Merry-Go-Horses

by Sibley Miller

  “Um, Brisa,” Kona said, gazing at the filly over her apple filling. “Did you just say strawberry jam? Maybe that’s the red you were seeing. Because you’re perfectly pink!”

  “What?” Brisa twisted her head to look down at her belly and then at her flank. Kona was right. She was as unburnt and beautiful as ever!

  “Oh, goodie!” Brisa burbled. “But I’m still sticky. Do you have a towel?”

  Sumatra swooped down to the floor, nipped up a crumpled napkin, and tossed it to Brisa—just as the announcer grabbed the microphone again.

  “Eaters, take your places at your pie plates!” he called.

  “Here we go!” Sirocco whinnied, trotting over to the apple tart and licking his lips.

  “Rah, rah,” Brisa muttered vaguely. She carefully wiped her face with the old napkin, wishing it was a pretty, plush towel instead.

  “Get ready, get set,” the announcer yelled. “Eat!”

  Sirocco dove into his apple tart.

  Chomp. Gobble. Slurp. “Oh, yum!” he groaned. Then he chomped, gobbled, slurped some more.

  “That’s it!” Kona neighed to the colt. “Pooch out that belly, just like we practiced! Work those choppers!”

  “Wow, Sirocco!” Sumatra cheered. “You’re going to eat the whole thing!”

  “Go, Sirocco,” Brisa mumbled distractedly. Finally, she was satisfied that she’d returned to her original beauty.

  “Now,” she said, “I can cheer Sirocco on proper—

  Ding!

  Sirocco stopped chewing and fell over. His face was smeared with apple filling. His belly was round and taut. And his apple tart was almost finished!

  “That’s it, y’all!” the announcer said. “And it looks like the winner is … big ol’ Hugh Hartley, who consumed six entire apple pies! Hugh, you’ve won yourself a whole mess of more pies to take home!”

  “But if you look at the size of that man compared to six pies,” Kona rushed to assure the groaning Sirocco, “and the size of you compared to your tart, you clearly won. Your apple tart must have weighed half as much as you do!”

  “Ohhhhh,” Sirocco moaned. “I’m so full, I can’t possibly eat ever again! Or at least until lunch.”

  “That’s too bad!” Sumatra said with a gleam in her eyes. “Because here’s your prize!”

  She trotted to another crumpled napkin resting on the beam near the horses’ perch and whipped it away. Beneath the drape was another discarded apple tart!

  “I guess I could try to get another one down,” Sirocco decided.

  “Oh, do!” Brisa said eagerly. “I missed most of the contest, Sirocco, but I’m ready to watch you gorge yourself now!”

  “No way!” Kona ordered the colt, as he unhinged his jaws to take a bite of his prize pie. “Sirocco, if you eat any more, you’ll burst! Take that tart with you. You can have it later.”

  “Good idea!” Sirocco replied with a grin.

  “Oh,” Brisa added in disappointment. She hung her head. Sirocco may have been full to bursting, but she felt vaguely empty.

  As the Wind Dancers fluttered out of the pie tent, Sumatra said to her friends, “What’s next?”

  Brisa felt hope bubble up within her again.

  What’s next? she wondered. I don’t know, but I hope it’s something fabulous!

  CHAPTER 3

  Show (Me the) Jump

  As the Wind Dancers left the pie tent behind, Sirocco flew low and slow. (He was, after all, very full of pie.)

  Sumatra skimmed beneath the clouds.

  Kona bobbed along on a breeze.

  But Brisa flew in a frantic zigzag.

  “Should we go giggle at the dried-apple dolls,” she wondered aloud, “or drop in on the painted-model-horse classes?”

  When her friends didn’t immediately answer, Brisa babbled on.

  “There are weird chickens we could go see,” she added, pointing with her nose at a livestock barn. “Or we could try out the roller coaster!”

  “Brisa reminds me of a roller coaster!” Sumatra muttered to Kona. “She’s all over the place!”

  Kona was about to laugh, but then she spotted something that made her nicker with interest instead.

  “Look everyone!” she declared. “Look at the big horses!”

  The Wind Dancers followed Kona’s gaze down to several riding rings filled with horses of all shapes and shades. They were trotting, jumping, and cantering.

