God Drives a Tow Truck Read Online Free

the cow, Matilda, and the goats. I eventually mastered squeezing the milk efficiently from the teats so that soon the cow no longer bellowed and the goats stopped kicking over the pail. The barn cats would gather around me and I would squeeze a warm stream of milk right into their pink, gaping mouths.
"When are you going to ride Joe," taunted Matt, as he sat on the fence watching me brush the tangles from Joe's tail, "Be sure to let me know so I can put your funeral time on my appointment book."
I ignored him. His taunts hurt even more than being humiliated by others might normally hurt a shy little girl because, inexplicably, I liked Matt. I wanted him to like me. He liked all the other kids, but he seemed to despise me. There was so little to despise, I never understood his animosity. I never spoke, and my entire time on the farm was spent with the beloved horses, or shoveling the beloved horses’ excrement. I was hard working, and silent. What could he find to hate?
Ella taught me how to put the hackamore on Joe, and to slip it over his ears so it was secure. She taught me how to pick up his feet so I could clean his hooves. She didn't understand my attachment to this ugly, mean little horse, but she was kind in trying to help me learn to work with him.
I continued riding Nipper, and fell off less and less. Ella watched me. Finally, one day she asked me if I was ready to try riding Joe. Of course I was ready, if riding upside down clinging to the belly of a pony as I had so recently done constituted “ready”.
"Oh this I gotta see!" chortled Matt. Ella glared at him, and he skittered away to gather the others to sit on the paddock fence.
"Yes, if you think I am ready," I told her.

Joe always seemed to look forward to seeing me. He willingly trotted over when I would rush out to the pasture every day after school. I went unfailingly to the farm, no matter how frigid the Chicago winter was or how deep the snow. And I always brought him a carrot, and nestled my face against his muzzle, loving the warm burst of air from his nostrils.
    On this momentous day, I hurried out to the pasture, and when he saw me, he nickered and came trotting over. I snapped the lead on him and led him in. Ella handed me the hackamore. I bridled him, and led him out to the paddock. Matt and the other kids sat on the fence, snickering and whispering. I know my face burned bright red. I hated the lack of control I had over these crimson blushes.
I tried to ignore them all, and put the reins over Joe's neck. He was taller than Nipper, but because his back was so swayed, it was not too much higher to scramble on.
"Back up everyone!" yelled Matt, "Cause when he starts bucking, he is gonna throw Vicky our way!"
The crowd of kids laughed.
I grabbed a hold of Joe's mane and pulled myself on him.
"Whoa!" screeched Matt, laughing as I fumbled and struggled to throw my leg astride, "At least she is a really good rider!"
That caused another eruption of laughter.
Joe shifted his legs.
"Look out!" called Matt.
I pulled myself to a seated position and gathered the reins. Joe turned his head to look at me, his soft brown eyes kind and encouraging. I nudged him gently with my heels. He walked forward quietly. I squeezed and he began to trot. His trot was quite bouncy, not at all like Ho-Hum, with his gentle rocking gait. I bounced up and down, my pigtails flapping with each beat. But I stayed on. Matt and the others laughed a little longer. I ignored them and turned Joe's head towards the outer wall so he would canter with the right leading foot, and squeezed again. As horrible as his trot was, his canter was to an equal degree glorious. It was smooth and soft, an easy rhythmic stride, with his deep sway back more comfortable than any saddle. I was not a good rider, but the deep depression of his back held me firmly in place. Joe responded quickly to my command, and we cantered joyfully around the ring.
By the time I pulled Joe to a walk, Matt and the others were