Kinsley's Wacky Wild West Show E-Book

Dorothy Dozier Allen

• Herausgeber: Dozier-Allen Publishing
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The race is on! Cheered on by her zany Aunt Dot-Dot and furry best friend Muffin, Kinsley and her horse Polka Dot enter a thrilling horserace. The race draws friends and eager barn animals to view the exciting event.
 
Can Kinsley win the race? You betcha.
 
Little girls wearing decorative hats surround the winner. Kinsley’s imagination soars when she dons one of the hats—a fancy pink cowgirl hat. She sets a plan in motion to turn the family farm into a Wild West Show complete with trick-riding cowgirls, wild Indians, stagecoach robbers and root’n toot’n cowboys.
 
The show needs horses. But Polka Dot refuses to be in the show—why?
 
How will Kinsley convince the stubborn horse to change his mind?
 
Also, will her aunt go along with the plan for a show?
 
Grab your furry best friend and find out.

Leseprobe

Giddyup! Let’s Ride

Chapter 1

Ding-a-ling! Ding-a-ling!

From the front porch of a white country cottage, Kinsley clangs the family farm triangle.

Ding-a-ling! Ding-a-ling!

Again she sounds the old-fashioned metal “clanger” while calling loudly, “Hey, everybody, don’t forget today is the running of the Dixie Daisy Derby.”

Excitement charges the air. The thrill of the race beckons eager animals to the pasture where the race will begin behind the old red barn.

Out of the way, out of the way, bleats the silly billy goat. Move it or I’ll bruise it.

The donkey and the mule jump aside.

But the chickens, in the middle of play, squawk with lots to say. Ain’t no bully billy goat gonna push us around. We’ll peck the meanie out of him. With feathers ruffled, they launch an attack, screeching while pecking his legs.

The goat backs down from his stormy charge. Whoa, ladies, didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers but I can’t be late for a very important date.

In their outrage, the chickens scratch the ground and sling loose dirt.Standing nearby, the rooster crows, Ain’t no reason to butt your way through the crowd, mister.

The goat cocks his head. Quickly, he rethinks the situation. His forehead wrinkles. Well, uh, ladies, please allow me to escort you to reserved seating for your viewing pleasure. No reason to allow this little, uh, mix-up to get in the way of our newfound friendship. Right?

With that said, the goat escapes a most unusual fate—henpecked.

From the bottom of the porch steps, two big brown eyes stare at Kinsley. The family pet—Kinsley’s very best friend Muffin—barks. Hey, kiddo, get a move on. Time’s a wasting. Gotta get ready for the big race. No time to dilly dally. Time to show up and show off.

After her timely announcement, the white Shih Tzu sniffs low-creeping red clover hugging the border of Aunt Dot-Dot’s flowerbed. The fragrant blooms reveal spring has sprung and summer is on the way.

Once inside the cozy wood-frame house, Kinsley slips into her silk jockey jacket. She primps in front of a mirror but frets over a sprinkling of freckles. With a sassy grin, she fashions her jockey cap sideways before tucking her sun-tipped curls snugly under it to give her the signature jockey look.

Soon the sound of giggling catches Kinsley’s attention. Voices coming from Aunt Dot-Dot’s walk-in closet, along with tumbling boxes crashing to the floor and the rustling of tissue paper, alarms her.

Within the spacious closet she spies three family playmates—Rosie, Sawyer and Addie—rummaging through Aunt Dot-Dot’s famous hat collection. Addie grabs a straw hat adorned with yellow daffodils and white daisies.

“I love this one,” calls Rosie who dons a floppy lavender hat with yellow silk roses and pink tulips.

“Mine, mine,” calls Sawyer as she selects a fancy pink cowgirl hat.

Kinsley grins. “Wow! All we need now are fabulous pearls to complete the Dixie Daisy look.” She opens a box marked Tea Party and pulls out a handful of long-strand pearls.

Giggling, the girls drape pearls around their neck and rush to the pasture where the race is set to begin.

Muffin runs, too. Her Dixie Daisy look is complete with red bows on her ears and a matching doggie scarf around her neck.

At the pasture gate Aunt Dot-Dot’s voice booms into a mock microphone, her thumb. She pretends she’s at a famous horse race.

