Scrappy Story from Foto
The
Parade
December
2012
"Blackwood probably
will not be coming on this year's roundup,” Juanita gently
warned her little brother from under the veranda. “He'll need his
rest for the parade.” She smoothed back his whiskers with her thumb and lifted his grey muzzle to look into his clouded brown eyes.
Benito accepted
this pronouncement, understanding that the parade was a way of
talking about a special event in the future. Though he'd often heard
them talk of the parade, he'd never been to it. Like girls, it was
on event that awaited him in the future. It was something that he
knew would come, like dinner, but he had no idea what would on the table. He also knew that it would be an honor for Blackwood, the
border collie their father had won in a cockfight many years
ago from an English nobleman in a fine tweed vest, a man who had
ended up taking care of the swine of Jiminez's ranch up on the mesa.
Juanita stroked the
dog's head and rubbed behind his black ears, offering staccato
encouragement. It was Blackwood who had found her little brother in
the well and alerted the vaqueros. It was also Blackwood who ran off
the mountain lion when she was searching out pinon nuts on the
hillside.
Pepito was on his
way down from the mesa to assist with the cattle drive. They could
all ride, of course, but Pepito rode on his horse like a tawny
Palomino mane, part wind and part earth. His mama was the Jiminez's
cook, and no one knew who his father was, but it was generally
assumed Pepito was at least half Apache. He flowed over the land like
water during a sudden spring flood.
The men were
gathering to collect the cattle, all the ranch’s herds roaming
together in the arroyos of the desert. Juanita rode as well, keeping
track of little Benito as he guided his pony through the gullies.
His boots, hand-downs from his cousins, hanging below his pony's
belly, flicked back and forth as he urged that old mare into a trot.
The year before, he had come upon a calf that was left dazed by a
wall of tumbleweeds in a dead end and had brought her in on his
own—he and the little shaggy old pony.
Juanita crawled out
from under the veranda when she heard Pepito's gelding come to a
halt. She tried to get Blackwood to come out with her, but he would
not, giving her an apologetic whine.
“Blackwood will
not come today,” she told Pepito by way of hello. “He seems so
tired.”
Pepito reached for
her long braid and pulled it gently to rest over her shoulder like a
long languorous snake.”Perhaps you would like to remain at home
with him today. I can watch over Benito while you wait.” Juanita
looked from Pepito to Blackwood's place in the cool dark under the
veranda.
The men were saddling up. Pepito
lowered his eyes and nodded adios, turned, and mounted up. He
adjusted his hat. She watched him move into the line of horses and
men as they rode by in ones and twos At the gate he turned in the
saddle, to take her in and to mark the start of a second parade,
Blackwood's march to his own roundup.
No comments:
Post a Comment