Book Excerpt: Pete and Ole (A Horse Story)
Pete and Ole
>From the book: "Cream of the Crop (More True Stories from a
Wisconsin Farm)" by LeAnn R. Ralph (trade paperback; October
2005; 190 pages; $13.95; FREE! shipping) --
http://ruralroute2.com
"Highly recommended reading" -- The Midwest Book Review
"(Cream of the Crop) was extradordinary from the first story to
the last. I laughed, cried and sighed at the way you bring the
emotions of people and animals to the page." (R.S. --
Clintonville, Wisconsin)
3075 words
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Dad finished pouring a cup of coffee and gathered a handful of
oatmeal cookies from the rows spread out on the cutting board to
cool. After Mom baked bread or cake, or when Loretta baked
cookies or pies or bars, they pulled the cutting board out from
its slot beneath the kitchen counter and used it as a place to
set the pans they had taken out of the oven. And then the
cutting board stayed pulled out until the baking had cooled. My
mother also used the cutting board to slice bread, of course,
which anybody could see by the dozens of thin lines scored into
its surface from the sharp knife edges.
I helped myself to two cookies and sat by the table next to Dad.
"It's no wonder I have to bake cookies every time I turn
around,"Loretta grumbled. She frowned and tried to look fierce
and grumpy, but it didn't work. It never did. With her dark
curly hair and smiling blue eyes, she was too pretty to look
fierce and grumpy.
Dad shrugged and picked up another cookie. "Can't help myself.
These cookies are awwww-ful good."
Loretta often baked cookies on Sunday afternoons, and she was in
the middle of making a triple batch of oatmeal. She would take
some of the cookies with her when she left for her apartment
later today.
"What's that book about?"Dad asked, pointing at the book I had
laid on the table before getting my cookies.
I finished chewing a bite of cookie. "There's this girl who goes
out West to visit her cousins for the summer,"I explained. "They
give her a horse to ride, and it has a brand. She thinks the
brand is weird because she's never seen one before."
"Pete had a brand you know,"Dad said, dipping a cookie into his
cup of coffee.
"Pete had brand?"I said.
"Sure did,"Dad replied.
Pete and Ole, the last team of workhorses my father owned, had
been gone from our farm for quite a few years by the time I was
born. I didn't think Pete was such an unusual name for a horse,
but Ole was a Norwegian name, and I could not figure out why the
horse would have a Norwegian name. Mom was Norwegian. Dad was
not. But my father had been the one who worked with the horses
and fed them and took care of them, and it seemed unlikely to me
that my mother would name the team. One time I had asked Mom how
'Ole' was spelled. Since it rhymed with 'holy' I thought it was
probably 'O-l-y.' But Mom said no, that Ole was spelled 'O-l-e.'
"What did Pete's brand look like?"I asked.
I loved to watch Westerns on television. I knew that brands were
markings burned into the hide of a horse or a cow with a hot
iron so the ranch owners would know which animal belonged where
if they got mixed up on the open range, and that when it came
time to do the branding, every ranch hand had to pitch in and
help -- sort of like haying time on our farm where sometimes
even my big sister became a tractor driver.
I was hoping the brand would be something interesting like a
Circle Bar D, or a Double B, or a Triple R. The brands in the
Westerns on television were like the name of the ranch. If the
ranch was Circle Bar D Ranch, then the brand was a circle with a
'D' in the middle and a line over the 'D.'
"Pete's brand was nothing special,"Dad replied. "Only a little
squiggly mark on his hip."
"But Pete and Ole weren't really workhorses, were they?"I asked
as I nibbled the edge off another oatmeal cookie. I knew all
about the workhorse breeds from reading the H volume of our
World Book Encyclopedia set. There were Clydesdales and Belgians
and Percherons and Shires.
"Nope,"Dad said. "Pete and Ole were just ordinary horses."
"What color were they?"I asked, although I already knew the
answer to that question.
"They were brown,"Loretta said.
