Text 1

The Dog That Nobody Wanted

    King, a police dog, was neglected until he was discovered by Brian Gallagher. The following is an interesting story of how King turns out to be the No.1 "narco" dog in New York City.

    Staring at the creature in the small cage, Brian Gallagher knew he'd met his match. The dog's black eyes stared back fearlessly and challengingly.

    "You don't want that one," an attendant said. "Nothing but trouble."

    "I'm a cop," Gallagher shot back. "Trouble's my business."

    "Yeah, well, this dog was leading a pack that was running wild. Nobody wants him." The attendant motioned toward a door to the room where animals were put to sleep.

    Gallagher looked at the card attached to the cage: "Part German shepherd. Part husky. Think he's called King." The dog growled, flashing white teeth. Greasy hair stood out around his neck, making his large head appear even bigger. Gallagher took a towel from a paper bag, rolled it, and waved it slowly in front of the cage. King's eyes watched the towel. When Gallagher held it closer, the dog moved suddenly, clamping his powerful jaws on the heavy wire mesh.

    "Told you," said the attendant. "Too wild."

    "Unlock it," Gallagher said.

    "You kidding?"

    "Go ahead. He'll be okay."

    The attendant shook his head, unlocked the cage and quickly stepped back. Gallagher bent low, eye-level with King. The dog watched intently, growling deep in his throat.

    "Okay boy," Gallagher said softly, slowly opening the cage. Carefully he held out his hand, palm down. The dog sniffed. Then the cop offered the rolled towel. At once, King snatched it. Seconds later, the towel lay in pieces.

    Gallagher moved back, allowing King out of the cage. The attendant flattened himself against the wall. "You crazy?"

    King bounded out. His eyes passed over the frightened attendant and focused on Gallagher, who threw another rolled towel down the 60-foot hall. King was off like a rocket. Half-way down, he started skidding on the floor. His backside crashed against the far wall. But he had the towel, which he raced back to Gallagher.

    He's got real spirit, thought Gallagher as the two played tug of war. Then he tried to pull King back into his cage by tugging the towel. Instantly, King's massive jaws clamped around his forearm.

    "Okay, you win," Gallagher said. "You don't like being told what to do. Neither do I." Slowly he reached for the towel with his free hand and tossed it into the cage. As if to say, "Don't try that again!" King applied a bit more pressure before releasing Gallagher's arm. Then, on his own, he trotted into his cage.

    "I'll be back to pick him up," Gallagher told the wide-eyed attendant.

    As Brian Gallagher left that day, he was already having second thoughts. It's crazy. How do I know that dog won't tear me apart—like the towels?

    He remembered his former canine partner——a magnificent white German shepherd named Buddy. For seven years, Gallagher and Buddy had been together, patrolling by day and going home at night. Then the unthinkable happened. Buddy fell ill and within months the dog was dead.

    Gallagher joined the New York City Police Department but soon he began thinking of quitting the force." I just can't do it anymore," he told a chief.

    "What about working with dogs again?" asked the chief.

    "My wife can't take the dog hair," he lied. Gallagher had never told his boss why he'd left the canine division.

    "So what about narcotics? Those dogs don't go home with you. You take them out in eight-hour shifts, and they're back in the kennel. Keeps their sense of smell sharper."

    "That so?" It might be worth the risk—if he could find the right dog.

    Now, as he listened to the March wind, he thought, Okay, I may be crazy─but I think that wild dog in there would be a super cop.

     Gallagher immediately began King's training at the police department's canine center. There, a 5-by-30-foot training wall held a number of "traps"─small pockets covered with cardboard. In one, Gallagher had placed King's "toy"—a rolled-up towel—only now it was laced with heroin. Could he find it by scent?

    King seemed uninterested as Gallagher led him to the wall. Then the dog heard a rustle from a nearby bush and began straining toward it, barking furiously. The other kennel dogs joined in.

    "Easy, King, easy," yelled Gallagher.

    "Can't you keep that dog quiet, Gallagher?" Another officer had appeared in the doorway. Then he paused, curious. "How's he doing?" 

    "First rate," Gallagher said confidently. Then he muttered under his breath to King," Don't make a fool out of me! Find the towel!" Instead, King pulled Gallagher toward the far end of the wall and started scratching on an empty trap.

    "First rate, all right." The other officer laughed.

    "Got to be some traces of drugs in there," explained Gallagher, only half believing it himself. When the officer left, Gallagher said, "Okay, King, let's take a walk, then quit for the day."

