Plop! …plop, plop. Pa, my uncle, and a friend from the WPA road crew are filling the hole in back of the barn. Their pace is slow and steady, a practiced pace of those used to laboring.

The quiet of the pre-dawn morning is disturbed by the sound of heavy clay dirt clods thudding down into the huge grave. Plop! I can barely see them by the light of the their lone kerosene lantern. I lay still up in the loft of the barn watching, the tears still running down my cheeks and landing on my dirty hands, making little rivulets as they dribble down.

"Cathy! Cathy, where are you? "

Darn! My Mom has discovered I'm not in bed. Plop, plop…. Plop. Now the rooster crows his optimistic crow, he doesn't know I've lost a friend. It's getting lighter now.

Right down below me is the stable stall where he was born not more than two years ago. He stood so shakily at first on his long, unsteady legs. I was just ten then. Plop …plop.

My Pa had given me the colt for a birthday present. Plop. "What are you going to call it?" he had said. "I don't know yet." I said thoughtfully. "I have to get to know him some before I name him." Plop, plop. "I could name him Capricorn, we're both born in January."

That was 1936.

" Cathy! Caaaaaathy!" My mother was beginning to sound desperate. I turned to go down and meet her. My foot got caught up in my nightshirt as I hurried down the ladder. She caught me just as I was beginning to fall.

"Oh, thank God, you're here." The relief in her voice was painful. She hugged me tight "You had me worried, I told you not to watch them."

"You better go get ready honey, we are going to be leaving in a couple of hours." She pulled me close and wiped my tear stained face with the hem of her faded apron and brushed some clinging straw from my shirt. She ran her work worn hands through my long tangled hair, trying to get some of the snags out. Plop, plop, plop.

"Go now." She gave me a gentle nudge toward the house. I looked back as I crossed the yard, she was walking toward the back of the barn. My sock covered feet made crunchy noises in the frosty grass.

Our old Studebaker pickup was parked next to the house, overloaded with all our belongings. All that was left in the house was our bedding and a few dishes and food for our last breakfast. We were moving again. I can't remember how many times we've moved. We stayed here longer than any other place. Long enough to see that colt grow up. Plop. We're always moving farther down the road. Plop.

o o o

I finally named him. Every morning I got up and went to feed my colt first thing. He got to expect me and made such a racket until I poured a bucket of oats into his feed trough.

"Cathy, you better go feed your horse, he's neighing so loud he sounds more like a jackass braying. He'll wake your uncle up before long."

My Mom was always the first one up. My uncle Albert always slept in. My mom said he wasn't lazy, it was just that he needed more sleep than most folks.

Then my uncle would wake up. "Whats all that jazz? Can someone stop that infernal horse?" he'd holler in an irritated voice. This happened almost every morning.

So that's how he got his name, January Jazz. I just called him Jazz for short. I loved that little critter.

In about a year he wasn't so little anymore. I had him gentled enough so I could start riding him. Pa said I was light enough that it probably wouldn't hurt to put my weight on him. It wouldn't be good though if a full-grown person tried to ride him so young.

At first Jazz was a little spooked when I put the saddle on him. I didn't ride him right away but just led him around with the saddle on him.

In a little while I was riding him everywhere. He had lots of spirit, but he got the jitters quite easy. He never threw me but Mom was afraid he might.

Oh could he run. Pa was so impressed that he got me a light racing saddle and he made a makeshift track behind the barn for me to run Jazz on. The guys from the WPA crew helped him. It wasn't long but what I was racing Jazz against horses from around the area just to see who could beat who. We won most of the time.

Most of the folks that watched our races were neighbors and friends that we knew. But sometimes I would see a big red Chevy pickup parked by the road near our track.

"Whose truck is that Pa?" I asked on one of our race days.

"I don't recognize it honey, just a passerby I guess."

When it got close to county fair time Pa started talking about entering Jazz and me in a regular race. I really didn't know anything about racing but I was excited. Me and Jazz were like one when we were racing. It seemed that Jazz liked to win. I didn't have to do anything but give him his head and move with him. I never used the crop on him.

Pa fashioned a makeshift starting chute so Jazz would get used to it before fair time. The horse didn't like that tight little place at all. When Pa fired his pistol Jazz would most jump straight up out of that chute. But he seemed to calm down some as we practiced him more.

The day of the race we borrowed a trailer from a friend and coaxed Jazz up on to it. He gave us a lot of trouble. I had to go in with him and talk to him quietly and pat his muzzle soothingly. I wanted to stay in the trailer with Jazz on the way to the fair grounds. But Pa wouldn't hear of it. He said I could get badly hurt if Jazz got panicky.

I was scared. We drove real slow. Jazz was a little jittery but he held up o.k. He came right out easy when I led him down the trailer ramp at the fairgrounds.

We were scheduled for the fifth race so we had some time to get Jazz used to the new surroundings. I led him to the paddock area and put him in the stall we had been assigned. I fed him fresh oats and a little water and talked to him a lot.

When it was time for the race we led Jazz to the starting gate. My Pa and uncle Albert were with me. There was something odd about Pa. He looked preoccupied.

I was wearing my bright yellow satin jockey outfit that Mom had sewed up. The material was from a beautiful party gown my Mom had from when she was young.

They pinned a big number eleven on me. I mounted Jazz and rode him into the chute. He was real nervous. He skittered back and forth. I leaned over and talked right into his ear. "You can do this boy, you're going to beat the pants off them."

Finally the announcer signaled the start of the race and the pistol shot went off and the chute gates flew up.

"And they're off and running!" the announcer called out in a booming voice.

Jazz jumped straight up in the air. I felt like I was at a rodeo instead of a race. Then he shot out of the chute and jumped all around. It was all I could do to stay on him. The whole field of horses was moving away from us.