"Yes, they were brown horses,"said Mom, who had come out to the
kitchen a minute ago.
"But what kind of brown?"I asked.
I knew horses could be many different colors of brown: sorrel (a
reddish brown), chestnut (a darker brown), bay (reddish brown
with a black mane and tail), roan (also a reddish brown but with
white hairs mixed in), dun (yellowish brown with a dark brown
stripe along the spine), and buckskin (a light brownish beige).
"I guess you could say they were sorrels,"Dad replied. "They
still looked like plain old brown horses to me,"Mom said.
"Would you like a cookie, Mother? And some coffee?"Loretta
asked. "Yes, please,"Mom replied. My sister put a cookie on
a small plate and poured a cup of coffee for Mom. I glanced at
Dad. He was grinning. "What's so funny, Daddy?"I asked.
"I was just thinking about Pete and Ole. Pete was thin and kind
of nervous. Ole was fat and slow. When I hooked them together, I
had to be careful about saying 'gid-up' and slapping the reins,
because Pete would take off like he'd been shot out of cannon."
"What would Ole do?"I asked.
"Not much,"Dad replied. "Not any more than he had to. Ole didn't
want to move that fast. It didn't matter how many times I
slapped the reins, he'd hang back, and if we were plowing or
something like that, it meant Pete was doing most of the work. I
think Ole figured he was just out for a walk. Or to keep Pete
company."
My mother took a sip of coffee and set the cup on the table. "I
was always surprised you ever got any work done with those
two,"she said.
I turned toward Dad again and nibbled some more off the edge of
my cookie. If it had been left up to me, I would have eaten half
the batch by myself this afternoon. But I knew Mom wouldn't like
that, and plus, if I ate so many cookies now, I wouldn't have
enough during the week while Loretta was at her apartment.
Eating the cookies reminded me that Loretta would come home
again on the weekend. I missed my big sister when she was gone.
"How did Pete and Ole get their names, anyway?"I asked. \ "See,
there were a lot of Norwegians around here back then,"Dad said.
"Not like now, where people say they're Norwegian because of
their folks, but real Norwegians, people who came from the old
country."
Dad reached for his coffee cup. "They had this newspaper that
was written in Norwegian. I couldn't understand a word of it,
but Nels could."
Nels was my mother's father, and I knew he had died many years
before I was born.
"And in this newspaper,"Dad continued, "they had a comic strip.
The characters' names were Pete and Ole. Nels would read it and
laugh, and so would Sigurd if he happened to be over here. And
then I'd ask what was so funny, and they'd tell me what Pete and
Ole were doing that week."
Sigurd was Mom's uncle.
"Did you like Grandpa Nels, Daddy? And Uncle Sigurd? Were they
nice?" I could remember Uncle Sigurd. He had died when I was
five years old. He had lived in town, and I would go with
Loretta to bring him out to the farm to eat Sunday dinner with
us.
"Yeah,"Dad said, "Nels and I got along fine. Same with Sigurd.
They were both nice guys. I used to cut pulp with Sigurd. When
Ma got polio, Nels helped me take care of your brother and
sister."
"But what about the comic strip, Dad?" "The characters were
always getting themselves into one situation or another, and so,
when we got this team of horses, I thought it sounded like good
names for them. Turned out to be accurate, too, because Pete and
Ole were always doing funny things."
Dad went to the stove to fill his cup and came back to the table
with another handful of cookies. If it was one thing Dad liked,
it was sweets, but he said he couldn't understand it because the
Norwegians were the ones who were supposed to like sweets, and
his father came from Scotland and his mother came from Germany.
He figured that liking sweets must mean lots of Norwegian had
rubbed off on him, seeing as he had lived around them for so
long.
"What else do you remember about Pete and Ole?"I asked.
Dad dipped another cookie into his coffee. "When I worked at the
canning factory,"he said, "I didn't have time during the week to
fool with the horses."
For as long as I had known my father, he had been a farmer, and
I had a hard time picturing him at work in a factory.
"Why were you working at the canning factory?"