    Walking with King through the streets, Gallagher recalled his own training and how the instructor had told the students to talk constantly to their canine recruits to build trust.

    "But what do we say to a dog?" one student had asked.

    "Tell him your life story," the instructor had replied. And that's exactly what Gallagher did now. Buddy was bigger than you, King—and a lot prettier," he confided. "But you've got the edge in toughness."

    Then the man knelt and held the dog's huge head in both hands. "Listen up, friend. I already lost one dog, and I'm not about to lose another. I have faith in you. You've got to stop playing around!"

    "New dog?" The narcotics detective was standing outside a building, waiting to go in for a search.

    "Yeah," replied Gallagher nervously. "Name's King."

    The dog looked scruffier than ever. He'd smashed his left ear, which now swiveled sideways while the other stood straight as a spike.

    The detective seemed skeptical. "We've been looking for two hours and can't find a thing. So whenever you and King there are ready ..."

    Two weeks before, King had passed his final test, but barely. He'd found the drugs the trainers had planted, but he had also gleefully torn an old mattress to pieces. Now came his first real job. If he tears up a couch and there's nothing there, we're dead, thought Gallagher as the dog raced up the building stairs, pulling him along.

    With King bounding ahead, Gallagher entered the apartment. Two young suspects sat at the kitchen table, eating pizza. "Hey, keep that dog under control," one of them said.

    King searched the living room, then the bedroom. Back in the kitchen, he began to growl. As the men at the table watched intently, he went to the oven, where the pizza was, and scratched on the door. "Pizza dog," one of the men laughed scornfully.

    Embarrassed, Gallagher directed King to the cupboards and the refrigerator. But King still strained toward the oven door.

    "I guess that is the end of it," sighed the detective. "You guys were lucky this time. Gallagher, thanks for your help."

    Gallagher, deeply hurt, started dragging King across the linoleum floor. Then he stopped. King hates pizza, he thought.     Opening the oven door, he flipped up the pizza box lid.

    "We checked that," the detective said.

    King pawed the door again, and Gallagher understood in a flash. He directed the detective to unscrew the oven door. As he did, one of the suspects ran. Instantly King leapt and, using his big head, knocked the man down. Then he stood over him, growling.

    The detective forced the door apart. Placed neatly inside were bags of white powder. The detective looked at the bags, then, at King, then at the two men, "Parmesan, anyone?"

    In practically no time King had established a reputation for an uncanny nose. He traveled to airports, seaports and houses. Over the next few years, King uncovered thousands of kilograms of illicit narcotics. But his greatest challenge was to come on January 23, 1994.

    It was an ordinary-looking truck, with storage boxes built in under the short, flat bed. Its driver and a friend—suspected drug dealers—were taken.

    "I know this thing is carrying drugs," said the detective in charge, slapping the bed of the truck. "But we can't hold these guys forever. Better get King over here."

    Half an hour later, a dark-blue van pulled into the district. Gallagher climbed out and opened the back. King was already barking excitedly and waving his tail.

    "King, old buddy!" the cops greeted him. The dog jumped out.

    Then he walked slowly around the suspect truck and sniffed. Approaching the rear, he stopped abruptly, stood on his hind legs, did a little dance and whined.

    "It's got to be somewhere in the truck bed," Gallagher said.

    The work of sawing through the bed began. As the district attorney paced, the men cut through the first layer of metal. Nothing.

The attorney frowned. "Are you guys sure there's something here?"

    "Don't know," said the detective, looking more tense. "Gallagher?"

    Gallagher shrugged. "If King says it's there, it's there." After they cut through more layers of steel, a hidden trap finally appeared. Inside, running the entire length of the truck's bed, were bag after bag of cocaine. They totaled 182 kilos and had a street value of $20 million—one of the largest narcotics seizures in New York history.

    Gallagher stroked King's massive head, pushing his swivel ear back. "You did good, you crazy dog. No more work today. Now," he said, holding a rolled-up towel, "we play!"

    "NYPD10 Dog Hits The Big One!" read the headline in a journal. Today King continues his career with a reputation as the No.1 "narco"11 dog in New York City—all, as the journal noted, "from the dog nobody wanted."

    Brian Gallagher still hunts with King every day—only now a gold detective badge is pinned to Gallagher's shirt. He conducts training seminars across the United States and teaches at a criminal justice school.

