Winnie: The Early Years Series

  Horse Gentler in Training

  A Horse’s Best Friend

  Lucky for Winnie

  Homesick Horse

  Winnie the Horse Gentler Series

  Wild Thing

  Eager Star

  Bold Beauty

  Midnight Mystery

  Unhappy Appy

  Gift Horse

  Friendly Foal

  Buckskin Bandit

  Visit Tyndale’s website for kids at tyndale.com/kids.

  Visit Dandi Daley Mackall online at dandibooks.com.

  Tyndale is a registered trademark of Tyndale House Ministries. The Tyndale Kids logo is a trademark of Tyndale House Ministries.

  Lucky for Winnie

  Copyright © 2023 by Dandi A. Mackall. All rights reserved.

  Illustrations by Phyllis Harris. Copyright © Tyndale House Publishers. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Lindsey Bergsma

  Edited by Deborah King

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Lucky for Winnie is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-855-277-9400.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at csresponse@tyndale.com, or call 1-855-277-9400.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4964-6155-1

  Build: 2023-01-09 11:44:59 EPUB 3.0

  For Madison Mackall:

  Thanks for being my delightful granddaughter!

  Love, Nee

  May the LORD smile on you and

  be gracious to you.

  Numbers 6:25

  Let your face smile on us, LORD.

  Psalm 4:6

  Contents

  Chapter 1: A Big Help?

  Chapter 2: Fancy Horses

  Chapter 3: The Beautiful People

  Chapter 4: To Dream the Impossible Dream

  Chapter 5: Wild Horses

  Chapter 6: Worse and Worse

  Chapter 7: Follow the Leader

  Chapter 8: A Lick and a Promise

  Chapter 9: The Big Switch

  Chapter 10: The Arabian versus the Octopus

  Chapter 11: On with the Show!

  Chapter 12: All Smiles

  My True Horse Story: Towaco, My Teacher

  Horse Terms

  Horse Talk

  Parts of the Horse

  About the Author

  “That’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen!” I watch as Mom backs the new black mare out of the shiny trailer—it’s definitely a purebred Arabian. I take in the four white stockings. One rises over the hock, or knee, ending in a jagged line.

  When Mom turns the Arabian, I see a white splotch on her muzzle, a half-blaze. “That coloring is Sabino, isn’t it, Mom?”

  My mother grins at me. “Good for you, Winnie. The color pattern isn’t the easiest to identify. She’d be registered as a black, though.”

  I’ve read every horse book in the library more than once. Only the newest one on colors and breeds explained Sabino markings.

  The woman next to the trailer must be the horse’s lucky owner. She’s tall and slim, with straight black hair that looks like it’s never been out of place. I smooth my crazy brown hairs as best I can.

  I try to imagine that this Arabian is a birthday present from Mom. But even I don’t have that great of an imagination. So I imagine that I’m the one the owner wants to gentle her horse. And Mom is my helper.

  Mom shifts the Arabian’s lead rope so she can shake the woman’s hand. “Ms. Hendren, welcome to the Willis Wyoming Ranch. We’ll do our best to help Nafka feel at home here.”

  “Nafka?” I didn’t mean to say it out loud. But what kind of a name is Nafka for such a beautiful horse?

  Instead of getting mad, our new client smiles at me. “I’m told Nafka means ‘wind’ or ‘breeze’ in Arabic. Nafka runs like the wind. But she can float like a gentle breeze.”

  Mom is scratching Nafka on her rump, and the mare settles down. Mom the Horse Gentler has already found Nafka’s special scratching spot.

  “Ms. Hendren,” Mom begins.

  “Jen, please.”

  Mom smiles. “Jen, this is my daughter Winnie.”

  Ms. Hendren shakes my hand. “I’ve heard such good things about your mom. That’s why I’ve driven here from California. Nafka deserves the best. Hopefully, when I return in two weeks, your mother can give me riding instructions. Nafka deserves a better rider than she has now.”

  “Two weeks? You won’t even see your horse for two whole weeks?” I’d never want to be away from this horse for two days. Two hours. Two minutes.

