by Bevin Rolfs Spencer -
One day, Grandma decided to go to the store. “I need galoshes.” Grandma pointed to her feet.
“Oh!” I said. “You mean rain boots.”
Grandma smiled. “No, I mean galoshes. Let’s take Buttermilk. She needs exercise.”
“Buttermilk, the horse?” I asked. “To the store?”
Grandma wrapped a thin yellow scarf over her grey curls. “It’s only a mile down the road,” Grandma said matter-of-factly. She smoothed her brown plaid dress and slipped on her old cowboy boots. She picked up her red patent-leather purse and waited.
I jumped up and followed her outside. Grandma had a little stall and a fenced in area just behind the house.
Buttermilk was a white horse with small brown spots. She turned her ears as we walked toward her. As we saddled her, Buttermilk shimmied to the left and right. I think she knew Grandma was up to something.
Grabbing the saddle horn, Grandma hauled herself up. “Get on Gracie,” Grandma chirped.
Just as I got settled behind her, Grandma let out an ear-splitting, “Whoop!”
Buttermilk jerked forward and rocketed out of the gate. Grandma’s hands flew up and she smacked me with her purse.
“Galloping galoshes!” Grandma hollered as we raced down the sidewalk. We thundered past the gas station and scattered a gaggle of geese. Honk!
Buttermilk flew through the Cool-Mart parking lot and eyeballed the glass front doors. Spooking at her own reflection, she stopped dead, throwing Grandma and me over her mane.
I yanked Grandma back in the saddle. “Where do we park Buttermilk?"
Grandma turned and winked. Just then the doors slid open and Grandma raised that red purse. She gave Buttermilk a Whack!
Buttermilk reared up, nostrils flaring, and charged through the doors. We sailed across the slick linoleum floor like we were in the Ice Capades.
“Steady as she goes!” Grandma said.
Buttermilk glided past the grocery section, skidded around Ladies Active Wear, and knocked over a giant pile of diapers in Baby Care.
“Galoshes?” Grandma hollered at a shocked Cool-Mart employee who dove out of our way. No answer.
We got lost in the toy department until I found a pair of Big Eye Binoculars. “I spy shoes, dead ahead!” I announced, looking through the Big Eyes.
Buttermilk quit skating once we hit carpet in the shoe department. She trotted up and down the aisles.
“What kind of store doesn’t sell galoshes?” Grandma asked...