    When student cops ask him how to train a dog to become like King, Gallagher says," You can mold most any dog into a good canine cop. But King? He's molded my life. He's truly a once-in-a-lifetime dog."

(1694 words) TOP

课文一

一条没人要的狗

    金是条警犬，布莱恩·加拉赫发现 它之前，一直无人问津。下面一则有趣的故事讲的是金如何成为纽约第一缉毒犬 。

    布莱恩目光盯着小笼子里面的金，意识到自己找到了搭档。这只狗黑色的眼睛也反过来看着他，毫无畏惧，还带着几分挑战的架势。

    “你可别要这只狗。他只会招惹麻烦，”看护员说道。

    “我是警察。麻烦就是我份内的事，”加拉赫当即回应道。

   “那，是这样，这条狗原来带过一帮野狗。没人要他的。”看护员指着狗睡觉的房子的门说。

    加拉赫看了看系在笼子上的卡片：“有德国牧羊犬血统。兼有爱斯基摩犬血统。想一想他名叫金”。这时，那只狗狂吼起来了，露出白牙。颈部油亮亮的毛竖起，使头更显得大。加拉赫从纸袋中取出一块毛巾，卷起来，在笼子前缓缓挥动。金的眼睛紧紧盯住毛巾。加拉赫将毛巾放得更近一些时，他猛地窜上来,用有力的嘴咬住笨重的铁丝网。

    “我说过的，太野，”看护员说。

    “把他放出来，”加拉赫说道。

    “你开玩笑？”

    “去吧。他不会有事的。”

    看护员摇了摇头，打开笼子，接着迅速后退。加拉赫俯下身子，眼睛和国王齐平。狗也紧紧地盯着他，喉咙里发出低沉的吼声。

    “好的，伙计，”加拉赫一边用平和的语调说话，一边缓缓打开笼子的门。他小心地向金伸出手，掌心朝下。金用鼻子嗅着。接着，加拉赫将毛巾送上去。金一下子咬住毛巾。几秒钟过后，毛巾成了碎片。

    加拉赫往后退，让金从笼里出来。看护员吓得把身子贴到墙上。“你疯了？”

    金一跃而出。他的眼睛扫过吓坏了的看护员，接着盯着加拉赫。加拉赫此时往60英尺高的厅里又扔了一个卷着的毛巾。金如离弦之箭般冲了上去。追到一半时，金开始在地板上打滑。他的背擦着远处墙壁滑了好长一段距离。但是，金还是咬到了毛巾，并将奔回加拉赫跟前。

    金真是好样的，加拉赫一边与之对抗一边想。接着，加拉赫试图拽着毛巾将金将其拉回笼里。金立刻用大嘴咬住他的小臂。

    “好了，你赢了，”加拉赫说道，“你不喜欢听人使唤，我也不喜欢。”加拉赫用空着的一只手慢慢地伸向毛巾，将毛巾扔进笼子。金这时咬得更紧了，好象在说，“别再耍花招！”金又用了一点力气，才松开加拉赫的小臂。接着，他自个儿踱回了笼子。

    “我会回来带他走，”加拉赫对那个瞪大了双眼的看护员说道。

    那天，布莱恩·加拉赫离开时，已经在进一步考虑这个问题。真是疯了,我如何保证这狗不会将我象毛巾一样撕成碎片呢？

    这时，他想起了以前伴随自己的狗——一条漂亮的白色德国牧羊犬，叫巴帝。加拉赫与它相处了七年，白天巡逻，夜里回家。接着,无法想象的事情发生了。“巴帝”突然间病倒，并在几个月后死去。

    加拉赫原来在纽约市警察局工作，但没过多久，他便想退出。“我不能再干这行了，”他对上司说。

    “再去和狗一同工作，如何？”上司问。

    “我的妻子受不了狗毛，”他撒了个谎。加拉赫从未告诉上司自己离开警犬组的原因。

   “去缉毒如何？你不必把缉毒犬带回家。八小时上班时间，你带他们外出，他们回到养狗场。保持他们的嗅觉灵敏。”

    “就那样吗？”如果能找到一条合适的狗，也许值得冒险。

    此时，加拉赫一边倾听三月的风，一边想，好吧，我也许真是疯了，但我觉得那条野性十足的狗会成为一名超级警察。

   加拉赫立刻在警局警犬中心开始了训练金的工作。在那儿，有一堵５乘３０英尺大小的训练墙，墙上暗藏了许多“陷阱”——一些用硬纸板盖住的小口袋。其中一个口袋里，加拉赫放好了金的玩具——一块卷好的毛巾，只不过现在系上了海洛因而已。金能凭气味找到吗？

