Jigsaw Pony Read online

  • Jigsaw Pony •

  BY JESSIE HAAS

  PICTURES BY YING-HWA HU

  For the real Shaws,

  Jean & Gay

  —J. H.

  To my mother,

  who inspires me

  —Y. H.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE: Jigsaw

  CHAPTER TWO: Kiera and Fran

  CHAPTER THREE: Jody

  CHAPTER FOUR: Charts

  CHAPTER FIVE: Barrel Racing

  CHAPTER SIX: Show-and-Tell

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Blacksmith

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Jumping

  CHAPTER NINE: Halloween

  CHAPTER TEN: Tish

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jigsaw

  When Jigsaw had Valerie nearly trained, she moved away.

  Jigsaw was an old pony by then. Valerie was his fourth girl.

  The other three were grown-ups now. They had pictures on their walls of Jigsaw, with horse show ribbons, with Christmas wreaths. Pictures of them hugging him. Pictures in heart-shaped frames.

  But Jigsaw had not seen any of them in years. Now Valerie was gone, too, so far away that her letters took a week to come. Jigsaw lived in a big weedy pasture on a lonely hill. Next to the pasture lived Valerie’s grandmother, in a lonely house.

  The grandmother watched Jigsaw out her window. She was lame. She rode an electric cart to the mailbox to get Valerie’s letters.

  The mailbox was at the bottom of the pasture. Jigsaw often met Valerie’s grandmother there, but she couldn’t pat him. There was a ditch next to the fence. The cart couldn’t cross it.

  “What am I going to do with you, Jig?” the grandmother asked. “I can’t take care of you. I can barely take care of myself.”

  Jigsaw had no answer. But as the days passed, the grandmother watching out her window noticed something.

  Early every afternoon Jigsaw lifted his head. He pointed his ears toward the road and listened.

  Then he trotted down through the weeds. He dodged the thistles. He hopped over the fallen log and got to the mailbox just as the mailman did.

  The mailman parked his car. He took the grandmother’s letter out of the box. He put Valerie’s postcard in.

  Next he pulled an apple from his pocket. He hopped across the ditch and gave the apple to Jigsaw.

  Crunch munch slobber—Jigsaw ate the apple quickly. He reached over the fence again. He and the mailman sniffed noses.

  “Poor little guy,” the mailman said. “Who takes care of you?” He looked up at the house, but he never saw anyone.

  One day when Jigsaw and the mailman were sniffing noses, the mailman said, “Oh, look at you!”

  Big brown burrs were stuck to Jigsaw’s sides. His mane was matted together. His tail looked like a fat brown stick.

  The burrs were itchy. Normally Jigsaw didn’t go near them. But the rest of the grass was eaten down short. Jigsaw had to eat where the burrs grew or go hungry.

  The mailman—his name was Mr. Shaw—looked around. Nobody was in sight. He ducked under the fence and started pulling burrs.

  They came off Jigsaw’s sides easily enough. But burrs don’t come out of a pony’s mane without a struggle. Mr. Shaw looked at his watch. He had to get back to the post office soon.

  Scritch scritch, went the burrs. “Sorry,” Mr. Shaw said. “Does this—”

  “Hello!” said a voice behind him.

  Mr. Shaw jumped and turned. There sat Valerie’s grandmother in her cart.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t be in your—”

  “I’ve seen you feeding him,” the grandmother said. She had to move slowly, but she spoke quickly and didn’t always let people finish their sentences. “I keep trying to get down to talk to you, but you leave too fast!”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Mr. Shaw said. “He seems lo—”

  “He is lonely,” said Valerie’s grandmother. “There’s no one to ride him anymore. Do you want him?”

  “I—” said Mr. Shaw.

  “He gets grass here, but that’s about it. A pony needs more care than that. Anyway, winter’s coming.” Really, winter was months away, but Valerie’s grandmother was right. Sooner or later it would come.

  “Do you have children?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact,” Mr. Shaw said,

  “I have twin girls. Kiera and Fran. They tell me our yard is big enough for a pony. It’s the only thing they’ve ever agreed on.”