Then something clicked in Jazz. I guess he realized he was in a race and he took off. At first we weren't together cause I was still recovering from all of Jazz's antics. But then I started moving with him. We started gaining ground on the trailing horses. The announcer began to notice us.

"It's London Girl in the lead followed close by Sally's Stalwart, then Performer, and January Jazz is moving up quickly through the field."

We were already well around the first turn and we were starting to challenge the leaders. Jazz was moving in on Performer from the outside. Performer's jockey glared at me and struck his mount with his crop viciously. But we moved in and took his place with ease. Now we were near the rail with Sally's Stalwart still trying to overtake London Girl from the outside and us moving up on her. We moved to the right to try to pass Stalwart before the last turn but it was no good. Our timing was off.

As we came into the stretch it was all we could do to place third. I was so disappointed. London Girl beat us by a length. Pa ran up to me "You did great darlin, don't worry this was just your first race. You did great!"

A man walked up to Pa and pulled him aside. There were people all around. I couldn't tell what Pa and the man were saying. I was trying to calm Jazz down a bit, he was getting all jumpy again.

Pa started getting loud with the man. "You can't do that." He cried. He was shaking his head frantically.

"Now calm down mister, you knew this was a claiming race." The other man said. "You're going to get paid the agreed amount."

I didn't know what was happening. Two strange men came up to me and Jazz and asked for the reins. "Pa, what's going on?" a great fear clumped up in my throat.

"Don't worry honey, there's some misunderstanding. We'll get it all straightened out. Let them take Jazz for now." He was trying to calm me but the fear was in his voice too. A track official came up to Pa and gave him an envelope.

We followed the men that were leading Jazz away and Pa kept talking to the first man trying to convince him of something. All I could hear Pa say was "But this is just his first real race, you can't take him yet."

"A deal is a deal." The other man said. "We're holding you to it."

Pa fell back with me, his head hanging low.

"What deal, Pa? What kind of deal did you make Pa?" I cried out to him, my voice raising and tears beginning to well up in my eyes.

"Sweetheart, I entered Jazz in a claiming race because that's all we had the money for. The entry fees for the other races were too steep for us. I just figured this was a practice race for you and Jazz, I never figured that someone would place a claim on him. I didn't even bet on Jazz." He looked down at the ground.

"What's a claiming race Pa?" I still was nowhere near understanding what had happened.

Pa sat down on a bale of hay and took in a deep breath. He took my hand gently and looked straight at me. "A claiming race is a race where the entrant agrees to sell his horse at a set price at the end of the race, IF there's a taker. I never dreamed that anyone would put a claim on a first-time racer."

I was distraught. "Buy him back Pa. Buy him back." I cried.

"I can't honey, I already tried. The man will only sell him at a big profit and I don't have the kind of cash that he wants. I offered him the prize money that we won on top of the claim amount he paid us for Jazz." He looked at me, his eyes pleading for me to understand and forgive him.

I looked over to where the men were going with Jazz. I broke away from Pa and ran in their direction.

I ran up to the man leading Jazz. They were walking toward a large, shiny new trailer, hooked up to a big shiny red Chevy pickup.

"Give me my horse." I hollered. "He's my horse, give him to me! You can't take him!" I started pounding the man's chest with my fists. Jazz responded to my action by back prancing wildly.

"Hey, hey, little lady, it's your pa made the deal, beat on him." He said, fending me off with his big hammy left hand and trying to control Jazz.

The owner called out to the man I was attacking. "George get the horse up in the trailer before we have a full blown fracas here." He looked back to my Pa, who was already moving quickly toward us. "Hey mister, come get your daughter will you? She's going to spook the horse."

Pa pulled me off the man holding Jazz. The man pulled the horse toward the trailer. Jazz began to resist, but the man's pull was very firm. The minute Jazz's front hooves touched the ramp he began to buck and jump wildly.

"Hey now! Stop that." The man shouted loudly at the frightened horse.

"Now see what you've done missy, you've got the horse all excited." He tied the halter leads quickly to the trailer gate, but that didn't stop Jazz. He started to kick out in all directions and neighing up such a noise. The incident began to attract attention from bystanders and someone called out. "Hey stop that or you'll kill the horse."

I pulled away from Pa and ran toward Jazz.

"Stop, Cathy, you'll get hurt. Someone stop her!" Pa shouted.

"O.K. Jazz I'm here, quiet down boy, you'll be alright." I tried to sound calm but I know that it came out of my mouth too excited sounding.

Jazz didn't stop. He kept on kicking and bucking, the trailer was getting a bruising from the kicks. Jazz was bleeding at the fore fetlocks from hitting himself on the gate and from his muzzle where he'd pulled so hard at the halter.

All of a sudden everything stopped. Jazz stood still for an instant and then slumped to the ground with a clump. For a moment the world seemed to stand still, frozen in place.

Then I sprang to Jazz's limp body. Other people closed in around us.

"Jazz boy, can you hear me? You'll be alright. Hear me boy? Jazz?" I was weeping heavily as I clung to Jazz's big head. My Pa pulled me away.

o o o

I looked up from the breakfast table, Mom was coming in the back door. "They're all done burying him. Make up some toast for your Pa and Uncle Albert. They'll be coming now."

"Ma, I want to put a marker on the grave before we go."

"Sure honey, just get that toast done and then you can go do that." She smiled an understanding smile at me.

We were soon off to my Pa's next place of work. As we drove away, I looked out of the pickup window toward the back of the barn until I couldn't see it anymore. It disappeared behind the truck and over the horizon.

"So long January Jazz, I'll miss you."

Later, we did own another horse. But we never did race again.