The Oat in the Bridle — Behind the lesson barn, when the aisle smelled of hay dust and saddle soap, Corwin stretched his nose toward the grain room latch. Read the full story →
Behind the lesson barn, when the aisle smelled of hay dust and saddle soap, Corwin stretched his nose toward the grain room latch. One oat, that was all he wanted before the riders came clumping in. The latch was shut, of course. It always was. But the tack hook beside his stall held his bridle, and tucked under the browband was a corner of folded paper so small even the barn cat had missed it.
Corwin nudged the bridle down. Clink went the bit, soft as a secret. The paper fluttered under his hoof: SAVE THE LAST SCOOP FOR JUNO. Her medicine makes breakfast bitter. Corwin knew Juno, the old mare in the end stall, who chewed slowly while the pigeons muttered in the rafters. He could have walked on to the grain room anyway. Instead, he carried the bridle by one strap, paid for it with a tug on his tangled forelock, and dropped it against Juno’s door.
No one saw him push the paper into the feed bucket. No one saw Juno find the sweet oat scoop waiting beneath her medicine. But later, when Corwin stood with the bridle buckled and his mane swept sideways, his eye held the whole secret; if you spot that tiny proud look, keep it between us.