  “Then it’s settled,” said Valerie’s grandmother. “I’ll give you his saddle and bridle, and you can take him home.”

  “But—” said Mr. Shaw. “But how? I don’t have a horse trailer.”

  “He’ll hop right in your backseat. Jigsaw can do anything.”

  That was true, but the grandmother wasn’t perfectly sure Jigsaw would get into a car. She held her chin high and hoped for the best.

  Mr. Shaw looked at Jigsaw. What should he do? He liked this pony. Fran and Kiera would like him, too. But there would be problems. Lots and lots of problems.

  Maybe he won’t get in, Mr. Shaw thought. He led Jigsaw to the car and opened the back door.

  “Up you go, Jig,” said Valerie’s grandmother.

  Jigsaw had never been in a car. Most ponies haven’t. But he liked trying new things, and he liked Mr. Shaw.

  He put his front feet in.

  “Give him a boost,” the grandmother said.

  Mr. Shaw pushed against Jigsaw’s rump. Jigsaw scrambled into the car. He leaned against the backseat. Then he lay down on it. He sniffed the mailbags.

  “Don’t eat those!” Mr. Shaw said. He was nervous. He’d never had a pony in his car before. It was probably against post office rules.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kiera and Fran

  If it was against the rules to have a pony in the car, nobody at the post office cared. Everyone rushed out to see.

  A policeman brought Jigsaw a doughnut. A lady got him a carrot from her grocery bag. The postmaster gave Jigsaw a drink.

  “Kiera and Fran are going to love him,” the postmaster said.

  Kiera and Fran are going to fight about him, Mr. Shaw thought. But he didn’t say that. He got back in the car and drove Jigsaw home.

  When Mrs. Shaw saw Jigsaw, she said, “I had a feeling you’d bring that pony home. Girls! Come see what your father’s got.”

  Kiera ran from the bedroom. Fran ran from the tree house.

  “A pony!” they both said at exactly the same time. Usually they hated when that happened. This time they didn’t even notice.

  “He’s beautiful!” Kiera said.

  “He’s darling!” Fran said.

  “He’s on our backseat,” their mother said. “Don’t you think we’d better get him out?”

  Mr. Shaw helped Jigsaw out of the car.

  “Oh, Daddy, he’s covered with burrs!” Kiera said.

  “Daddy, he’s starving,” Fran said.

  “Not quite starving, but he is hungry,” their father said.

  Already Jigsaw was eating the lawn. Rip, rip, rip, went his teeth. A good green smell came up from the grass. It went with the good green taste in Jigsaw’s mouth.

  While he ate, Jigsaw looked around. He saw a garden shed and apple trees. He saw a big yard. He saw Fran and Kiera. Two girls, just the right age.

  That was as good as the grass. Jigsaw’s neck had missed hugs. Now someone was hugging him. His ears had missed kisses. Now someone was kissing him. Someone patted him. Someone took burrs out of his tail. Jigsaw was an expert on girls. He knew these were good ones.

  Mr. and Mrs. Shaw stood ba
ck. “Amazing!” Mr. Shaw whispered. “They’re not—”

  “Shh!” Mrs. Shaw said. “They will.”

  But right then Kiera and Fran weren’t worried about having to share. They weren’t worried about taking turns. Their dream had come true: their own pony in their own yard, eating their lawn.

  He was just the right color, too.

  “Thank you, Daddy!” Kiera hugged Mr. Shaw. “I’ve always wanted a white pony.”

  Fran was shocked. “He isn’t white! He’s black, the perfect color for a pony.”

  “He’s a white pony with black patches,” Kiera said. “Anybody can see that!”

  “He’s black with white blotches,” Fran said. “It’s obvious!”

  “He’s nothing of the kind,” said their father. “Exactly half of him is white. Exactly half of him is black. I searched everywhere for a pony like this, because I knew you’d fight about it.”

  Kiera and Fran looked at their father. “That’s not true, is it, Daddy?” Fran said.