    加拉赫带着金来到那堵墙跟前，金似乎对此毫无兴趣。接着，狗听到附近的灌木丛传来沙沙的响声，顿时警觉起来，开始狂吠。其他的猎犬也跟着叫起来。

    “放松点，金，放松点，”加拉赫吼道。

    “你不能让这狗静一下吗？加拉赫？”一名警官出现在门口。接着，他停了下来，感到好奇。“他表现如何？”

   “一流，”加拉赫自信地说。此后，他小声地对金说：“别让我出丑了！去找毛巾吧！”可是金却拉着加拉赫跑到那堵墙的另一端，在一个空的陷阱上抓扯起来。

    “一流，很好。”那位警官笑了。

    “看来那儿有毒品的踪迹，”加拉赫解释道，连自己都半信半疑。等到那位警官离开，加拉赫便说：“好了，‘国王’，我们去散步吧，然后今天到此为止。”

    在街上，加拉赫带着金一边走，一边回忆着自己以前的训练经历，回忆教官如何要他们不停地和新募的警犬说话，建立信任。

    “可是，你能对一只狗说什么呢？”有一名学生这样问。

    “对他讲你的人生故事，”教官回答。加拉赫现在所做的，正是这件事。“巴帝比你还要大，国王，而且比你漂亮多了，”加拉赫说着心里话，“但你比他更强悍。”

    接着，加拉赫跪了下来，双手捧起金硕大的头说道：“听着，朋友，我已经失去了一条狗，我不想再失去一条。我信任你。但你不可以再乱来。”

    “新狗吗？”缉毒警探等在楼外，等着进楼搜查。

    “没错，”加拉赫紧张地回答道。“他叫金。”

     金此刻一副从未有过的邋遢相。左耳耷拉着，侧向一边；右耳如一根谷穗，笔直地竖起。

    “我们已在这儿找了两个小时，却一无所获。”接着，警探用一种不太信任的口吻说，“如果你和金都准备好了的话……”

    两个星期前，金勉强通过了最后的考试。他找到了训犬师藏起来的毒品，同时又饶有兴致地将一块旧床垫撕了个粉碎。现在，这是他的第一份真正的任务。金拉着加拉赫沿大楼楼梯往上跑时，他想，金要是撕碎了一个沙发，结果一无所获，他们可就完了。

    金在前面跳跃，加拉赫进了房间。两个年轻的嫌犯坐在餐桌旁吃比萨。“嗨，管好你的狗，”其中一个说道。

    金搜查了客厅，接着搜查卧室。他回到了厨房，开始吼叫。两个嫌犯紧盯着金，金跑向放比萨饼的烤箱，用爪子抓烤箱的门。“比萨狗，”其中一个嫌犯嘲笑道。

    加拉赫觉得尴尬，就带着金到碗橱及冰箱处察看。但是，金仍然用力朝烤箱门方向去。

    “我看到此为止了，”警探叹了一口气，说道，“这次算你们俩走运。加拉赫，谢谢你的帮助。”

    加拉赫觉得挺丢脸的，拉着金走过那块铺着油毡布的地板。突然间，他停了下来。他想起，金不喜欢比萨饼。于是，加拉赫打开烤箱的门，揭开比萨饼盒的盖子。

    “我们已经查过了，”警探说道。

    金又在用爪子扯烤箱的门，加拉赫一下子明白过来。他指挥警探拆烤箱门的镙丝。他拆的当口，一个嫌犯跑了。金立刻跃起，用他的大大的头一下将那家伙撞翻在地。而后，金站在嫌犯身上，狂叫不已。

    警探用力把门拆开。里面整整齐齐的放着一袋袋白粉。警探看了看这些袋子，接着看了看金，又望了望两个嫌犯，“帕尔马干酪，谁能解释？”

    金因其非同寻常的鼻子一下子名声大震。他出现在机场、海港以及住宅。在接下来的几年里，金发现了数千公斤的非法麻醉品。但是，他要面对的最大挑战是在1994年1月23日。

    这是一辆外观普通的卡车，又短又平的底板下安着几个储藏箱。司机及他的一个朋友因有贩毒之嫌，被扣押了。

    “我知道这东西里面藏着毒品，”负责此事的警探拍着卡车的底板说，“但我们不可能一直扣押这两个家伙。最好让金过来看看。”

