Getting the halter around her head was easy- she was used to it. However, leading her out of the stall and to the corral was just a tad bit harder.

Anything unknown terrified her. Loud noises, strangers, being taken somewhere she’d never been before. Sierra dug in her slender hooves, pulling, pulling against the lead rope, with me pulling, pulling on the halter.

I eventually gave up. I stood and regarded her for a moment; then I nickered like a horse. “Here, girl. Nuttin’ to be ‘fraid of.”

No luck.

Then an idea struck me- it was like the sun had burst through a bank of clouds.

I sang. I sang, and she followed me. I swear, it was just like the Pied Piper.

Once I’d gotten her into the corral (she trotted slowly around the fence, to see how big it was), I slipped back into the stable and took my saddle off the wall. It was time to see if she could be ridden- maybe, just maybe, if I could prove to Dad that she really was a racehorse, then maybe, just maybe, he’d relent.

I should’ve known.