“Welcome to the First Annual Dixie Daisy Derby,” she says. “Today’s lineup features Polka Dot ridden by—ta-da!—jockey Kinsley. Next, we have Thunderbolt, Lightning Streak and Little Stormie—the donkey, the mule and the goat.”

Rosie, Sawyer and Addie clap and cheer as they call out the little jockey’s name. Sitting astride the racehorse, Kinsley stands erect in the stirrups and blows kisses to them.

Excited by the gathering, Muffin barks and twirls on her tippy-toes.

Cackling, the chickens rouse the rooster to join them.

On a fencepost the rooster eyes the smelly goat. He crows, No thanks,the air…uh, I mean the view is just fine from up here.

The goat excuses himself. Pardon me, ladies, I hate to interrupt this hen party but I really must run.

Before the triangle clangs again, Kinsley leans over and whispers in Polka Dot’s ear. The Appaloosa’s nose flares. He stomps the ground, ready to run.

Thunderbolt brays, Let’s run!

Lightning Streak and Little Stormie kick the sides of the starting gate. Hey, what’s the holdup?

Aunt Dot-Dot holds the metal triangle high in the air, alerting everyone the race is about to begin. Her gaze settles on the little jockey. She gives the nervous rider a quick wink.

Kinsley offers a thumbs-up to her aunt and takes a deep breath. She wiggles in the saddle and adjusts her jockey cap. “Okay, Polka Dot, I’ve got my whole allowance riding on you so run for the win.”

Great! whinnies Polka Dot. Sounds like a major wager to me.

Ding-a-ling! Ding-a-ling!The sound of the triangle clangs the start of the race. “They’re off and running,” Aunt Dot-Dot cries out. Her voice booms into the thumb-microphone, calling, “Thunderbolt takes the lead with Little Stormie only a half-length behind. Now, Polka Dot and Lightning Streak are neck-and-neck.”

“Go, Polka Dot, run for the money,” calls the cheering crowd.

Watching the race, Muffin’s tongue laps the air. Her breath quickens as Thunderbolt’s tail whips the wind, speeding ahead of Polka Dot. Through the fence she barks, Go-go-go!

Kinsley leans forward in the saddle. Her body rises in the stirrups. Her heart races. She calls out to Polka Dot, “Come on, boy. You were born to win.”

Polka Dot’s hooves pound the turf.

Aunt Dot-Dot calls out in rapid-fire excitement, “Quick on his feet, Little Stormie has taken the lead with Polka Dot a close second.”

Spectators along the fence line chant the little jockey’s name. Rosie’s fists pump the air. Sawyer kicks her legs against the fencepost while Addie waves a winner’s head garland of yellow-and-white daisies. They cheer when the animals streak along the fencerow, creating a blur of white, brown, and black. The array of colors zoom past.

The announcer pats her chest and gasps when she views Polka Dot taking the lead. She waves the mock microphone in the air, exposing a thumbs-up. She calls out, “The crowd is going wild. It’s a crazy race. It’s gonna be a close call, y’all.”

Polka Dot picks up the pace. His golden mane and tail fan the air. Every muscle in his body flexes. His long legs stretch toward the finish line. Trailing close behind, Thunderbolt pounds the turf. All the while, Little Stormie and Lightning Streak push hard to place second.

“Faster, faster,” cries Kinsley.

Moments later, Polka Dot is first to cross the finish line. Kinsley rises in the saddle and waves her arms in the air as her mount slows to a trot. She pats the winner’s sweaty head. “Good boy, I knew you could do it. I never gave up on you.”

Polka Dot whinnies, I guess we gave the donkey, the mule and the goat a run for the money.

The little jockey snickers. “Yeah, those were great names we gave the animals, especially Little Stormie. It fits the goat’s personality perfectly.”

Polka Dot high-steps as Kinsley walks him toward the Winner’s Circle. He shakes his head and flares his nostrils. Nope. We should have named him Little Stinky. At the starting gate, I could smell his stench. The thought of him catching up to me gave wings to my feet and I flew to the finish line. He stops. He snorts. Has anyone ever suggested a Saturday night bath?

Kinsley giggles. “Yep. Didn’t work. That’s why Aunt Dot-Dot planted fragrant gardenia bushes and honeysuckle vines near the barn.”

Muffin paws her nose. Phew! I can smell him before I see him. No kidding, we need to plant more flowers on the property.