    半个小时过后，一辆深蓝色小货车在这个地区停下来。加拉赫爬下车，打开后舱。金已经激动地叫起来，不停地摇着尾巴。

    “嗨！金，老伙计。”警员们都朝他打招呼。狗跳下了车。

    接着，他慢慢地绕着那辆可疑的卡车，用鼻子嗅着。走近车尾时，金突然停住，后肢着地立起来，舞动着身子，发出嚎叫。

    “车子底板附近肯定有东西，”加拉赫说道。

    开始锯卡车底板。地方检查官踱着步子，警员们锯开第一层金属板。什么也没有。检查官皱着眉头问：“你们肯定这儿有东西吗？”

    “不知道，”警探说，显得更加紧张起来。“加拉赫？”

    加拉赫耸了耸肩，说：“如果金说有，那就一定有。”又锯掉了几层钢板之后，一个暗藏的玄机终于显露。整辆卡车底板内塞满了一包又一包的可卡因。总重量达到182公斤，市价2千万美元，是纽约史上抓获的最大毒品案之一。

    加拉赫抚摸着金的大脑袋，将他那只转过来的耳朵扳回原位。“干得漂亮，你这只疯狗，今天就到这了。现在，我们去玩，”加拉赫抓着一只卷起的毛巾对金说。

    一家报纸打出了“纽约警犬立大功”的头条新闻。如今，金载着纽约第一缉毒犬的美誉仍在继续他的工作。然而，正如这家报纸所言，所有这一切都是从“一只没有人要的狗”开始的。

    布莱恩·加拉赫依旧每天与金一道出警搜查，只不过他的警服上多了一枚金质警探徽章。加拉赫在全美讲授训犬课程，并且在一个刑事司法学校任教。

    当警校学员向他请教如何将一只狗训练成金那样时，加拉赫说：“你几乎可以把任何一只狗、改造成优秀的警犬。至于金？应该说是他改造了我的生活。对我而言，他真正是一生中才遇到一次的狗。”

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Text 2

Some Sort of Magic

by Annette Foglino

    On a crisp fall morning, Michele Davis opened the barn door to feed Mac and brush him up. As sunlight streamed through the barn, the horse was wide awake and waiting in his stall, blowing steam through his nostrils in the chilly air. "There's a little girl coming to see you," Michele told him. "And she really needs your help."

    Later Teresa and Jeff Freshcorn came up the driveway toward Michele's home in West Mansfield, Ohio. With them was their four-year-old daughter, Jessika, who had withdrawn into her own impenetrable world. Her condition, delay onset autism, could not be effectively treated. But when the Freshcorns heard that Michele owned an old horse who had a special way with kids, they decided to give him a try.

    You really do work some sort of magic, Michele thought as she stroked Mac's neck. Indeed the horse had touched many lives over the years—and none more than her own.

    Back in 1979 Michele, then 32, was teaching Latin American literature at Ohio State University in Columbus. She often recalled how much she had enjoyed riding horses as a little girl. One day she decided to splurge on horse-jumping lessons at a local riding stable. She was paired with a black saddle horse, called Skunk for his distinctive white legs and white tail.

    Again and again Michele came back to ride and jump with the horse. She loved how he'd leap over fences without ever faltering. So when Michele learned he was for sale, she was thrilled—but confused. "Why are you letting such a good horse go?" she asked the owner.

    The owner explained that he guessed the horse was about 17 years old. "I want to find a good retirement home for him," he said.

    Michele knew that many horses don't live past 20. But the owner was asking only $1500. Michele thought it a fair price, and bought him.

    She immediately rechristened him McDougall—a name that match his dignified demeanor—and called him Mac for his easygoing nature.

    Walking Miracle

    In the next few years Mac continued jumping with ease. Meanwhile, Michele was intrigued that many people in the area seemed to recognize him. "I can't believe he's still around," they would tell her. "He must be pretty old."

    Michele traced Mac's birthplace to Columbus. There she found an old ranch hand who had worked at the stable where Mac was born. "It was 1948," he told her. "The owners bred that horse for color. They wanted a parade horse."

    The owners named him Mr. Tie & Tail for his shiny black coat and white flourishes. Michele also learned of Mac's subsequent names: Whispering Winds, One-for-the-Road, Houdini (for his ability to get out of a locked barn, a talent Michele discovered one night when he let all her horses out) and then Skunk.

