After the Ink Dried

           After the ink on Harold’s forged signature dried, Miss Kitty put the letter in the envelope along with the get well card. “Are we going to mail it, or personally deliver it,” Miss Kitty said.

            Miles held his tail in his hands, gently blowing on the tip to dry it off. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s up to you, Miss Kitty.”

            “It’s up to you, Miss Kitty,” Harold said.

            “Well, honestly, I don’t relish another trip to KMC,” Miss Kitty said. “Hospitals make me break out in a rash. I, well, I spent some time in an institution in Boston before my parents decided to send me to a wayward rich kid school in Bonners Ferry.”

            “Did you get to go to boot camp,” Harold asked.

            Miss Kitty laughed, a rich and textured tone that sounded like doves taking flight. She started to cover her teeth with her tongue, but when she felt the smooth surface of her repaired front teeth, she stretched her lips in an elegant smile.

            “Yes, Harold. I got to go to boot camp. Trust me, at the time I felt it was a huge punishment and a major roadblock in my happy destiny. But that’s where I had my first exposure to horses, and that eventually brought me to Western Pleasure Guest Ranch, where I worked as a wrangler for a couple seasons. All these experiences changed my life for the better, in spite of myself.”

            Miles wished he could visit Western Pleasure. He had heard good things about the ranch, and wanted to see the horses running to their field in the evening.

            “Was Miss Patches a Western Pleasure pony?” Miles asked.

            “Miles wants to know where you got Miss Patches,” Harold said.

            “That’s like a really long story,” Miss Kitty said. “Patches was a neglected, untrained 3-year old. I kind of rescued her, and she totally saved me. Isaac, he lives at Western Pleasure, put 30 days of training on Miss Patches after I befriended her, and Vicky Fuller gave me riding lessons so I could finish the job.”

            Miles had a dreamy look on his face, which Harold interrupted with, “Stamps. We’ll need stamps to send this letter off.”