Rosie and Sawyer jump from the fence and run to congratulate the winner. Following close behind, the smallest spectator, Addie, thrusts the crown of daisies in front of her. Once at the circle of fame, she proudly crowns Polka Dot with the winner’s garland. The spotted Appaloosa lowers his head to receive the honor, plus a ceremonial kiss on the nose.

Aunt Dot-Dot pins the winner’s ribbon of blue and silver on Kinsley’s jacket before awarding her the golden trophy.

“Well,” says Aunt Dot-Dot. “This has been a very exciting race. We must congratulate the contestants. They all ran a good race.”

Nearby, the donkey, the mule and the goat hesitate to enter the Winner’s Circle. From a short distance they bray, hee-haw, and bleat their good wishes.

Aunt Dot-Dot rushes to the front porch. She strikes the metal triangle. Ding-a-ling! Ding-a-ling! “Who’s ready to party?”

“Me-me-me!” shouts Kinsley. “Let’s party hardy and don’t be tardy.”

Muffin barks, Race you to the porch.

Party Hardy And Don’t Be Tardy

Chapter 2

“Cupcakes and lemonade are now being served,” calls Aunt Dot-Dot. “Come and get it.”

Rosie, Sawyer and Addie cling to their colorful hats as they run.

On the front porch, atop a white wicker table, is an array of cookies, blueberry muffins and strawberry cupcakes. On a separate plate are vanilla scones with fresh homemade honeysuckle jam. A tall pitcher of cold lemonade with lemon and strawberry slices is ready to serve. Festive paper plates and matching cups await each child. Balloons and streamers decorate the steps leading to the party.

Kinsley waves. “Come on everybody, let’s party hardy and don’t be tardy.”

The donkey and mule bray, Hee-haw, hee-haw. Can we come, too?

The goat bleats, Baa-baa-baa. Don’t forget me.

Hey, stop with the whining, snorts the winner. Everyone is invited to the party. Polka Dot takes the lead and escorts the gang to the party.

During the festivities, Rosie peers up at the horse. “Hey pony, would you teach us to be jockeys, too, and ride like Kinsley?”

Sawyer and Addie jump up and down with excitement. “Yes! Do it.”

Kinsley’s eyes light up. “What a wonderful idea.”

Polka Dot’s ears droop. He shakes his head in disbelief. I don’t think so.

What!? The goat chimes in, Hey, buddy, what’s your problem?

Yeah, barks Muffin. I’d do it.

Me, too, says the donkey and the mule.

Kinsley frowns. “Come on, Polka Dot. Do it, okay?”

Look, kid, I’m a racehorse, not a riding instructor. The only kid on my back is YOU.

“Come on, Polka Dot, be their riding coach,” says Kinsley. “Everyone loves the idea. The girls want to learn to ride. One day they can be jockeys, too.”

Nope. The stubborn horse trots toward the barn. He snorts, I’m a racer, not a teacher.

Kinsley shrugs as she stuffs a strawberry cupcake into her mouth. “Oh well,” she mumbles. “Your loss, buddy. You just missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime.”

As the cantankerous horse trots away, he takes a quick sidelong peek back at the party. Everyone is enjoying the festivities except him. All alone in the barn, the grumpy horse sulks.

The following day, Kinsley folds her silk jockey outfit and places it in a box marked Dixie Daisy Derby. She tucks the jockey cap into the box along with the First Place Blue Ribbon. Smiling, she gathers all the fancy hats and returns them to Aunt Dot-Dot’s room. On impulse she places the pink cowgirl hat on her head. It’s a perfect fit. She views herself in a full-length mirror in the corner of the room. She stands back and admires the shape and curve of the hat. She grins. “I wonder how I would look in cowgirl boots.”

She places all the hats on a top shelf…except the pink one.

Running out the front door, Kinsley waves the pink cowgirl hat high above her head. She twirls it ’round and ’round. Slapping her hip, she shouts “Giddyup” and gallops toward the barn that houses the horse, the donkey, the mule and the silly billy goat. She calls to the horse, “Polka Dot, come see. I’m a cowgirl.”

Huh!? Muffin cocks her head. What’s the kid up to now?

Polka Dot trots toward Kinsley to view her new hat. He whinnies, Hey, what happened to the jockey cap? I’m still wearing my daisy crown.

Sporting the pink western hat, Kinsley struts in front of the horse. “Look, Polka Dot, what do you think?”

