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Macadoo of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau - Chapter Sampler

Macadoo of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau - Chapter Sampler

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Published by Candlewick Press
Macadoo of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau - Chapter Sampler

A sequel to Chancey of the Maury River, this heart-tugging story focuses on Macadoo — the gentle giant of the Maury River Stables. (Ages 9 and up)
Macadoo of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau - Chapter Sampler

A sequel to Chancey of the Maury River, this heart-tugging story focuses on Macadoo — the gentle giant of the Maury River Stables. (Ages 9 and up)

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Published by: Candlewick Press on Oct 23, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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11/14/2013

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Chapter One
 A Great Belgian
I
n his darkest hour, a riend once asked, “What i theysell me?”Such ear tangled up in that question:
What i I amnot needed, no longer useul? What i I am not wanted, nolonger loved? What i I am orgotten? 
The quiver in his voice pierced my heart, plungedthrough esh, blood, and bone and into memory.“What i they sell me?” he asked.Here is how I answered.I was born at a place or breeding horses but not orkeeping them, in Alberta, ar rom the Maury Riverwhere I call home now.
 
2
I remember as a yearling I surveyed my pasture andthe jagged gray mountains beyond the ence.“I you dare, just try to beat me!” I called. I racedpast every mare grazing in the summer grasses, and Idashed by every oal standing in the rocky feld. Thecolts and the fllies gave chase, but I crested the hill frst,many lengths ahead o them all.When the astest flly caught up, she head-buttedme, slamming into my shoulder with all her strength,but it wasn’t enough to move me. I stood on the tip o agreat boulder jutting out rom the ground, and, like thestone beneath me, I would not be moved — not by thewind and not by the flly.I nickered or her to come at me again. “One moretry,” I urged her.She spun around, pawed at the ground, and made abig show o snorting. She backed up and charged. Thistime, I dodged her battery, and the flly ell down intothe tall grass.“I’m king o the hill!” I proclaimed. “Bow down toserve me.”A cabbage buttery o silken cream, unconcernedwith my victory over the flly, lit across the white clo-ver blossoms. She circled my cannon and itted downmy hoo. She anned her wings, came sotly to rest onthe grass, and tickled my oot with her legs. Butterykisses.

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