    It was amazing: Mac appeared to be about 30 years old. To get a veterinarian's assessment, Michele consulted Dr. Ronald Riegel of Marysville, Ohio. When he finished with his exam, he shook his head and whistled. "This is the oldest horse I've ever seen," he said. Riegel, too, thought the horse was about 30.

    Michele marveled that Mac was still standing. When she rode him as a show horse in parades, he never missed one of her signals as she steered him into formation. Mac was a walking miracle.

    In 1986 Michele needed her own miracle. She had lost her university job and was broke. Eventually she was forced to sell Mac.

     The first two times she did, however, Mac got sick and the new owners returned him. Once back with Michele, Mac quickly got better. When a third buyer came around and handed Michele a check for $300, Mac collapsed. "What's wrong with him?" asked the shocked buyer.

    "I think he's dying," Michele said, giving the buyer back his check.

    This time Mac was seriously ill. He lay sprawled in the barn, trembling and sweating with a fever.

    Over the next few weeks neighborhood children would come by to check on Mac and talk to him. One little boy brushed his mane, and a little girl read to him. One afternoon when Mac heard the children coming up the driveway, he went to the window by his stall and whinnied. That's when Michele knew he was going to make it.

    Enduring Hero

    As Mac got better, however, Michele's problems intensified. Although she found another job at the university, she was still struggling to pay her bills. One day a neighbor phoned her at work to tell her that her barn was on fire. By the time Michele reached home, nothing remained but a pile of cinders. Rushing out into the pasture, she found her three surviving horses; among them was Mac.

    "When we opened the barn door, two horses tried to run back in," a firefighter told her. "But that old horse kept pushing them out into the field."

    The fire made Michele think she was jinxed. Unable to sleep one night, she went for a walk, ending up near the makeshift barn her neighbors helped her build. As she sat lost in thought, she looked up to see Mac standing quietly at her side. "You're old reliable, aren't you?" she said. "You'd never desert me."

    As Michele sat under the stars with Mac, she thought about how much he had endured. Time and again he had shown her how miraculous life could be.

    Michele resolved to press on too. In the 1990s, pursuing an interest in natural health, Michele began to work with children who suffered from various disorders. When word about her gentle old horse got around among the parents, she invited them to bring their children to visit Mac. It was then that Mac's special skills started to blossom.

    There was four-year-old Samuel, who suffered from hyperactivity. His parents found that after each visit with Mac, he would calm down for weeks. And shortly after three-year-old Payton started visiting Mac, he stopped wetting his bed. "How did you do it?" Michele asked the little boy. "I dreamed Mac told me not to," he said proudly.

    "Pretty Horsey"

    Mac's best magic, however, has been worked on little Jessika. When Teresa Freshcorn first contacted Michele in 1996, she was desperate. Jessika had stopped speaking, and her eyes never met anyone's. She only slept for 20 minutes at a time, and when she awoke she'd retreat to a corner. One of the things that hurt her parents most, however, happened when Jessika's seven-year-old brother, Tyler, would give his sister a hug: invariably she drew away.

    Michele suggested that seeing Mac might help. Upon arriving at Michele's house, Jessika just stared off into the distance. "Come into the barn," Michele said to her. "There's someone who wants to meet you."

    Despite Mac's slight swayback, the Freshcorns thought he looked quite dignified. Teresa asked Jessika, "Do you want to sit on the pretty horsey?”" The child already seemed transfixed with Mac, but when her father tried to pick her up, she squirmed away.

    Mac walked slowly toward Jessika and put his head way down so she could pet him. The little girl who never seemed to notice anything stared at him with wide eyes. Then Jessika's father placed her on Mac's back. She let out a squeal of delight, but Mac remained calm.

    Suddenly the girl quieted down and with curiosity began looking all around. Then came the most wonderful sound the Freshcorns had ever heard. A tiny voice called out, "What is that?"

    The voice came from Jessika—the same little girl who hadn't spoken a coherent sentence in over six months.

    "It's, it's a beautiful horse," Teresa sputtered tearfully.

    Jessika laid her back flat against Mac's, letting her arms dangle at his sides. That night, for the first time in over a year, she slept without waking up once. The next day she spoke two more sentences. First she asked for water, then she announced, "I want to play!"

    Today Jessika visits Mac at least once a month, and her progress continues. She communicates more regularly. Recently she tested normal for her age in alphabetical and numerical skills.

    One day while visiting Mac, Jessika began singing. Then noticing Tyler nearby, she motioned for him to come over and play. As he did, Tyler gave his sister a hug. This time, instead of recoiling, Jessika hugged him back.