  Mom puts a hand on my arm. “Two weeks should be long enough for us to wear off the rough edges. I’m sure Nafka will fit right in with our other horses. I’ll walk her up the lane and back. She’s probably stiff after that long ride. Winnie, show Ms. Hendren around the ranch.”

  I lead Ms. Hendren to the pasture gate, but I’d much rather be leading Nafka. Horses are easy to talk to. People, not so much.

  I know I should be saying something to our new client. From the woods I hear the thunk, thunk, thunk of a woodpecker pounding a cottonwood. A cardinal chimes in with birdy-birdy-birdy. Nafka’s hoofbeats echo from the lane.

  And I still can’t think of anything to say.

  I want the Arabian’s owner to know we take care of other classy horses. I point to our boarding horses. “We’re training those show horses grazing together,” I explain. “We’ve got a Hanoverian, a Paso Fino, and a champion Thoroughbred. The Buckskin is Mom’s.” Maybe Ms. Hendren will see that Mom and I both are horse gentlers to the best horses.

  Ms. Hendren clears her throat. “Well, I’ll bet you’re a big help to your mom, Winnie.”

  I try my best not to sigh.

  Note to self: That’s me—Winnie the Big Help.

  Instead of joining Ms. Hendren and me, Mom and Nafka take another lap up the lane.

  “How adorable!” exclaims Ms. Hendren.

  I follow her gaze to our giant old plow horse, Chief, and Lucky, the shaggy Mustang grazing beside him. In spite of the cooler temperatures, they’ve obviously been rolling in mud again.

  Great. Now she won’t think her Arabian is a good fit for the Willis Ranch.

  “Those two won’t be training with Nafka,” I explain.

  “Why not?”

  “Chief, the big one, came with the ranch. He’s a great horse, probably my best friend. We just keep him around. He usually looks better than this.”

  “And the little shaggy gray?”

  Clumps of mud cling to Lucky’s furry coat and her mane sticks up like a rooster’s comb. “Lucky loves mud.”

  “Where did you get her?” Ms. Hendren asks.

  “Laramie’s Wild Horse Refuge,” I begin. “Sometimes Mom brings home a Mustang, gentles it, and sells it—if she can. Mustangs aren’t easy to train. But each sale helps the rescue.” I motion for her to follow me farther along the fence, closer to the showier horses, the ones Nafka will fit right in with. “The Thoroughbred on the end is Royal Princess. Mom can ride her great. But Austin, the boy who owns her, has a hard hand and forces her into gaits. He needs more training than his horse.”

  I point out another horse. “The roan on the other end is a Paso Fino. Jazzabelle had never been ridden before. Mom gentled her in one day.”

  “Seriously? One day?”

  I nod. “Mom says God already taught Paso Finos the smoothest gait ever. The owners want to ride her in parades, so we’re getting her used to flags and noise.”

  “And that one?” she asks, pointing to Mom’s horse.

  “The Buckskin Quarter Horse, Buttermilk, is Mom’s favorite. Mom used to barrel race her, but she’s too busy now.” Our ranch is doing better than it was earlier this year, but Mom works as hard as if we were still deep in debt.

  I glance up the lane, hoping this is Mom’s last lap with Nafka. Only one horse left to explain. “The bay will be gone by the time you get back. His registered name is Zandolph of Hanover, but Mom and I call him Zandy. Hanoverians pulled carriages of kings and queens. They win medals at every Olympics.”

  Finally, Mom joins us at the pasture gate. She hands Nafka to me and walks Ms. Hendren to her trailer.

  I scratch Nafka’s rump, the way Mom did. I’ve always wanted to work with an Arabian. I hope Mom will let me do more than help with grooming.

  Ms. Hendren drives off, and Mom starts to take the lead rope from me. Then she stops. “Winnie, want to turn out Nafka?”

  This is a big deal. Mom never lets me introduce a new horse to the pasture. I nod like crazy.

  “Keep her on the lead until we know what the other horses are going to do.”

