“I want a horse,” I said. “A real horse. Please, Dad, please.”

“Sorry,” Dad said. “We can’t have a horse in our apartment.
The apartment manager wouldn't allow it.”

The telephone rang. Dad ran to the other room.
“This call is important, so don’t bother me.” He shut his door.

I still wanted a horse. Maybe I’d ask Mom when she came home. She was at work.
Dad doesn’t work. He’s a writer.

Thump. Thump.
Someone was at the front door. I peeked out the window.
A horse was at our door! A real horse!

Thump. Thump.
The horse stomped his foot. I didn’t know what to do.
Dad always said, “Don’t open the door for strangers—people you don’t know.”
And Dad said not to bother him now.

Thump. Thump.
The horse really wanted to come in.
Hey! It isn’t a strange person. It isn’t a person at all. It’s a horse.
Mom and Dad didn’t say I couldn't open the door for a horse.

I looked out the window again. What a great horse!
Maybe the horse knew I wanted a horse. Maybe he wanted a kid.

I opened the door. Clomp. Clomp. In came the horse.
He went to Mom’s big plant by the window. He opened his mouth.
“No, horse, no!” He must have been hungry. Mom’s plant was all gone.

The horse turned around. Crash!
There went Mom’s best lamp. It wasn’t her best lamp now.

I had to do something. I saw a rope on the horse. I tied the rope to a door knob. The horse pulled hard. That door didn’t have a knob anymore.

I had to tie him to something bigger. The kitchen table was big.
I gave my nice horse a carrot, so he would hold still.
I tied the rope to the table leg. The horse didn't want to stay in the kitchen.
He left. The table leg went with him. But the table couldn’t.
I untied the table leg and put it back in the kitchen with its table.

I turned to see what the horse was doing.
He was on the treadmill! Poor horse. He didn’t know what to do.
I turned it off. “Treadmills aren’t for horses,” I said. This horse was getting into too much trouble.

Maybe if I rode him, I could keep him out of trouble.
He stood by the sofa. I climbed up on the back of the sofa.
Then I climbed up onto the horse. He took a step. And another.
Yippee! I was riding a horse. A big horse. A real horse.

My real horse shook his head. He raised up high. I slid down onto the floor.
The horse’s head hit the ceiling fan. His head was okay. But the fan wasn’t.

Maybe it’s not good to open the door for any kind of strangers, people or horses.
“Let’s go outside,” I told the horse.
Too late. Dad’s door opened. He saw the horse. He saw the room.

“I wish this was a dream,” I said.

“It is a dream,” Dad said. “A bad bad dream.”

I touched the horse’s nose. “No, it’s real,” I said.

Dad put his hands over his face.

Someone knocked on our door. Oh, no! Was it the apartment manager? Where could I hide the horse?
Dad's room. I led the horse toward his room.
“NO!” Dad yelled. The horse and I stopped.

Dad opened the front door. Whew! It wasn't the apartment manager.
It was a man and a woman. “You found our Charlie Horse,” the woman cried.

The man hugged the horse. “Are we glad to see you, Charlie,” he said.
Dad was glad to see them. They took Charlie Horse away.

“We have to clean up fast,” I said. “Before the apartment manager does come. He already doesn't like horses.”

Just then the door opened again. It wasn't the apartment manager. Worse.
It was Mom. “You wouldn’t believe what I saw outside,” she said.
“A horse! It’s too bad you didn’t get to see it.”

Then she saw our apartment.

I don’t think I’ll ask Mom for a horse after all.