There was less focus on homeschooling as time went by. We were supposed to be learning with George, but Dennis was convinced he was possessed, and went out of his way to be hostile towards him. The only curriculum we had was one Mom had ordered from some Mennonite place. They were incredibly, impressively dry and uninteresting, even the set on art. All the pictures were black and white and the text was about as dull as it could be. One could almost wonder whether it was intended to imspire Mennonite kids to drop out of school and start farming early. We spent a lot of time that was suppposed to be allocated to schooling, drawing. Mom didn't check up on us, and she never asked to see our work or graded it or directed us in any way. George didn't like my new stained glass technique in the colored pencil drawings. He never asked about the pictures that had gone missing from his sketchbook. I was also developing a cartoon. The characters were two birds named Roy and Ray. The birds wore hats, Roy's blue, and Ray's red. They lived happily together as friends. I filled half a sketchbook with colorful drawings of Roy and Ray.

After struggling to rouse some interest in the Mennonite workbooks and drawing for a while, we could ride the horses. The main thing was that we at least had to go through the motions of sitting down to do homework. I was quite a bit better on horseback now, and could bridle either of the horses easily and jump onto their backs without a fence or stump. With George on Pawnee, Mike on Sugar, and me on Lady, we played what George called "Wargames". In Wargames, your object was to unseat the other riders from their mounts. You could reach over and take the bridle off, try to push the rider off the horse, grab a limb and try to pull them off, whatever had to be done to unseat them without being unseated yourself. We were playing this obviously unsafe game one day when I somehow fell off the horse. I don't remember how, or even which horse I was riding. All I remember is that I fell and saw the flying hooves and underbodies of the horses going over the top of me. After that, nothingess, George upset, crying? Mom freaking out. That was the end of the wargames.

For months now, I'd been whining about wanting a cat. When Dennis had gotten rid of our cats in California, he'd told us that we could get new ones in Idaho. I scoured the newspaper weekly for free cats, and tried to talk them into getting me one. Then one day Dennis returned from Spokane with a box of kittens, one for each of us. I picked a gray female with small apricot colored splotches on her and named her Ricotte. Lisa chose a long haired orange tabby, Sebastian. Mike proudly cuddled Max, a short haired orange tabby, while Gia deicded to call the long haired dark calico Muffin. Strangely enough, we each seemed to get a cat that was suited to our personality. Ricotte was quiet and shy, yet calm and brave. I taught her to ride the horses with me, and she seemed to actually enjoy it. Max was macho and a great mouser, but friendly, just what Mike needed. Sebastian was fussy and took pains to keep himself tidy and clean. He seemed to be almost perfect, and of course Lisa adored him for it. Muffin was soft and cuddly and lovable, and spent most of her time purring in Gia's arms.

Sheba had her puppies, six of them. They were all black and fluffy, with their hair poofing out like a chow's. They all had mouths and tongues that were almost completely black. They were too small to give away yet.

One day, Dennis called me before I had a chance to elude him, before I could hide in the little room in the dairy barn where I kept the small polished stones I'd been finding in the big barn, and other trinkets. He said it was time for me to learn how to work. He directed me to a huge pile of lumber, jumbled out into the floor of the barn just like jumbo pick up sticks. He gave me a measuring tape and told me I had to sort and stack them by size, and also to pick out the ones which weren't any good, which were broken in half, or had huge knotholes, or were so badly warped that they couldn't be stacked, etc. He told me not to quit until it was all sorted an dstacked. Then he left. I wanted to cry. The task seemed insurmountable. I'd be there for days! I wanted to tell him that there was no way I could possibly do all this, but he was gone, and I was afraid to disobey him. I pulled a board of of the pile and measured it. Another, and another. Gradually, piles formed. After an hour or two, it was all stacked except for the culls. I looked at the spot where the pile had been, and back at the stacks. It was immensely satisfying. I had never done work of any kind except for dishes and occasionally mowing the lawn. I had had no idea that I was actually capable of this sort of work. This realization was the greatest and primary gift Dennis would give me.