Polka Dot shakes his golden mane. Where’s your boots, cowgirl? Everyone knows a cowgirl sports fancy boots with spurs and, oh yeah, a vest with tassels.

Muffin barks, Don’t forget the lasso. All famous cowgirls in the Wild West roped cattle, right?

Kinsley’s eyes widen. “Really? Who?”

Polka Dot swishes his tail to swat a fly. He rears his head back and snorts, Annie Oakley, of course. She was a mighty fine trick roper and rider. There were lots of famous cowgirls in the Wild West. I hear tell a young cowgirl roped eight galloping horses all at one time. Yep, her horse was a lot like me—very talented. Maybe handsome, too. The steed could sit cross-legged. He could even play dead.

Big deal, barks Muffin. That’s a no-brainer. Watch this. Attempting the cross-legged move, she topples over instead. She lands on her side…so she plays dead.

The donkey and the mule draw near, eager to hear exciting tales of the Wild West.

The horse stomps his hoof. Yep, take it from me, right out of the horse’s mouth, Annie Oakley was one of the best sharpshooters in her day. Get this. She could shoot a cigar out of a man’s lips at 30 paces.

Muffin yelps, Yikes, that’s scary.

Kinsley is spellbound. “Tell me more.”

Polka Dot nods. Well, her fame spread quickly. The name Annie Oakley was on everyone’s lips near and far, far away. She starred in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show and performed before royalty and presidents. Pretty impressive, eh?

The donkey and the mule kick up their heels. Yes-yes, tell us more.

By now the billy goat is captivated by tall tales of the West. He ambles close to Muffin and bleats, I’m all ears, doggie. Flicking his tail, he spits sideways.

Muffin growls, Yuck! That’s disgusting. And you’re all bad manners, too.

Kinsley laughs. “And he also belches and burps.”

Muffin joins the donkey and the mule, keeping a close eye out for the nasty goat. The trio listens to outrageous tales of the Wild West.

Soon story time is interrupted. Aunt Dot-Dot sounds the dinner bell. Ding-a-ling! Ding-a-ling! “Come and get it, kiddo.”

“Well, Muffin, I wonder what Aunt Dot-Dot has prepared today?” Kinsley’s eyes brighten. “You know she always cooks something fun to eat. Oh boy! Today is Wednesday. It’s Wacky Weiner Day.”

Muffin licks her mouth. Oh, goody! There will be weenies in the beanies topped with shredded cheese and crumbly tater chips.

The hungry pair dashes to the house.

As Kinsley enters the kitchen, she sails her cowgirl hat toward a coatrack. It ricochets off the wall and lands on the floor—a near-miss.

Muffin yaps, Real cowgirls don’t miss. But with a little practice, I bet you could ring it every time. After lunch, let’s practice roping and ringing.

Aunt Dot-Dot slaps her leg. “Howdy, partner. Let’s chow down and eat some grub. Pull up a chair and take a load off them cowhides.”

Kinsley chuckles. “Whatcha got to wet my whistle, ma’am?”

Huh!? Muffin understands Kinsley’s gibber-gabber but this western lingo is really strange, downright weird. Puzzled, she cocks her head. Are we going to eat or not?

Clanging a wooden spoon on a plate, Aunt Dot-Dot says, “Come and get it. Chuckwagon closes in one hour.”

During lunch, Muffin gulps down her grub and licks her plate clean.

Kinsley rubs her tummy. “Mighty fine vittles, ma’am. Time for me to mosey on down to the corral.”

Vittles? What’s a vittle? Do I get any? barks Muffin.

Kinsley laughs. “That’s cowgirl food.” She grabs her western hat and heads out the door. “Come on, little doggie. Let’s head ’em up and move ’em out. Get this wagon train rolling.”

What!? I like it better when you talk gibberish, groans Muffin.

In the barn, Kinsley finds some rope tied to a stall. She fashions it into a lasso and attempts to twirl the rope above her head. It collapses on her shoulders. Pretending the fencepost is a long-horned steer, she gallops in place and hurls the lasso to rope it. She misses. She sighs. “Shucks, being a cowgirl is hard work.”

Polka Dot and Muffin watch from the sidelines.

The donkey and the mule stare at the silly sight. They shake their heads and amble back into the barn.

The goat bleats, Not real pretty, huh? Poor kid, someone needs to teach her how to be a cowgirl.

Yeah, takes more than a western hat to do that, says the donkey.