  “I know, Mom. Not a problem.” But I’m afraid my excitement will travel up the lead rope to Nafka. “You can trust me.”

  Mom looks to the pasture, then back at me. “You’re right. And I’ve been thinking. It’s time for you to take on more responsibility with the horses. Not just caring for them. Gentling them.”

  “I’d love that!” This is what I’ve been waiting for.

  “You’re always a big help,” Mom says. “But I’m talking about having you gentle a horse all by yourself. Start to finish.”

  I stare at Mom and can hardly believe what I’m hearing. “Mom, that would be great!” I’m as close to crying as I am to laughing. Me. A real horse gentler. And I’ll be training the magnificent Nafka!

  “Good.” The house phone rings, and Mom runs off, leaving me in charge of the most gorgeous horse in the world.

  Note to self: If I had a “Winnie the Horse Gentler” T-shirt, I’d wear it to school tomorrow.

  I am so excited about training Nafka that I hardly sleep that night. In the morning, I head to the barn before the sun comes up. A chill in the air makes me shiver. Geese honk overhead, flying in a crooked V I’ve always loved. It smells like fall.

  When I whistle, only Chief and Lucky come. Chief nickers.

  “Hi, you two.” I blow into Chief’s nostrils, and he returns the favor. It’s how horses greet each other. But I don’t try it with Lucky. We haven’t worked with the Mustang yet. “I may not have much time to hang out with you guys for a while. I’ll be training the Arabian.”

  I rattle the feed bin to get the other horses into their stalls. Princess comes in first. Nafka is close behind. I start to go into her stall. She puts her ears flat back, like she thinks I want her oats.

  I figure I’ll have time to make friends with her later.

  Dad drives me and my younger sister, Lizzy, to school. “I’ve been thinking of ways to improve on the bicycle. It’s an old invention,” he says.

  Our dad works at an insurance company. But he would rather be an inventor.

  “How would you do it, Dad?” Lizzy asks. My sister is wearing a red-checkered shirt with jeans. She is one of the beautiful people—tall, with green eyes and dark brown hair—and she doesn’t even know how amazing she is. If Lizzy were a horse, she’d be a terrific Trakehner—and she’d fit right in with Nafka and Royal Princess. I’m the Mustang, never one of the beautiful people, especially at school. But Lizzy never thinks that way. She loves everybody, especially me.

  “So, I’m considering a speedier bike,” Dad continues. “Or maybe bike propellers to fly over curbs? Or how about a triple-decker bike?” He sighs. “No, no, no.”

  For once, I can’t wait to get to class on a Monday.

  “You look happy today, Winnie,” Landri says when I stroll into our classroom. Landri, with her long blonde hair, is one of the beautiful and popular people. But she’s also one of the nice kids.

  Miss Pento, our teacher, likes to mix up our rows and experiment with desk placement. Today she’s arranged us in groups of four.

  I slide in next to Landri. “Mom says I can work the new horse we got at the ranch. All by myself, like a real horse gentler.”

  Simon and Austin Green, the twins, take their seats across from us, facing us. I’ve been looking out for my buddy Simon so I could give him the good news. “Simon, we just got the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen, and—”

  “No, you didn’t!” Austin objects. “You’ve seen my horse, Royal Princess. She’s the most expensive and the most beautiful.”

  I shrug. “Nafka, which means ‘wind’ in Arabic, is a black Arabian.”

  “Big deal,” Austin says. “My horse is a champion.”

  Landri tries to play peacemaker. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?”

  “That’s dumb,” Austin says.

  I try to talk to Simon. “Mom says I can totally gentle Nafka all by myself.”

  “That sounds real good. I think you should,” says Rhymin’ Simon. He almost always speaks in rhyme. You get used to it.

  Austin fake-laughs. “No way your mom would turn over somebody’s expensive horse to you.”

  Our teacher keeps us from arguing by announcing our spelling test.

