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CHAPTER ONE
Jigsaw

    W hen 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