Polka Dot whinnies, Maybe she should stick to being a jockey.

Yippee! Shopping Spree

Chapter 3

Aunt Dot-Dot views the event from the front porch window. She smiles each time Kinsley attempts a cowgirl move. She sighs. “There has to be something I can do, but what?”

Kinsley throws the rope on the ground and trudges toward the house. She drags her feet in the dirt. Plopping down on the front porch steps, she hangs her head.

Muffin lays her head on Kinsley’s knee and whimpers, Sorry, kid, but I don’t know anything about riding or roping. But I’m great at yipping, yapping and barking.

“Howdy partner,” says a cheerful voice from behind.

Twisting about, Kinsley looks up. She focuses on a woman wearing blue jeans, red plaid shirt and sporting a wide-brimmed straw hat.

“Aunt Dot-Dot, is that you? Wow! You look different.”

The tall cowgirl pushes the straw hat back off her forehead and speaks with a funny accent. “Them’s fight’n words, little missy. Calamity Jane’s the name and roping’s my game.”

Kinsley laughs. “Who’s Calamity Jane?”

“Well, little missy, I’m the fastest gun in the West. I can outdraw, outshoot, outride and outrope any cowboy in these parts. Yessiree! Rode with Wild Bill Hickok and his gang back in the good ole days, I did.”

Kinsley jumps to her feet. “Tell me more. Who was Wild Bill?”

Muffin’s ears perk up. Yeah, tell us more.

“Who was Wild Bill? He was an American frontiersman, that’s who. An Army scout and lawman, too. Had a reputation as a gunslinger. Had to be.” The tall cowgirl slaps her hands together. “Yep, brought law and order to the Wild West, he did.”

Kinsley pops her pink western hat against her leg. “Yeehaw! I want to be a cowgirl. I want to learn to rope a steer and do trick-riding.” Soon her smile turns upside down in a frown. Her shoulders slump. She sighs. “But I don’t have anyone to teach me.”

Muffin howls, You? Rope a steer? Now that would be a real trick.

Aunt Dot-Dot gives Kinsley a quick wink. “Well, we could buy you a new pair of boots. It’s the first step in becoming a cowgirl. What do you think?”

Kinsley’s eyes brighten. “Awesome. How about a vest, too?”

Aunt Dot-Dot chuckles. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“With tassels, too?” adds Kinsley.

“Of course! Let’s go shopping, kiddo. And after the western wear store, we’ll swing by the library. Great place to check out some books on famous cowgirls of the Wild West. They might have some how-to books on rope tricks.”

At Bronco Bill’s Western Wear, the store reeks of the sights, sounds and scents of the great outdoors. “Whoa,” says Kinsley. “This place smells wonderful, like the Old West—wild and rugged. Reminds me of the backyard campfire when we roasted wieners. Remember, Aunt Dot-Dot?”

“Sure do. The distinctive aroma was quite rustic and earthy.” Aunt Dot-Dot closes her eyes and smiles while taking a deep breath. “Ahhh, and slightly sweet, too.”

Kinsley rushes through the store, checking out vests with tassels and cool-looking western jeans. She spies a fancy pair of boots next to a rack of leather belts. The genuine leather feels smooth to the touch. She can’t resist sticking her nose inside the buckskins. One whiff and she’s in love with her new boots. “Yep, now I will look and smell like a real cowgirl.” Moseying over to the shirt rack, she picks a blue western shirt with silver buttons. The fancy embroidery on the shirt adds a finishing touch to the outfit.

“Look, Aunt Dot-Dot,” says Kinsley in front of a full-length mirror. She views herself from different angles while modeling the complete outfit for her aunt. “How do I look?”

“Like an authentic cowgirl from the Wild West.”

Soon the little cowgirl struts around the store, tipping her pink cowgirl hat to everyone she meets. Finally, she asks the big question. “Aunt Dot-Dot, will this make me a real cowgirl?”

Her aunt chuckles. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“Yippee!” shouts Kinsley. “That’s what I wanted to hear. With the right western wear, I’m on my way to becoming a real cowgirl. Now, all I need is some roping lessons. And that’s most definitely on my to-do list.”

Over the next couple of days, Kinsley reads fascinating stories to Muffin about cowgirls of the Old West. “Look, Muffin, this is a picture of Annie Oakley. She starred in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, along with other famous gun-toting cowgirls. The famous Indian Chief, Sitting Bull, gave her the name Little Sure Shot.”