  I forgot all about it. When we’re done, we exchange papers to grade them. My score is bad enough that I have to take it home for Mom or Dad to sign. I groan. Hopefully they won’t be too disappointed. That makes three weeks in a row I’ve forgotten about spelling.

  Next to recess, my favorite subject is art. I’m not any better at drawing than I am at spelling. But I like trying.

  Today, Mrs. Davis, our art teacher, comes to our classroom instead of making us go to hers. “As you know, a week from Friday is the art show,” she announces. She’s not much taller than Simon but is kind of pear-shaped. If she were a horse, she’d be a well-fed Haflinger pony, strong, short, and sure-footed. “Think about your project,” she continues. “You can begin drawing whatever you want, as long as it’s an original. So, no help from parents or big sisters, no copying, and no tracing, right?”

  Right away, I know I’ll draw a horse. But should I draw the head? Or the whole horse? Before I can decide, Simon has filled his paper with bugs. His roly-polies, crickets, ants, cockroaches, and centipedes look real.

  “That’s awesome, Simon,” I say.

  Simon grins and keeps drawing.

  Tamson glances at Simon’s sketches, then shakes her head. I can’t see her drawing because her arm covers it, like we’d all want to steal her idea.

  I stare at my blank page. Maybe if I draw something wonderful, my parents won’t feel so bad about my spelling test. They shouldn’t have to get hit with a bad art grade too.

  I close my eyes and picture Nafka. Then I try to draw what’s in my head.

  By the end of art class, whatever I’ve drawn looks like I did it with my eyes closed.

  The whole lunch period, I think about how I’m going to train Nafka. First, grooming. That’s how I’ll get to know her. I might lead her a little. Then I’ll ride her and see if she needs basic work in the round pen.

  The rest of the day I daydream through my classes. I’ve read so many books on Arabians. If I ever get a horse of my own, it will be a beautiful black or white Arabian.

  On the bus, I sit in the back with Lizzy. Simon is by himself across from us.

  Tamson gets on and yells, “Hey, Winnie! Good for you getting to train a beautiful horse for once!”

  I holler back, “Thanks!” I think. Tamson is—well, difficult, to say the least. We’re not exactly friends. She’s one of the beautiful, popular people. Only, unlike Landri, Tamson isn’t always nice.

  Lizzy leans toward the aisle to talk to Simon. “Did you hear that Mom is letting Winnie train the fanciest horse on the ranch?”

  I love my sister. She doesn’t even like horses. But if I’m excited, she’s excited.

  I’m excited. “Simon, do you want to come over and meet Nafka?”

  “Would I? Could I? Yes, of course! Pleased to meet this fancy horse.”

  Mr. Ted, our bus driver, swerves out of the parking lot. Lizzy almost lands in the aisle. I yank her back, and we lock arms for the rest of the wild ride.

  On the walk from our bus stop, I can’t stop chattering about Nafka. “This afternoon, I’m going to brush Nafka and talk to her. And I’ll clean out her hooves, of course. But first, I’ll need to catch her.”

  We go straight to the pasture. Lizzy and Simon sit on the top rung of the fence. Chief plods over and puts his head on Simon’s lap. He wants to be scratched on his jaw, his favorite scratching spot.

  I slosh through the pasture to the barn, grab a halter and lead rope, then return. Nafka is grazing with Royal Princess’s herd. Lucky is farther back in the pasture, close—but not too close—to Nafka and the others.

  The screen door slams—Mom is coming out to watch. She joins Simon and Lizzy on the fence.

  I need to get a halter on Nafka. One of the first things Mom taught me was how to catch a horse. Most horses will walk away if you go straight to them. But if you act like you’re catching another horse, you can get a rope around their neck before they realize what’s happening.

  Mom drops into the pasture. But she stands back. And watches.

  I decide to pretend I want to catch Lucky. Slowly, I walk toward the Mustang. “Hey, Lucky. How’s it going?”

  Nafka lifts her head, then goes back to grazing. Perfect.

  I keep going until I’m only a couple of feet from both horses. But I’m directly in front of Lucky. The little Mustang backs away a few steps.

 

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