Read Online Cowboy Colt by Dandi Daley Mackall - Free Book Online

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    Friday night we’re all at the ballpark an hour early. The Bear is already there. He and Ethan’s coach are eating hot dogs, although the snack stand isn’t even open yet.
    When the other team arrives, the Bear leaves the field and comes to sit with us in the bleachers. He’s showing teeth. I’m almost sure he’s smiling.
    We stand for the national anthem. Then the announcer introduces the players from both sides.
    I know this is a Youth League game. These kids are just second graders. The only people in the stands are families of the kids. But it still feels like the World Series to me.
    The scratchy speakers squeal. Then the announcer says, “And the starting home pitcher will be Ethan James.”
    We’re on our feet, screaming so loud we drown out the groans of a few parents who must have seen my brother pitch in the last game.
    â€œDo you think I should sit in the dugout or behind the plate to sign for Ethan?” I ask the Bear.
    He leans down to answer. “Neither. He knows the catcher’s signs. That’s all he needs, just like every pitcher.”
    I’ve never thought about that. Baseball players have their own sign language. Maybe Ethan has an advantage there.
    Mom, Dad, the Bear, and I are on our feet for Ethan’s first pitch. It’s a strike. We scream. Ethan has to at least feel the sound vibrations. Two more strikes, and the batter is out. Mom whistles so loud my ears ache.
    After the third out, our Ethan is a hero. His teammates pat him on the back. They actually look like they’re all friends . . . until Ethan bats.
    I know that in some leagues pitchers don’t have to bat. I wish my brother could switch to those leagues. He strikes out in three pitches.
    â€œCan’t help with that,” the Bear mutters. “I didn’t get to be the Bear by batting.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” I tell him. “I have a friend, my best friend, who’s a great batter. He’ll help Ethan.” I guess I’m kind of glad Ethan still needs Colt.
    After three innings my brother has given up only two hits. No runs. Even I can see that his fastball is really fast. But his best pitches are the slow ones he surprises the batter with. Kids are striking before the ball reaches the plate. That’s the changeup the Bear taught him.
    When the coach starts to put Ethan in again for the bottom of the fourth inning, the Bear storms out of the bleachers and onto the field. Play stops until he has a word with the coach. Then there’s a change of pitcher and Ethan has to go sit on the bench.
    â€œWhy did you do that?” I demand when the Bear gets back. “Ethan was doing great.”
    â€œIf you want him to keep doing great, he has to take care of his arm. He’s thrown enough pitches for one day.” The Bear stares at me. I guess he can tell I don’t like Ethan being on the bench again. “You want to know how Bullet has so much life left in him?”
    I nod, hoping he’s right about Bullet having a lot of life left.
    â€œI rode him hard. But I always quit before I rode him out.”
    I think about that for a minute. “So you’re saying Bullet can still, like, maybe do the barrels? Or run a figure eight?”
    â€œYou’ll have to be careful until that weight comes off,” the Bear warns. “But Bullet’s still got his stuff. How ’bout I show you tomorrow morning?”

13

    The Party
    Saturday morning when I go out to the backyard, I sense something has changed. Then I notice what’s different: Dream and Bullet are grazing just a couple of feet apart. You can’t make two horses be friends any more than you can make two people be friends. But sooner or later, horses work it out. And it looks like that’s what’s happened with Dream and Bullet. Their tails switch together. And their ears flick from side to side—relaxed, not angry.
    All horses need to