  “Ooh!” Brisa neighed. “Maybe the big horses can tell us what we should do next!”

  “Brisa,” Sumatra snorted. “The big horses are what to do next!”

  “Oh!” Brisa said. “Are you sure?”

  In answer, the other Wind Dancers simply swooped down toward the riding ring.

  “Well, okay,” Brisa said hesitantly. With one last longing look at the rest of the fair, she joined her friends.

  Big horses leapt over the red-and-white-striped hurdles in one area, while others gaited past tables filled with judges.

  Kona was drawn to one particular mare trotting with precise steps in a practice area outside one of the rings. She made a beeline for the mare, and the rest of the Wind Dancers followed.

  “Hi, there!” Kona said. “We’re the Wind Dancers.”

  “Oh, hello, little one!” the horse replied. Her whinny was throaty and she spoke with a musical English accent. “My name’s Gemma.”

  “Oh, what do you do?” Brisa breathed, fluttering up next to Kona.

  “Well, today I’m an English pleasure ride,” Gemma said proudly. “But I can also do hunter under saddle!”

  “Wow!” Kona said. “I’m not sure what any of that means, but it sounds wonderful.”

  “I can show you, if you like,” Gemma said. “My performance doesn’t start for a while. I’ll just run through our routine.”

  Gemma gestured with her white-striped nose at her rider. Her girl wore a black fitted jacket, a crisp white blouse with a stock tie at the throat, tan breeches, high black boots, and a helmet with a button on top.

  “Ooh,” Brisa breathed, “great outfit!”

  “Well, yes,” Gemma agreed. “But getting a blue ribbon is about more than the rider looking nice in the saddle! It’s about having smooth gaits, not mouthing your bit, and taking directions well. In short, it’s my job to be a pleasure to ride!”

  “Oh!” Brisa replied, delightedly. “And it’s my job to be beautiful. Which is sort of the same thing, don’t you think?”

  Before Gemma could say more than “Not quite,” Kona interrupted.

  “Gemma?” she asked shyly. “English pleasure looks right up my alley. I mean, I’m all about making life pleasant for my friends.”

  “Yeah, her apple muffins are awesome,” Sirocco piped up.

  “Oh, can I try, too?” Brisa asked. “It’ll only take me a moment to do my mane and tail and polish up my magic jewels.”

  She pointed an admiring nose at Gemma’s trimmed tail, braided mane, and shiny bridle.

  Gemma didn’t seem to hear Brisa. She launched right into Kona’s lesson.

  “The trick is to control every part of your body, see?” she said, standing still and proud. “No tail-switching. No head-swinging. No tap-dancing.”

  Kona imitated Gemma’s proud stance perfectly.

  “Very nice!” Sumatra said enthusiastically from the sidelines, while Sirocco tapped his hoof on the ground in applause.

  “What else, Gemma?” Kona said eagerly.

  Brisa tried to pay attention. But her gaze wandered to the Hanoverians leaping over candy-striped poles and rectangular ponds in the show-jumping ring.

  “They’re so dashing!” Brisa whispered to herself. She drifted over for a closer look.

  Before Brisa knew it, Gemma and her stately pleasure-class instruction had flown out of her mind. And she herself was flying over the red-and-white rails and water jumps along with the big show jumpers.

  “Whee!” Brisa neighed to her fellow jumpers. “What fun!”

  Befor
e the huffing, puffing big horses could agree, Brisa glanced at the next riding ring over and gasped. That arena was full of horses even more dressed up than Gemma! They wore big, ornate saddles and colorful saddle blankets. Their riders wore ten-gallon cowboy hats, fancy cowboy boots, and fringed chaps.

  “This I’ve got to see!” Brisa whinnied. Leaving the show jumpers behind, Brisa darted over to the Western pleasure class area and began introducing herself.

  “Ooh, I just love your Texas twang,” she said to a quarter horse with an orange saddle blanket. But before he could say, “Thanky!” Brisa had flitted over to an Appaloosa.

  “Howdy!” she said. “What’s that step you’re doing?”

