Even Demons Have Their Moments

Horse Power

The day Demon truly got his name was the day of my sixteenth birthday.

You know the deal, sweet sixteen; the party every one dreams about even if it's secretly. The day when you go from being a kid to being an adult. The day when you can drive.

Of course, living on a farm, I had already driven a tractor and other heavy machinery. Oh, and in emergencies, taken a car down fields and roads (don't tell the cops...well okay the cops know about it. But they pretend not to since it looks bad to arrest a ten year old who didn't cause any trouble really...other than that one fence post that wasn't really needed anyway). But now I would be allowed to drive on roads in public. Legally.

To celebrate, my father, and his brother who worked as a car mechanic in the next town over, got me a car. It wasn't that expensive or awesome, but it was mine.

It was a bright pink convertible. Well I say convertible, but I mean roofless. The 'roof' was a tarp with a metal pole I could hold up. So driving in the rain would be interesting. But it was mine. It was probably from before the sixties. But it was mine. There were beige leather seats with stains from the previous ten owners. But it was mine. It smelled of cats and, when I opened the glove box, a surprised rat fell out (Dad then angrily shoved Uncle Steve and hissed 'I thought you said you checked it over last night!'). But it was mine. The engine only started after three turns of the key and a kick from behind. But it was mine.

Oh, and did I mention, that it was mine?

So, with great ceremony and all my friends and family gathered around to watch, applaud, and basically do things that crowds do at this sort of thing, I got into my car and started it.

Just as I was pulling out the drive, It happened.

I didn't hear the hooves until he was right on top of me because the engine was so loud. Later I was told that he must not have seen the car and he tried to jump it. Others said that he tried to kick it. Still others said that it was his infamous rearing.

All I know is that the front of my car was sticking out the driveway of my house when two black hooves came out from behind the wall to my right and crashed down on the hood of my beautiful new car.

Thoughts raced through my mind in an instant.

The first, as a horse person was, "Oh my God, he could have broken a leg!"

Then, being a teenager who just received a car, "Oh my God, he could have broken my car!"

As it turned out, one of the horses had escaped out of his field and had come galloping down the lane from the yard to the house. My mother, who liked to see the good side of horses, claimed that the music and noise of the party had stressed him. I, who knew the horse in question, knew without a doubt that he had come with the sole purpose of ruining my birthday.

I'll give you two guesses as to which horse it was that was currently jumping up and down around my new car and doing his best impression of a dragon breathing fire.

No, it wasn't Honey, the relaxed Chesnut New Forest that we own.

No, it wasn't Poko, the neurotic Frisian that boards with us.

It was Monte. But at that point, to me, he was definitely a demon sent straight from Hell with the soul purpose of causing my untimely demise so he could drag me to the firey pits of doom and rejoin his breathen in the armies of the damned. Or something like that.

I scrambled out my car and walked slowly, quietly around to him.

"Demon, Demon, it's okay, baby, it's okay, Demon, calm down."

Other people had been approaching, but they stayed back now. They knew enough not to try to come near and spook him further.

Monte stopped dancing and snorting at my car which was smoking and hissing now. Instead, he snorted at me, lowered his head, and slowly walked over.

"There, there," I cooed, reaching my hand out. Still snorting a little, he touched his nose to my hand and I stroked him.

Still using the same soothing voice and never taking my eyes off the horse, I asked the people behind me, "Can someone please get me a halter or rope?"

An old rope halter that was kept in Mom's closet was produced and I slipped it onto Monte, not caring that it was a bit too big. Then, still speaking soothingly to him, I lead him down the lane and back to his field.

The second I released him, he sauntered off, as if nothing had happened, and started grazing.

I snorted, "Jerk."

There was a laugh behind me, "That he is."

I turned to see Dad leaning on the fence and watching me and the horse, "Acts like his tail's on fire until he's free to eat grass. Then, not a care in the world."

I nodded, "You should see him when I ride him."

Dad looked at me, "I have. Why do you think I hide whenever you look like you're going to ask me to start doing it?"

"Seriously? Coward! Leaving your little girl to ride that...that...that demon!"

Dad laughed. Again. He seemed to enjoy my suffering as much as the horse. "Tell you what, if you ride him and train him, I'll make him yours."

"What?" He clearly did enjoy my suffering. He knew that had been my dream for years. My own horse. And he had to make it Demon. It was a sick joke.

"Well, you seem to have already stopped calling him by the name I gave him. If you ride him on a regular basis, train him up so he can compete in...well let's not go too high, let's just say training level, then he's yours. You can even rename him."

I gaped. This was too much. Too good to be true. Also bad. And dangerous. And painful. And bad.

"My very own horse?" I squeaked, barely trusting my voice.

Much better than a car.

Dad nodded smugly, "Your very own horse. But you have to compete him at training level first."

I nodded and extended my hand to shake his, "Deal!"

Dad grabbed my hand and shook it, grinning, "Now come on, let's see what your horse did to your car."

I grinned and walked with Dad, his arm around my shoulder, back to the house.

My very own horse!

My very own horse!

My very own horse!

Of course it was Demon.

Perhaps that was worse than no horse at all.

Uncle Steve had bad news for me when I returned. It had been an old car to start with. And Demon had managed to drive his metal-enforced hoof through the already battered engine with enough force to cripple it for good.

It would never run again.

He promised he would try to fix it up, but he wasn't hopeful. He was right. As it turned out, my first drive on a real road in public in my first car lasted all of three feet. And three feet was all my car would ever drive.

My horse, however, was another story.