  “This is the pony you’ve been bringing apples to, isn’t he, Daddy?” Kiera said. “You were going to take us to see him someday.”

  “This is that pony,” their father said. “His name is Jigsaw.”

  Fran and Kiera didn’t need to look at each other. Each knew at once that Jigsaw was not the perfect name for her pony.

  “Midnight,” Fran said. “Look, his eyelashes are black.”

  “Snowflake,” Kiera said. “His whiskers are white.”

  Their mother said, “He’s a black-and-white pony. A black-and-white pony with no stall and no pasture fence. I think someone needs to do something about that.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jody

  Kiera and Fran went with their father to the feed store.

  It was hard to leave Jigsaw, even for a minute, but Mr. Shaw didn’t know what to buy. Kiera and Fran did. They’d wanted a pony for a long time. They’d wanted all the things a pony needs, too.

  Ponies need a lot. By the time Fran and Kiera were through shopping, there was a huge pile to go into the car.

  Fence posts.

  Fence wire.

  An electric fence charger. Hay.

  A water pail.

  Grain.

  A grain pail.

  Shavings. A shovel. A rake. Fly spray. A lead rope. A hoof pick. Two brushes. A mane comb. A salt brick. Saddle soap.

  And two kinds of shampoo.

  “I didn’t know ponies needed shampoo,” their father said. “Can we put one back?”

  “He’s mostly black,” Fran said. “He needs black pony shampoo.”

  “Actually, he’s mostly white,” Kiera said. “So he needs white pony shampoo.”

  “Can’t he just borrow some of mine?” their father asked.

  “Daddy!” Fran said.

  “Don’t say Daddy to Daddy!” Kiera said.

  “Fine,” their father said. “Two kinds of shampoo.”

  “It must be wonderful to be twins!” the feed store lady said. “You’d never be lonely.”

  Fran and Kiera pretended not to hear her.

  Back home Mrs. Shaw held Jigsaw’s rope. She watched him eat grass. She listened to the sound of his teeth.

  “Wow!” somebody said behind her. “A pony!”

  It was Jody Fran and Kiera’s friend from down the street.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Shaw said. “Jody, meet Jigsaw.”

  Jody patted Jigsaw’s neck. She found more burrs and started to take them out.

  Another girl. Another good one. To Jigsaw, this seemed like a very nice neighborhood.

  “What a great name!” Jody said. “His black parts and his white parts fit together like a puzzle.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Shaw said. “But they don’t come apart like a puzzle.”

  Jody asked, “Are they—”

  Mrs. Shaw nodded. “But they’ve always wanted a pony. Maybe they’ll finally learn to share.”

  Jody didn’t answer. But she thought Mrs. Shaw was wrong.

  Jody was Fran’s best friend. She was Kiera’s best friend, too. She knew how hard it was to be twins because Fran and Kiera told her.

  Nobody remembers who’s the oldest—Fran—or the youngest—Kiera. People think they can tell you apart. They’re wrong. Someone is always finishing your sentences, or starting them.

  And even though you’re very different—as different as black and white—lots of times you like the same things. The more you like them, the harder it is to share. That was true about jelly beans. It was true about Jody. It was going to be true about Jigsaw.

  “But they’re great,” Jody whispered in Jigsaw’s ear. “You’ll love them both, and they’ll love you.”

  Jigsaw rubbed his head against Jody. Hugs. Kisses. Whispers. He loved all the girls he’d met today.

  The car pulled in, and two voices said, “I’m calling Jody!”

  “No, I’m calling her!”

  “Calling me what?” Jody asked. “I just met Jigsaw!”

  “Midnight,” said Fran.

  “Snowflake,” said Kiera.

  Jody said, “I love his brown eyes.”

  “Me too,” Kiera and Fran said together.

  For the rest of the afternoon everyone, including Jody, worked hard. They took turns holding Jigsaw’s lead rope and letting him eat the lawn. They put up fence posts. They put up wire. They took the garden tools out of the shed. They turned it into a stall, and they put in shavings.