"We needed the money,"Mom said.
"But what about Pete and Ole?"I asked.
"All week long while I was at the factory, they'd stand around,
eating. Getting fat. Doing nothing. When I was home, I'd walk
out to the pasture to see 'em. And there they'd be. All over me.
Nuzzling my arm. Nudging my cap. Following me around like big
puppy dogs."
He reached for another cookie.
"Although,"Dad continued, "it was a different story entirely if
I wanted to get some work done."
"Then what happened?"
"They'd take one look at me -- and they'd run!"Dad recalled.
"Tails in the air. Kicking up clods of dirt. They'd gallop
around and around the pasture. You'd think they were race horses
instead of workhorses."
My sister pulled another cookie sheet out of the oven. "I
remember that,"she said. "Especially the part about them kicking
up big hunks of dirt when they ran away."
"How'd you ever catch them?"I asked.
"Oh -- once they got it out of their system, they'd settle
down,"Dad said. "Then they'd let me catch them just as nice as
you please."
My father rubbed his ear. "You know, sometimes I thought it
seemed like Pete and Ole missed me when I was gone all week."
"Then why did they run away?" "That's a horse for you,"Mom
said. "You can't get a hold of them when you want them."
"Horses are smart that way,"Dad said. "They know the difference
between when you want to catch 'em for work and when you're only
coming out there to see them." "Pete and Ole must not have
liked working,"I said. "Actually,"Dad said. "I don't think
Pete and Ole minded working. Everybody likes to feel useful, you
know. It's just that it was a trick they enjoyed playing."
"Sort of like a game?"
"Exactly like a game,"Dad replied.
He picked up his coffee cup, saw that it was empty, and stood up.
"And then, too, there was that time Loretta and Ingman took Pete
and Ole for a ride,"he said, as he headed for the coffee pot.
"You want some more coffee, Ma?"he asked. My mother held up her
hand, as if to say 'no,' but then thought better of it. "Maybe a
half a cup,"she said.
I turned toward Loretta. "How come you were riding the horses?
Were you going out to get the cows?"
My sister ran water into the cookie batter bowl. "I don't
remember why we decided to take Pete and Ole out for a ride,"she
said. "Ingman rode Pete because he liked to go fast. I liked Ole
because he was slow."
"What happened?"I asked.
"When we came to a tree, Ole was much too lazy to go around, so
he walked right under it,"Loretta said.
"Then what?"I asked.
"A tree branch knocked me off,"Loretta said as she started to
put the cooled cookies into a canister.
"How come you didn't duck?"
"Duck?"Loretta asked, turning to stare at me. "I was too scared
to think about ducking."
"Why were you scared?"
"Ole was a big animal."
"Did he run away after you fell off?"
"Oh, no. He just stopped and stood there."
"How come you didn't turn him away from the tree?"
"Me? Try to turn that great big thing?"Loretta asked, looking
horrified at the very thought.
Turning was easy. You pulled on the rein in the direction you
wanted to go. That's what I did with Dusty.
"Wasn't it fun to ride the horses?"I asked.
If Pete and Ole were still here, I knew I would want to ride
them every day. When it came to the workhorses, I was jealous of
Loretta and Ingman because they had known Pete and Ole
personally.
Loretta turned toward me and shook her finger. "I've never
ridden a horse since then,"she declared, "and I haven't wanted
to, either!"
Dad sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.
"And then there was the time Pete and Ole came home all by
themselves,"he said. "Some people we know wanted to use them
during the week while I was gone at work. Pete and Ole came
home, in the middle of the night, all by themselves. . . "
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LeAnn R. Ralph is the author of the books "Christmas in
Dairyland (True Stories from a Wisconsin Farm); "Give Me a Home
Where the Dairy Cows Roam" and "Cream of the Crop (More True
Stories from a Wisconsin Farm)." To read sample chapters, order
the books and to sign up for LeAnn's FREE! monthly newsletter
from Rural Route 2, visit -- http://ruralroute2.com