” She poured the hot water over the tea bags, and returned the milk from her own tea – plain old Tetley – to the little bar fridge that hummed cheerfully in the corner.

Ebony took the two cups into the stall where she found the black horse munching a mouthful of lucerne hungrily. Dale had tied him loosely in the stall and was spreading a thick layer of straw around his feet.
“Oh, Mum – thankyou! You didn’t have to…”
Dale waved her protests away and took her mug from Ebony. “I like him, Eb, he’s a sweetie. I gave him some Rescue Remedy to ease his trauma and I’ve been breathing into his nostrils to calm him.”
Ebony looked sideways at the horse stuffing his face, noting that he looked neither traumatised nor anxious, but she refrained from pointing it out. “…um…cool. So what do you think I should call him?”
“Oh! I thought his name was Buddy! That’s what you called him when you were talking to him before – I just thought that was his name.” said Dale.
“Oh. Well. Ok, that’ll do then. It sticks, I guess” laughed Ebony. It was then that she caught sight of the horse’s near side eye. “Oh look! He’s got a blue eye – how did I miss that before? Oh well I suppose it’s dark, and his forelock is kinda long… I can’t believe I didn’t notice! I hope he isn’t blind!” She sidled up and moved her hand silently in front of Buddy’s blue eye, it blinked rapidly and he turned to sniff her hand quizzically. “No, I don’t think he is, but I might get Phil in to check. I hope you don’t have too many more surprises up your sleeve, mate!” she laughed.