Muffin’s eyes grow wide as Kinsley continues the tale of the notorious young woman who stood five feet tall and weighed only 98 pounds.

“Wow! Listen to this, girl. While balancing on one leg, she took her rifle and zapped one dozen shiny coins tossed into the air by her partner.”

Muffin cocks her head side to side, listening to the tone of Kinsley’s voice.

Turning the page, Kinsley gasps. “Oh my! She shot a cigarette out of her husband’s lips. And another time she shot at targets while doing a headstand.”

Muffin’s ears perk. Really? She was upside down?

Kinsley laughs. “Sure was. She turned the Wild West Show upside down, inside out, and put it on the heels of stardom. She was a humdinger of a sharpshooter.” Viewing the next sentence, she slams the book shut and cries out, “No way!”

What-what? barks Muffin.

“You’ll never, ever guess what she did next.” She pauses for effect. She pats her chest and exhales. “It involved her dog.”

Muffin’s body rocks side to side. What happened to her dog?

Kinsley clears her throat. “I’m not sure you’ll want to hear this. Maybe you should sit down for this one.”

Muffin flops to the ground and stares at the book. Go ahead, read it.

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Get ready for goosebumps.”

Kinsley reopens the book. She flips the pages quickly and stops on page 22. Her finger slides down the page. Suddenly her finger stops. She taps the page. Her voice booms, “Dave the Wonder Dog sits patiently, waiting for the rifle to aim at the target perched on his head.”

Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! whines Muffin. She presses her paws over her ears.

“BANG! One shot fires,” says Kinsley. “In a nanosecond the potato splits and falls to the ground. The audience cheers as Dave wags his tail.”

Shortly, Polka Dot ambles to the front porch to hear more zany stories. He waggles his head. I want to hear about trick horseback riding.

“Hold on to your saddle, Polka Dot. These early cowgirls were famous for their stunts. Some rode on the backs of galloping horses while shooting at targets.”

Polka Dot stares in silence, his ears raised high on his head.

Listening from afar, the goat chews on a piece of paper and burps, Lucky shot.

Kinsley’s reading draws the attention of the donkey and the mule. Soon she has their long ears hanging on her every word. They wonder what will happen next.

Yippee-ki-yay! Rope ’em Cowgirl

Chapter 4

Gathering on the porch railing, curious chickens arrive to listen to tall tales of gunslinging outlaws and hard-riding, fancy-roping cowgirls.

Muffin barks at the goat. Hey, Little Stinky, you’re missing out on story time.

Waggling her finger, Kinsley scolds Muffin. “Don’t call him Stinky. Name-calling is not nice. Might hurt the little fella’s feelings.”

Ambling closer, the goat belches a comic comeback. I’ll have you know I come from a long line of aroma therapists. We take pride in our unique fragrance. It separates us from the Bovidae family which includes smelly antelopes, funky cattle and musky sheep. Yes sir, we take pride in our goatly heritage.

Growling, Muffin snaps the air. Well, a Saturday night dip wouldn’t kill you.

Kinsley shuts her giggle box, holding back laughter as the goat moves in for story time. Eyeing her audience, she reads one last story.

“Other than cowgirls, the West was famous for mail carriers who rode long distances on horseback to deliver the mail. They were called the Pony Express. Another famous figure was Mary Fields, known as Stagecoach Mary. She was a daring Black pioneer who protected stagecoaches against robbers.” Kinsley slaps the book. “Yessiree, the bandits didn’t stand a chance against her sharpshooting skills.”

Taking a deep breath, Kinsley exhales. Her eyes grow wide. “Listen to this, everybody. Rumor has it she fended off a hungry pack of wolves with her rifle.”

Wolves!? brays the donkey and the mule. We’re scared of big bad wolves.

Kinsley leans forward and looks deep into Muffin’s eyes and growls. “They said she had the temperament of a grrrrrr-rizzly bear.”

Yikes! barks Muffin. Now there’s a bad attitude.

The goat spits on the ground. Baa, baa, baaaaaa—bad attitude.

Kinsley concludes her story. “Stagecoach Mary made her mark as the first female African-American star-route carrier in the United States. She became a legend in her time as she drove the stagecoach over rocky, rough roads and battled snow and ice.”