(1418 words) TOP

课文二

一种魔力

         安妮特·弗格丽诺

    秋天的早晨,天气格外清爽,米歇尔·德卫斯打开牲口棚的门,给麦克喂食,为他梳洗。阳光照进了屋子，那匹马已经完全醒了，正等在马厩里，鼻孔中朝寒冷的空气中呼出热气。“有个小姑娘要来看你，”米歇尔对他说道，“她很需要你的帮助。”

    不久，特蕾莎与杰夫·弗莱斯康夫妇便驱车来到米歇尔位于俄亥俄州西曼斯菲尔德的家门口。随行的还有他们四岁的女儿杰西卡，姑娘内向，没人能知道她在想什么。她患有间歇性孤独症，不能根治。可是，听说米歇尔有匹马与孩子特别有缘时，弗莱斯康夫妇还是决定带孩子来看看。

    你真的有一股神奇的魔力，米歇尔抚摸着麦克的脖颈，心里想。的确，在过去的几年里，这匹马着实感化了许多心灵，特别是米歇尔自己。

    早在1979年，32岁的米歇尔正在哥伦布的俄亥俄州立大学教拉美文学。她时常想起自己孩提时代骑马的开心样子。一天，她决定到当地的一家驯马场，尽情体验一下越障训练的乐趣。与她搭档的是一匹黑色的驯马。因为马腿和尾巴的白色在全身的黑色中显得很特别,被人叫做“讨厌鬼”。

    米歇尔又多次回来骑这匹马跨栏。她喜欢他毫不迟疑越栏的英姿。因此，当主人说要卖掉这匹马时，米歇尔兴奋不已又颇感困惑：“你为什么要卖掉这么一匹好马呢？”她问马的主人。

    主人解释，这匹马约有十七岁。“我想为他找个好的退休的地方，”主人说道。

    米歇尔知道大多数马都活不过第二十个年头。但是主人开价只有1500美元。米歇尔认为价格合理，就买下了这匹马。

    紧接着，米歇尔给他重新起了个名——麦克杜格尔，一个与他尊贵的举止相称的名字——由于他随和的天性，称为麦克。

    活生生的奇迹

    随后的几年，麦克依然奔跳自如。 与此同时，令米歇尔不解的是，这个地区的许多人似乎都认得麦克。他们总对她说：“我无法相信这匹马还能活动。他肯定很老了。”

    米歇尔寻找麦克的出生地，到了哥伦布。在那儿，她找到了一名农场老工人，他曾经在麦克出生的马房干过活。他告诉米歇尔：“是1948年。主人们为了颜色交配出这匹马。他们想要一匹展示用的马。”

    由于黝黑发亮的体表衬着那鲜亮的白色，他又被主人叫做“领带尾巴先生”。米歇尔还听说了麦克后来的一些名字：“低语之风”、“路上之马”，“赫狄尼”(因为他有一种能耐，能从锁着的牲口棚里逃出来。一天晚上，他竟然把马房里的马全放了出来，米歇尔亲眼见识了他的这项天赋。)以及后来的“讨厌鬼”。

    令人吃惊的是：麦克看上去有30多岁了。为了让兽医估计一下，米歇尔专门咨询了俄亥俄州马力斯维尔的医生罗纳德·瑞吉尔。他一给麦克检查完身体，便摇了摇头，打了声口哨。他说：“这是我见过的最老的马了。”连瑞吉尔都认为这匹马年约30了。

    让米歇尔称奇的是，麦克竟然还能“站得住”。当米歇尔骑着他参加盛装游行时，他总能明白无误地执行各项指令，走好队形。麦克真是个活生生的奇迹。

    1986年，米歇尔需要自己的奇迹。她失去了大学的工作，已经破产。无奈之余，她想卖掉麦克。

    起初两次，米歇尔把他卖了，但是，麦克却病倒了，于是，新主人就把他送了回来。奇怪的是：一回到米歇尔身边，麦克的病就立刻好起来。第三个买主上门看马，递给米歇尔一张300美元的支票，这时，麦克瘫倒了。“他怎么了？”吃惊的买主问道。

