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About Zoey

by Shanelle Shrader

That Valentine's Day was turning out to be the worst Valentine's Day yet. I was single, as I ALWAYS was on Valentine's Day. The sky was flat and gray and threatening rain. Droopy, half-melted piles of gravelly snow dotted the barnlot and roadside, making the soggy landscape seem even more sad. My favorite barn cat had been hit by a car the night before, and his small, broken body lay by the barn, waiting to be buried in our small pet cemetary. I was on my way home from school where I had failed yet another Algebra II test. To cap off this wonderful day, I blew a tire halfway home and had to put on the spare while kneeling in the muck of a ditch flooded with melting snow. By the time I got home I was cold, tired, wet, and hungry. I walked into the house hoping Mom would make beef stew for dinner, and everybody would be able to cheer me up. But she had a migraine, Dad was in a bad mood, and my brother was in a worse mood. I tossed down my schoolbooks and put on my barn pants, heading out to the barn to refill Zoey's hayrack and make sure he had plenty of water for the night. I just wanted to get him settled in for the night so I could go back to the house and go to bed.

Zoey was waiting for me at the gate when I got there with his hay. I tossed it into his feeder and climbed over the fence to check his water bucket. It was full. Heaving a sigh, I climbed back over the fence, giving Zoey's inquisitive muzzle a half-hearted pat. As I trudged back across the barnyard, I heard a low nicker behind me. I turned around to see Zoey after me from beneath his heavy forelock. He shook his mane and nickered again. Suddenly I couldn't hold back the tears any longer; sobs welled up and out of my chest as I climbed back over the fence and buried my face in that heavy blonde mane. I wrapped my arms around his big red neck and let the tears flow. He rested his chin on my shoulder, whickering softly in my ear, telling me the best way he knew how that he understood, and that he would always be there for me. I felt so blessed to have him. By the time my eyes were dry, it was dark. I walked back to the house by the light of the open barn door, where Dad was cursing a tractor engine that he was having trouble fixing. But I was smiling and refreshed; my day had been fixed by a little blonde redhead I call Zoey. My Zo is a one-person horse, and I could not be happier to be that person.

Shanelle, age 19