Amy Shackleford

ENG 303- Narrative

September 14, 2014
My Journey to Treasuring Family
Sometimes when I close my eyes I can still picture the scene, the scene that made me
value my younger sister. Looking back its almost comical to think about how badly we use to
fight. I honestly dont know how my mom kept her wits about her while having to referee all of
our squabbles. I guess I have Shadow to thank for making me appreciate Brooke. The funny
thing is Shadow wasnt a person, or an object. She was a ten year old, Appaloosa Horse.
In fourth grade, I went through a stage where I loved anything involving the word
horse. Horse posters plastered every inch of wall space I had in the room I shared with my
sister. In my free time, I read every book involving a horse I could get my hands on, from Black
Beauty to Flicka. In other words I was obsessed. So when my dad pulled into our driveway one
day with a horse in his normally cattle-filled livestock trailer, I almost stroked out. I ran out of
the house, forgetting to put on shoes in my rush to see the beautiful creature he had gifted me
with. I remember my dad leading her out of the trailer, birds serenading in the background, as the
magnificently spotted horse pranced down the ramp into our yard. Her head she kept held high
and ears pricked forward as if she was trying to take everything in at once.
Now I realize how biased my view of this horse was. My dad bought her for a discount
because she was so overweight she was about to founder. When I say she pranced out of the
trailer what she really did was waddle. Her color is a little hard to describe. Imagine a white
background with gray polka dots that someone has smudged a little. It looked like each dot had
its own personal shadow, and that is how she earned her name. It was obvious to my parents that

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she had been neglected, but I quickly fixed that. A few horse hazy weeks went happily by. I
groomed Shadow every day after school. My dad fenced off a rectangular lot outside the barn to
keep her in, away from the alfalfa that had obviously made her the size she currently was.
As the weeks went by, Shadow became increasingly more contrary. It began subtly, with
her laying her ears back on her head occasionally when I would be combing her mane.
Unfortunately, her onerous ways only got worse. Today I realize she probably figured out she
was dealing with a bunch of greenhorns who had no idea what they were doing around a horse,
and she took advantage of this. Shadow would no longer let me catch her without some kind of
treat. If I even stepped near the corral with a halter, she would automatically run to the far side of
the lot, like a cat toying with its meal. Consequently, I began taking her some grain in an old,
five gallon bucket when I would go see her. Being the novice horse-girl that I was, I would hold
the bucket while she ate the corn out of it, instead of pouring it out on the ground. This was my
first big mistake.
One afternoon my sister asked me if she could feed my horse, and because we were
having a rare moment of peace in our sibling battle, I said yes. My mom, sister, and me hopped
on our ATV with a bucket of food and headed to the barn. The sky was a beautiful robin-egg
blue, full of puffy clouds big enough that it looked like I could bounce from one to another. We
all piled off the four-wheeler, my sister grabbing the bucket of feed, and we climbed over the
corral fence. Shadow came running up; by this time she knew she got food every time we came
to visit her.
I watched as my sister, six years old at the time, held out the yellowed bucket partially
full of food up for Shadow to devour, and devour she did, sadly more than just the grain. As
Shadow began to eat, Brooke peered down into the bucket, her head only hitting right above

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where Shadows head ended and her neck began. I watched in horror as Shadow suddenly jerked
her head out of the bucket, teeth bared and ears flattened against her head. I stood frozen in place
as the horse latched on to my sister face with her teeth seeming to dig in and crunch like she
would have if given an apple. My sister jerked away from Shadow, dropping the bucket, in the
process sending grain scattering in all directions. Brooke began to scream, as she grabbed her
right cheek with both hands, and ran away from the horse. The scream set my mom in motion,
and she ran after Brooke expecting the worst. I at this point was about as helpful as a tree, since I
was still frozen in shock at what my horse had just done. I finally started walking towards my
sister expecting half of her cheek to be hanging off the side of her face.
After my mom finally pried my sisters hands away from her face, we were all pleasantly
shocked. While there was some blood her cheek was still intact. After a trip to the emergency
room to confirm she was going to be okay, we learned Brookes cheek would only be bruised.
Shadow had definitely bit her; Brooke had a tooth mark inside her mouth to prove it, but she was
going to be okay!
This incident taught me many things. For one, horses may look like big fuzzy teddy
bears, but looks can be deceiving. However, the most important thing it showed me was how
much I loved my sister. In the moment when I thought she was hurt badly I couldnt imagine not
having her around. Shadow lived out a few more good years on my farm, until she began kicking
other horses while I was riding her on trail-rides. Then my dad, fearing she would hurt someone
else, sold her. When I think about her now I kind of miss her. She helped me become a more
experienced horse-person because with her it was learn or die. I will always have her to thank for
helping me to see how important family is, especially my sister!