Toni Petti - Horse Girl Homicide

Chapter Twelve

"It has to be cleaner," Monica casts about for something to brush Jasper's wagon. She finds a dirty Uline brand corn broom with the whiskers bent diagonal as happens when such items get wet and are left in the sun. "We have to use this buggy to feed."

I watch her prove the broom still works before she hands me the sweeper. Then she gets busy helping Jasper turn around. The donkey has difficulty because the manure piles have expanded into his natural track. He pulls the cart's pneumatic tires over the humps and bumps which helps me sweep the bed clean.

On the way back, Monica scrolls through her phone and I get the feeling she's thumbing through my Instagram channel and checking out all the Black Lives Matter protest pictures. That world is probably just a foreign to her as this farm is to me. She puts her phone away when we arrive back at the stables and points Jasper toward the overhead door to the feed room.

"I don't want to sound bossy, but..." Moni says.

"Go ahead."

"This is really important," The farm girl gathers up coloured buckets, each with a wire handle. "Owners always worry about what their horses eat."

"Yes. I should think so."

"Every horse gets one of three different meals." She coaxes Jasper inside and puts plastic pails into his freshly swept wagon. "They're colour-coded and the patterns are posted there."

"Okay." I follow her gaze to the wall and see four strips of 2-inch thick white tape are each decorated with ten different coloured polka-dot stickers, five dots per side.

"Four trips with the wagon." She points and I realize she has already laid out ten feed buckets according to the first pattern.

"Red means the horse gets beet pellets. Green gets Hy-gain. Orange gets both. Always one scoop total though, even if both."

"Got it," I nod at the pile of feed bags marked Hy-Gain stacked against the far wall of the room. "That's the feed? In those bags?"

"Yes. We use the open one here in this can." Monica lifts the lid on barrel, but frowns. The sack inside is empty. "Oh crap. Can you help me put another in here?"

"Why bother? Why not just use it out here?" I realize there must be a reason.

"Can't leave open bags. Mice."

"Ahh. Of course."

We walk to the mound of feed bags and Monica tries to pull one from the pile. The slippery sacks are made of plastic resin fiber and each pouch weighs eighty pounds.

"Arrgh," she screams as the unit rolls downslope and almost squashes her. She barely steps away in time. I use both hands to stop it from hitting the floor where it'd likely split open. Together we giggle at how unmanageable it is, and how weak we are, and even Jasper snorts and clears out of the way as best as he can manage.

"What is this stuff?"

"HyGain. It's dried vegetable mash but still oily." Monica opens the bag in the can. "My Lady Daria gets this," she references her own horse and glances up to see which load will carry her mare's dinner.

"And what about the red buckets?" I lift the lid on the other barrel and find it full of sweet-smelling red bullets.

"Beet pellets"

"Oh, are they made from beets? Like, the garden vegetable?" I try to imagine the machine that compresses red beets into these little pebbles. I hold one in my hand and can feel its sticky moisture. One scoop each. They smell like red licorice, and I resist the urge to taste one.