    “我想他快死了，”米歇尔说着，把支票还给了买主。

    这一次，麦克真是病得厉害。他趴在马房里，腿发颤，还发热，不停地流汗。

    接下来的几星期，邻里的孩子都要过来看看麦克，还和他说话。一个小男孩为他梳理鬃毛，一个小姑娘则给他讲故事。一天下午，麦克听见大门外车道上传来了孩子们的声音，便挪身靠近牲口棚的窗子，嘶叫起来。这时候，米歇尔知道麦克行要康复了。

    坚韧不拔的英雄

    麦克康复了，米歇尔的麻烦事多起来了。虽然她在原来那所大学找到了另外一份工作，却仍为还债而挣扎。一天，邻居打电话给正在上班的米歇尔，说她的牲口棚着火了。米歇尔赶回家时，剩下的只有一堆灰烬。米歇尔又赶到牧场，找到了三匹幸存的马，其中有麦克。

    一个消防队员对米歇尔说：“我们打开牲口棚的门时，有两匹马死命往里钻。是那匹老马不停地将他们往外面的空地上赶。”

    这场火让米歇尔觉得自己简直就是个倒霉鬼。一天夜里，她睡不着，就起身散步。走到邻居为其搭建的临时牲口棚时，她停了下来。她坐在那儿，陷入了沉思，这时，她抬头发现麦克正静静地站在自己的身旁。她开始自言自语：“你特别可靠，不是吗？你永远都不抛弃我。”

     星空之下，米歇尔坐在麦克身旁，想起麦克曾经忍受的苦痛。是麦克一次又一次地向她显示，生活会是多么神奇。

   米歇尔决定也坚持下去。90年代，出于对自然健康的兴趣，米歇尔开始从事与障碍儿童的康复有关的工作。她的温驯的老马的故事在父母们当中传开，米歇尔就邀请大人们带孩子来看麦克。也就是从这时起，麦克独有的技艺开始声名远扬。

    有个叫塞缪尔的四岁男孩，患有多动症。他的父母发现每次他看过麦克之后，就能安静好几周。还有个叫佩顿的三岁孩子，自从开始看麦克以来，就不再尿床了。“你怎么就不尿床了呢？”米歇尔问这个小男孩。他自豪地回答：“我梦见麦克对我说不要尿床。”

    “漂亮的马”

     麦克最大的魔力还是发生在小杰西卡身上的。1996年，特蕾莎·弗莱斯康第一次与米歇尔联系时，她很绝望。杰西卡那时一句话也不说，也从来不正眼看别人。她有时一次只睡20分钟；醒来后，就缩到一个角落里。最令其父母伤心的是：当杰西卡7岁的哥哥泰勒想抱抱她时，杰西卡总要躲开。

    米歇尔建议，见见麦克可能会有用。可杰西卡刚到米歇尔家门口，就看远的地方。“到牲口棚这里来”，米歇尔对杰西卡说，“这里有人要见你。”

    在弗莱斯康夫妇的眼里，麦克除了背部有些凹陷外，透着一股高贵的气质。特蕾莎问杰西卡：“想不想在这漂亮的马上坐一下？”小姑娘这时好象已被麦克深深地吸引了，但是，当她的父亲试图把她抱到马背上时，她却挣脱开了。

    麦克朝杰西卡慢慢地走去，俯下头颈让杰西卡抚摩。此时，这个对身边事物似乎从不在意的小姑娘，瞪大了双眼盯着麦克。而后，杰西卡的父亲将她放上马背。小姑娘开心地尖声笑起来，麦克则平静如故。

    小女孩突然静了下来，用好奇的眼光开始观察四周。接着，弗莱斯康夫妇听到了他们从未听到过的最悦耳的声音——“那是什么？”一个幼稚的声音问道。

    声音来自杰西卡，那个6个多月未说出一句连贯的话的小女孩。

    “那是，那是一匹漂亮的马，”特蕾莎噙着眼泪激动地回答。

    接着，杰西卡平躺在麦克的背上，两只胳膊在麦克的两侧晃来晃去。就是那一晚，也是一年来的第一次，杰西卡一觉睡到天亮。第二天，小女孩又说了两句话。第一句是要水喝，接下来就是宣布，“我要玩！”

    现在，杰西卡一个月至少要来看望麦克一次。她的进步在继续。现在，她与别人的交流更加自然。最近一次字母与数字技能测试，证明杰西卡是她那个年龄段正常的孩子。

    一天，杰西卡来看麦克时，唱起歌来。接着，她注意到附近的泰勒，就示意他过来玩。他走过来，抱了一下自己的妹妹。这一次，杰西卡不再退缩，而是主动回哥哥一个拥抱。

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