An incident with a horse in Ngāruawāhia

[Introductory note from ReadingRoom literary editor Steve Braunias: The following story about a horse in Ngāruawāhia is by Josie Ogden Schroeder, who emailed it as her entry in last week’s free book giveaway contest to win a copy of The Grimmelings by Christchurch writer Rachael King, a novel for middlegrade readers about a girl who discovers that her family is living in the shadow of a black horse-like creature. I asked readers to send in a true story about a horse. Josie’s story was so strange and extraordinary that I thought: I must publish it at once.]

Once I was little my dad and mom would go to a Pākehā household who owned a farm in Ngāruawāhia. I hated going there as a result of it was boring listening to adults speak for hours but additionally, and primarily, as a result of their home smelt bizarre. 

At the same time as an grownup I keep away from going to farm homes for concern of the scent of their homes.

In the future a horse walked into their kitchen. My dad and mom, who labored on the college, laughed and mentioned, “Goodness, that’s uncommon.”

The horse was an enormous, lovely beast. It towered above me, darkish brown and glistening, accompanied by a swarm of blowflies and stamping his muddy toes. He took up all of the room within the kitchen and bumped up in opposition to the chairs the place we have been sitting across the kitchen desk. His nostrils have been moist and dripping and he nodded his head up and down and made huffing noises and ate an apple out of a bucket within the nook. He smelt horrific, like pooh and compost and unhealthy breath. It was an enormous horse in a really small house and I felt very scared.

The title of the horse was Atticus Finch. He was born on the farm and from a younger age, shortly after his mom died, began strolling into the kitchen at mealtimes. They confirmed us the harm to the kitchen door from the place Atticus one evening had ‘knocked’ to be let in. “Foolish outdated Atticus Finch would have simply kicked the door proper down if we didn’t let him in,” they reasoned, and opened the door. Each night Atticus stood within the kitchen whereas the household had their meal, after which spent the evening guarding the home from the mud room adjoining the doorway porch.   

They mentioned they named him Atticus Finch as a result of he was a horse with a transparent conscience. I by no means forgot that as a result of my dad and mom from then on have been at all times happening to us children about remembering to be like a horse with a transparent conscience, particularly in the event that they have been telling us off for one thing. I used to be in my closing yr of main faculty. 

That first day, whereas we have been sitting there across the kitchen desk consuming cups of tea with a horse, I assumed the world had gone mad. I assumed it was incredible that issues like this might occur in actual life and never simply in books. I needed a horse to come back and eat dinner in our kitchen too. Once I went to high school the next day and instructed my trainer about this she mentioned I had an “fascinating” creativeness and requested when it was that I learn To Kill a Mockingbird. I had completely no thought what she was on about but it surely was the start of my lifelong mistrust and dislike of academics who faux to hear however even have already determined they know the whole lot. My trainer, Mrs Stewart, who had a lacking finger on her proper hand, requested me if the horse had a cup of tea and guffawed heartily. It actually received to me that she didn’t consider me, contemplating it was essentially the most fascinating factor that had in all probability ever occurred to me in my life, and determined she didn’t need to learn about Atticus Finch.  

Once I was in my mid 20s and had left New Zealand to stay in London, my dad and mom instructed me that Atticus Finch had died. He was buried on the farm with the assistance of their subsequent door neighbour’s digger, and over 400 folks confirmed up for the funeral. I want I had been there. What a cool horse he was. He actually was a horse with a transparent conscience. 

The Grimmelings by Rachael King (Allen & Unwin, $24.99) – proper now the biggest-selling New Zealand title in outlets, #1 on the ISBN bestsellers record – is on the market in bookstores nationwide.