As summer dwindled to late August, the ranchers met to discuss the school situation. Don had ridden his pony eight miles across country to school. This year, Father had insisted there be a school closer. The men assessed the situation and found a small square school building that was unused by another district. This was moved to a spot near the highway which put it about two miles each way from the two families with school age children.
A young lady was hired to teach the children. She would board part time with each family. The school consisted of four children. Since Don and Joan would be riding to school, a corral and lean-to were built for Patches.
When school started in the fall, Bucky became a problem. His habit was to follow the children whenever they rode Patches. He had no understanding as to why school was any different. However, at school, he was a very disruptive nuisance. The children watched him from the window as he wandered around the play yard. When he thought he’d been left alone long enough, he would scrape at the door with his tiny hoof until someone came outside. Since the corral and lean-to were built for a horse not an antelope, there was no way to pen him up with Patches. After the first week of this, the teacher went to Father and requested that he do something. “We all love Bucky, but he can’t come to school, I’m sorry.”
Don could not bear to think of his pet being locked in the pen all day just because he did not understand the importance of school. Finally, Father arrived at the solution. He locked Bucky in the barn until after Don and Joan were out of sight. Later in the morning, Bucky would be perfectly happy to follow Father around or play with Sandie and Teenie.
On the first afternoon of this experiment, Bucky had seemed so content around the ranch that he even laid down in the warm sun near where Father was chopping wood.
Suddenly, Bucky jumped up and bounded off past the barn toward the direction of the school. Father looked at his was and laughed as he saw Don and Joan riding into view with an antelope making large circles around them. From that day on, Bucky was locked in the barn for a little while every morning, but one could set one’s watch by Bucky’s behavior. He ran to meet the children every night just before they came over the last hill and into view from the barn. Father loved to amaze visitors with the accuracy of Bucky’s ‘inner-clock’.
Sandie spent much time playing house in her little playhouse near the back door. She liked to take her dolls outside and put them to bed, then “bake mud pie cookies while the ‘napped’”. Bucky watched this procedure with his usual curiosity. He stood back and watched as though studying the situation. The little girl was not paying any attention at all to the family pet. She was in squatting position stirring up her mud pies and happily singing to her dolls.
Bucky watched. His curiosity became too much. He stepped quietly forward. Sandie suddenly felt something warm and scratchy on her bare leg. She reached down to brush it away without looking back. Before she realized what was happening to her, a gentle butt from Bucky’s head sent her sprawling forward.
She jumped up and shouted at Bucky who ran away from her, apparently surprised and hurt by her anger. He seemed to be gone so she resumed her play. Once again, she was absorbed in her play. Bucky came up behind her and gently butted her all over again. She yelled at him, resumed her play, he did it again. This went on for several more times before Sandie went crying to Mother in frustration.
“He’s lonesome and bored; take him out for a run in the baseball field,” Mother suggested.
Sandie took her Mother’s advice and romped around the bases with the baby antelope. That fall, the little girl and the antelope spent many hours romping together in the open field. Little as she was, Bucky was happy just to have a playmate. Sandie found it easier to play with him than to ignore him.
Since Bucky enjoyed breaking up Sandie’s playhouse parties, she devised a way to include him in the game. Father helped her rig a rope around his neck and 2 lead ropes from the neck back. These tied to her wagon and urged Bucky to pull. He pulled her around the yard for a short time. When he got tired of this game, he stopped and laid down. No amount of urging from Sandie would get him up and moving again.
Once he decided to run. His bouncing run turned the wagon over and dumped Sandie and her dolls on the ground. She did not get hurt, but Mother suggested she stop with that game before she got hurt. Don would be very displeased with that anyway.
As winter approached, Sandie played outdoors by herself less and less. Bucky wandered around aimlessly when Father turned him outside after Don and Joan were off at school. He did not understand where all his playmates had gone. He sniffed around the feed bins in the horse corrals. Comet found him to be an unnecessary nuisance and would kick at him if he came too close. At the chicken pen, an angry hen would peck at the snoopy little nose is she thought he was too close to her kernel of corn. Even the scarecrow in the now barren garden patch flapped in the cold wind as if to tell a lonely antelope to go away. Bucky stationed himself in his favorite sleeping spot under the stump of a cottonwood tree where his feeding trough, a large sardine can, was nailed at just the right height for his nose. This had replaced the bottle when he but the tips off several calf nipples. From the location, he could jump up and be right behind anyone who opened the back door. He was always ready for a friendly game.
Snow began to blanket the prairie making the sagebrush appear to be ghostly bumps. An occasional puff of wind would gently stir the brush and send snow flying in a flurry of whiteness. The prairie was an ever changing picture of whiteness swirling up and over the gray shapes of what was once the Wyoming sage. Drifts began to pile up along fences and in low lying areas. The tops of hills would be blown barren and gray as snow was blown to make the low-lying drifts even higher.
At the first snow, Don and Joan continued to ride Patches back and forth to school. Don was carefully taught to follow the fence lines, especially when it was actually snowing. The blowing wind created blizzard conditions quickly. If the children followed the fence, there was no danger of being lost in a storm. The fence would lead them home. He was also taught to allow Patches plenty of rein. The little pony could always find his way home.
Mother worried about the children riding in this kind of weather. Father assured her that they were dressed warmly and Don had ridden further last year. Both children had heavy hand-made woolen snow suits and boots on. Joan looked like and Eskimo in her red woolen cap with fur around her face and warm red crocheted mittens. Don had a black fur lined leather cap and also wore the hand crocheted mittens. He grumbled about these. They didn’t give him enough freedom to handle his horse. “But they keep you warm,” replied Mother. An examination of Joan’s boots after the first week of stormy weather reassured Mother that they were following strict instructions and would be indeed safe. She discovered they had been riding so close to the fence that Joan’s boots had tiny holes and tears in them because she was kicking the barbed wire with her toes all the way back and forth.
“Do you have to ride so close to the fence Don? Joan’s boots will never keep her feet dry this way!” exclaimed Mother.
“Sorry Mom, I have to stay close to the fence,” Don said.
“I help him make sure it’s there by kicking it,” said Joan.
“Oh, what will I ever do with you two?” groaned Mother.
“In a little while, the snow along the fences will be too deep then I’ll take them across the pasture on the hay wagon while I’m feeding the cattle,” said Father.
Both children were excited at the prospect of riding to school in the hay wagon and yet dreaded giving up their daily ride on Patches. They had come to love speeding on their own special trail along the fence line by this time. But it was getting harder and harder for Patches to go through the drifts in some parts of the trail.
Fireside Stories 