by Angela Blair

Created on: October 26, 2009   Last Updated: November 01, 2009

Leota sat on the old corral fence and basked in the late afternoon sun. It was one of the rare times she had a few moments to herself and the peace and quiet were welcome. Although only in her late teens, she was already physically and emotionally tired, drained and defeated and the deep lines in her young face were undeniable evidence of her distress.

The youngest of eight, Leota was the daughter of Henry Buckson, better known as "Buck" and his long-suffering wife, Nancy. Buck was, in Leota's mind, the meanest human being that ever lived. She'd long ago quit equating him with fatherhood and instead just viewed him as a walking, breathing monster.

Buck broke horses for a living. He bought them cheap, put enough training on them to pass them off as something they weren't and sold them to unsuspecting, uninformed buyers. He wasn't above starving a horse into submission and on more than one occasion a horse was drugged and dazed when loaded into a buyer's trailer.

As an animal lover, it was beyond Leota's comprehension how her father could mistreat any animal but she'd watched him for years and had never seen even a hint of conscience in the man whether working with his own horses or someone else's.

As a child, she'd tried to make excuses for Buck, in her mind, but time and experience had proven there was no excuse. Buck was just mean; not only to animals but his family and every other living, breathing thing. Leota had come to hate him with a vengeance.

Hate was a strong enough emotion that it required no in-depth reasoning and Leota embraced it without reservation. Although her body had matured with age, her mind had not. Her thought processes remained somewhere in the realm of a seven or eight-year-old child. Her father, having declared her good for nothing else, used her as an assistant to his brutal horse training business from the time she could crawl into a saddle.

Her fence-sitting reverie was destroyed when Buck drove into the barnyard pulling his beat-up old horse trailer. She turned to watch him unload the most beautiful, young, stallion she'd ever seen, which she knew without doubt, was his next victim.

"Hey, Dummy, come give me a hand," Buck yelled.

The young horse was frightened and pulling back on the lead rope as Buck forced him from the trailer. Leota watched as Buck cursed the horse and struck him in the face with his fist. A small trickle of blood began to run from the colt's soft nose. Although fighting all the way, out of fear and apprehension,

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