  The sun went down. Jody went home. Just as it was getting dark, Fran and Kiera led Jigsaw inside the shed. They gave him hay and water and closed the door.

  After supper their mother said, “It’s been a big day, girls. Time for bed.”

  “I want to say good night to Snowflake.”

  “I want to say good night to Midnight.”

  “Go ahead,” said their father.

  “But—” said Kiera.

  “I wanted—” said Fran.

  They looked at their plates. More than anything, Fran wanted time alone with Midnight. More than anything, Kiera wanted time alone with Snowflake. But only one of them could have that. They would have to take turns.

  Kiera and Fran hated taking turns.

  “I understand,” their mother said. “I really do understand.” She reached for the two sticks of spaghetti she always kept handy. “Whoever picks the long spaghetti goes out tonight.”

  Kiera and Fran each chose a spaghetti. Kiera got the long one. “Hurray!” She took the flashlight and an apple and ran outside.

  “I’m sorry, Fran,” Mrs. Shaw said. “Tomorrow night it’s your turn.”

  “I know,” Fran said. She was already marking it on the calendar.

  Kiera crossed the dark yard. She opened the stall door. “Hi, Snowflake.”

  Jigsaw made a rumbling sound. He was glad to see Kiera and glad to see the apple, too. He reached for it. Crunch munch slobber.

  When it was gone, Jigsaw lifted his nose to Kiera’s face. Kiera smelled apple and sweet pony breath. A shiver went down her back. This was just the way she’d always thought it would be.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Charts

  Fran woke early the next morning. She tiptoed out of the room. The door banged behind her.

  “No fair!” Kiera said before her eyes were even open. She raced downstairs.

  But Fran got to the stall first. Jigsaw was glad to see her. He made a rumbling sound. He lifted his nose to Fran’s face. She smelled hay and sweet pony breath. It made her shiver. All night she’d dreamed of this. Now her dream had come true.

  Kiera came through the door. Behind her came their father. “I brought Jig some water.”

  “He’s our pony!” Kiera said.

  “We should take care of him,” Fran said.

  Mr. Shaw said, “I thought it might be hard for you to get everything done before school.”

  “School?”

  “School!”

  Kiera and Fran had forgotten about school. It seemed silly to go to s
chool when they had a pony in their backyard for the first time ever.

  “I have to clean Snowflake’s stall.”

  “I was going to clean Midnight’s stall.”

  “I’ve always wanted to clean my own pony’s stall.”

  “No fair! You went out first last night. I should get to clean the stall first.”

  “Fran is right,” their mother said. “She will clean the stall—after school.”

  “Then who gets to feed him first?”

  Mrs. Shaw looked tired, even though it was only morning. “I’ll draw up a chart,” she said. “We’ll work it all out. After school!”

  All day Kiera drew pictures of Snowflake. Fran wrote poems to Midnight. Jody stared into space and thought about Jigsaw.

  After school they ran home. “Go change your clothes, Jody,” Fran said.

  “We’ll ride,” Kiera said.

  They all had taken riding lessons at Tish’s camp on a little red pony named Radish. Radish was a good bad pony. He could behave, but he wouldn’t—not until his riders learned how to make him.

  Jigsaw wasn’t like that.

  “Wow!” said Jody. “He picks his feet up before I even ask. He wants me to clean them out.”

  “He doesn’t fill himself up with air when I tighten the girth,” Kiera said. “I think he likes being saddled.”

  “He just reached for the bit,” said Fran. “He almost put the bridle on himself.”

  There was only one thing Jigsaw couldn’t make easy. He couldn’t decide who would ride first.

  More than anything, Kiera wanted it to be her. More than anything, Fran wanted it to be her. It was the same problem they always had with important things, only this was worse.

  They didn’t want to choose spaghetti. They didn’t want to do Rock Paper Scissors. They didn’t even want to argue, which was unusual. It was so wonderful to have a pony that arguing didn’t seem right. But someone did have to ride first.