Mr. Ed's Horse

Mr. Ed’s Horse

“And don’t eat in my car either,” she said, finishing her list of commands and looking at me with the same scolding eyes my mother gave me the night before when I broke a plate after dinner.

I rarely drive to school with my older sister Stephanie, partially because she is always late, and partly because whenever I did, it felt like a punishment. But I missed the bus this morning and she is my only ride.

Attempting to avoid more of Stephanie’s car rules, I walk out of the kitchen and begin towards the garage; as I walk passed my mother’s beloved horse lamp and collection of Kentucky Derby glasses, I am reminded of Mr. Ed.

Before high school, Stephanie and I spent every day scheming and creating together; using each other as compensation for the lack of girls in our neighborhood. We lived on the outskirts of town, and because of that, there was only a small group for friend selection. Most of our neighbors had boys and the few girls were years older than us, making them too mature to play. So, Stephanie and I became each other’s best friend, riding our bikes around the neighborhood, making up stories as we peddled and torturing our bikes as we slammed them to the ground when we reached each destination. Eventually, the force of falling to the concrete turned the metal seats inward.

On a day we would usually ride aimlessly around the neighborhood, my mother reminded Stephanie and me about the Girl Scout cookies we had to sell. Stephanie and I desperately desired a cookie badge and the wind jacket we could win if we sold more than 100 cookie boxes. We went to each neighbor’s house trying to sell as many cookies as possible. Toward the end of our sales adventure, Stephanie and I came to Mr. Ed’s ranch style property. A line of trees and bushes hid most of the property from the road. As Stephanie and I sat on the crack between his driveway and the street, an old brick driveway, a large stone mailbox, and a flat brown roof were the only visible signs of a house. We were afraid, but with the allure of the cookie badge dangling in the back of our minds, we pedaled forward.

Reaching Mr. Ed’s house and slamming our pink and purple bikes on the faded red brick, Stephanie and I argued over who would get to claim the sale. When we looked up we saw that Mr. Ed’s house had two doors. We decided that the one at the right was attached to the garage, and the one to the left went to the house, both connected by a canopy of roof and a wall of windows. The porch was weathered and a film of dirt covered the windows at the front of the house.

When we stood before the thick wooden door, I reached up and lifted the brass door knocker, bashing it against the metal circle on the door. The brass handle bounced off with a thud and hit the door, with less force, for a second time.

Hearing the footsteps of our potential customer, Stephanie and I inched closer to the door. It opened exposing the largest man I had ever seen, introducing us first to his stomach. Stephanie and I backed up. I looked over at Stephanie and guessed from her smile she was thinking the same thing I was: I bet he eats a lot of cookies.

“Hello girls, what can I help you with today,” he said looking down at us in a gentle and joyful voice.

“Hi. I’m Stephanie, and this is my sister, Teal, and we’re Girl Scouts,” Stephanie started in our usual act.

“We would like to know if you want to buy some cookies,” I continued holding up the ordering form and a pen. When he took them both from my hand and paused, looking at the variety of cookies, I noticed his hands were as big as my head and his fingers were as thick and hairy as my arm.

“Well, I will have to see what the missis thinks about this,” and bending over in a whispered voice he said, “she never bakes cookies anymore. She says I eat them all too quickly, so this may be my only shot at some real sugar!”

Laughing in the same sinister tone my Grandpa Harvey does when Grandma catches him sneaking cookies, he said, “Come on in, I’ll get my wife,” and he escorted us into the foyer. “Sherry? Come over here, we have some little visitors.”

The hallway we stepped into was only lit by a small lamp and the sun shinning in from dirt-covered windows. His house reminded me of a cave, with its dark stone floor, musky smell, and cold breeze. There were paintings and pictures of horses hanging on almost every wall and a majority of the furniture was wood.

A petite, fragile women with silver hair and deep brown eyes came into the hallway carrying a carrot and a knife.

“Oh, hello girls, what are your names?” she said in the sweet voice of a grandmother.

“I’m Teal, and this is Stephanie. We live down the block next to the Ullmarks,” I said, knowing that everyone has heard of or been victims of the Ullmark brothers.

“Yes, okay,” she said trying to sound polite. From the look on her face, we knew what she was thinking: Those boys are trouble.

“Yea, we don’t like them very much anymore. Last week we went over to their house and they were blowing up baby frogs with firecrackers, and the week before they took our cat, Kitty, and they dumped her in a garbage can full of water,” Stephanie stated.

“Oh that’s terrible! Was your cat okay?”

“Yea, she gave them a few good scratches!” I said smiling vengefully.

Mr. Ed laughed and handed the cookie order form to his wife and said, “These lovely young girls would like to know if you want to buy some Girl Scout Cookies.”

Placing the knife in the front pocket of her apron, she examined the order form and said, “Well, how could we say no to these two smiling girls!”

Mr. Ed gave Stephanie and me a wink and we followed him and his wife into the kitchen.

The kitchen took up half the first floor of the house and had a sliding glass door to the backyard, displaying the acres of field, a large building, and a white fence. Scanning the fenced area to see what animals they had, I felt Stephanie nudge me and point to the right side of the fence. Turing my head, I saw two beautiful brown horses. One had white down its nose and the other was a solid brown.

Mr. Ed and his wife must have seen Stephanie and I gawking at the horses because after choosing three or four types of cookies to buy, they suggested we go outside and feed them some carrots. As we walked out the glass door, Stephanie and I tried to contain our excitement, making sure we would not scare the horses away.

Mr. Ed’s wife took the carrot she was using for her stew and handed it to Stephanie and said, “I wish I had more carrots to let you girls feed them with, but I’m afraid I already put them in the stew pot.”

“That’s okay,” Stephanie said, “We can both give it to him.”

We chose the horse that was closest to the fence, the one that was all brown.

“What’s his name?” I asked, pointing to the white and brown horse.

“Well, her name is Belle and this big brown guy is her son, Scout,” Mr. Ed said. He made a clucking noise to call Scout closer to the fence.

“Okay, so when you feed Scout, place your hands between the cracks and hold the carrot at the tip; we don’t want him to take any fingers with that carrot!” Mr. Ed seriously joked.

When Scout was close enough to see the carrot, he moved a little faster. I placed my right hand on top of Stephanie’s and we popped it through the space in-between the fence posts. Scout bent over and took it from our hands.

“Oh! And sit in the backseat!” Stephanie shouted from the kitchen as I walked out the garage door.

I walked through the garage to Stephanie’s car. I opened the back door and sat behind the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

Stephanie came quickly after me, with her checkered backpack slung over her right shoulder and car keys in her hand.

“Steph, do you remember Mr. Ed?” I asked when she got into the car.

Starting the car, she looked at me through the rearview mirror.

“Yea, I do.”

She smiled and reversed.