Kinsley closes the book and puts her hands on her hips. “Well, even though Stagecoach Mary’s huge size and rugged appearance intimidated outlaws, she was beloved by locals who praised her generosity and kindness to children and animals.”

The animals are spellbound by the stories of the Wild West. Will you read to us again tomorrow? they ask.

“You’re darn toot’n,” says Kinsley.

Ding-a-ling! Ding-a-ling!Aunt Dot-Dot sounds the dinner triangle. “Okay, little buckaroo, ready for a western snack?”

Kinsley pats her tummy. “Yeah, all this reading made me hungry.”

“Well, my little buckaroo, you’re in for a real treat. I made southwestern wagon wheels.” Licking her lips, Aunt Dot-Dot gives Kinsley a quick wink. “It’s a yummy spiral pastry filled with cheese, bacon, ham and red peppers.”

After the tasty snack, Kinsley curls up in her favorite lounge chair by a window. She reads another book from the library on cowboy roping with fancy rope tricks. Shortly, she closes the book and grins. “Yes sir, with lots of practice I plan to demonstrate my new skills on Muffin.” She snickers. “And anything else that moves. Yeehaw! Rope ’em, cowgirl.”

The following morning, the little cowgirl puts on her new western outfit—boots and pink western hat—and motions to Muffin. “Come on, girl, let’s mosey on over to the chuckwagon. Yum-yum, time for vittles.”

Muffin cocks her head. What’s a chuckwagon? I’m hungry. I don’t want any vittles. I want scrambled eggs and a piece of ham.

“Come on, silly. A chuckwagon is a cowboy’s outdoor covered kitchen. They serve a hearty breakfast to cowpokes and ranchers. Let’s see what the cook is rustling up for us this morning.”

Muffin grumbles, No grub. No vittles. Just ham and eggs.

Kinsley sniffs the air. A mouth-watering aroma drifts from the kitchen. She tosses her hat toward the coatrack. This time it does not hit the wall. “Yeehaw!” she calls. “It’s a humdinger of a ringer.”

“Very good,” says Aunt Dot-Dot. “Why don’t you sashay over here and take a load off those buckskins? Pull up a chair. Sit down and chow down.”

Kinsley laughs. “What smells soooooo good?”

Aunt Dot-Dot grins as she pours a cup of coffee. “Well, ma’am, today’s special is south-of-the-border omelet with hot tortillas, refried beans and fresh-squeezed, prickly cactus juice.”

Muffin howls. What!? Prickly cactus? Ohmynose, ohmynose!

The cook chuckles as she wipes her hands on her apron. Carefully, she selects some fresh-laid eggs from a woven basket, then a piece of ham from the fridge. She slices and dices the hickory-smoked ham. She scrambles the eggs in a skillet until they are light and fluffy. Flashing the dog a lopsided grin, she says, “Okay, girl, here’s your all-American breakfast with a side of beans.”

Muffin gulps down the grub. She licks the plate almost clean. She eyes the beans. She sniffs the beans. She walks around the plate. She gives it one last sniff. Finally, her sniffer signals they are safe to eat. Within seconds all the vittles vanish into her tummy.

Grabbing her cowgirl hat and new book on rope tricks, Kinsley heads out the front door. Near the barn she reads how to curl and loop a lasso. She adjusts the rope length for her height. She gathers the lasso in her hands and twirls it ’round and ’round over her head. With a flip of her wrist, she sends the long loop swirling toward the fencepost.

It misses.

Muffin wags her tail. Don’t give up, kid. The book says ‘practice makes perfect.’ Right?

Kinsley smiles. “Yeah, that’s the cowboy way.” She continues reading and roping most of the morning with the goat as her solo audience. Before lunch she snags the fencepost. She ropes a barrel. Eyeing Muffin, she snickers. “You’re next, girl.”

No way! woofs Muffin. I’m a dog, not a cow. She runs away.

The goat bolts out of the barn to chase Muffin, parting a flock of chickens right and left.

Kinsley gallops in place. She slaps her hip and shouts “Giddyup.” In a flash she gathers her rope and twirls it above her head. With a snap of her wrist, she sails the rope in midair toward the running pair. The startled goat skids to a halt. Stopped in his tracks, his eyes glaze as the noose wraps around his neck.

“Oops!” says Kinsley.

Scooting away, Muffin looks back. Whew! Thought I was a goner.