  The Appaloosa began to explain the fine art of loping, but before he could go into detail, Brisa had moved onto a pretty bay Morgan mare.

  “However did you get such a lovely color?” Brisa asked breathlessly.

  “Well,” the Morgan chuckled, “it’s not like I really had anything to do with that—”

  But Brisa interrupted this horse as well. Gazing beyond the lovely Morgan, Brisa saw something that made her gasp!

  “What is going on over there?” she breathed.

  The mare followed Brisa’s gaze to a ring of humans just outside the riding ring. The people, mostly girls, sat on camp chairs or blankets and balanced large notebooks on their knees. Standing in the center of this circle was a gorgeous Tobiano Paint filly.

  The Tobiano was a glossy dark brown splashed with dramatic patches of white.

  But the Morgan mare snorted with disdain at the painted filly.

  “Oh, that Toby?” she said, using the nickname for the Tobiano color pattern. “She’s a model horse. I mean, she’s not a model of a horse, but a horse that is a model!”

  “A model?” Brisa said with fascination.

  “Yes, she’s demonstrating horse anatomy for the 4-H class,” the Morgan said with a sniff. “She doesn’t jump hurdles or race. She’s not a show horse either. She simply … stands still.”

  “Oh, but she does much more than that!” Brisa protested. “She stands still and looks beautiful!”

  “I suppose,” the Morgan said sounding bored.

  Brisa was anything but!

  CHAPTER 4

  A Model Horse

  Saying a quick good-bye to the mare, Brisa zipped over to the Tobiano and introduced herself.

  “Hello, I’m Brisa,” she said. “As you can see, I’m terribly gorgeous, just like you!”

  The Toby’s liquid brown eyes shifted slightly to glance at Brisa.

  “So you are,” the filly whispered through clenched teeth. “But there’s only room for one beautifully turned-out horse in this class, little one. So if you wouldn’t mind…”

  “Oh, don’t worry!” Brisa said wistfully. She gazed with longing at the circle of sitting girls—many of them about Leanna’s age. They were all studying the Toby and taking notes in their notebooks. “I’m invisible to humans!”

  “Oh, well, then I suppose you can stay,” the Toby answered again. “It’s nice to have company, actually. Some of the other horses at the fair are a little standoffish. I think they’re jealous! I guess that’s the price one pays for incredible shape and form—otherwise known as conformation. Well, you know.”

  “Oh yes, it can be hard to be so amazingly perfect!” Brisa agreed, though she couldn’t help grinning and feeling more than a little pleased about it.

  “But isn’t it satisfying to be able to show off your ideal self?” Brisa continued, fluttering next to the filly. “Everyone’s riveted by you. You’re making them happy just by existing!”

  “You do have a point.” The Toby preened.

  “I only wish I had your job!” Brisa replied. “Look how well I’m formed!”

  Landing in the soft dirt next to the Toby’s polished black hooves, Brisa stood with her head held high and her tail arched.

  A moment later, she tired of that pose and dipped her head coyly, bending one foreleg.

  “Then again,” Brisa said, suddenly having a brainstorm, “this would make an especially great way to show off my shape.” She fluttered into the air and stretched out her legs so that she looked like she was frozen in mid-leap.

  “Or,” Brisa mused, “how about…”

  “Listen, fidgety filly,” the Toby blurted. “There’s no point in being so well turned-out if you don’t hold still long enough for anyone to admire you!”

  But before Brisa could consider this idea, she heard a voice on the loudspeaker. The announcer was calling all English pleasure horses to their riding ring!

  “Oops!” Brisa neighed. “I think my show is about to start. Good-bye, my pretty!”

  “And to you, my flighty friend,” the Toby said, rolling her eyes.

  * * *

  As Brisa flew back toward Gemma and Kona, she fretted. “I was so busy being pretty in my perfect form, I didn’t get to gussy myself up for Gemma’s competition!”

  Brisa landed next to Kona and immediately began popping jewels out of her magic halo and into her mane. She was so focused on her hairdressing that she only listened with one ear to Gemma’s final instructions.

  “Just remember,” Gemma advised, “always respond to your rider’s orders. And do so pleasantly, of course!”

  “Okay!” Kona agreed with a smile. “I think I’ve got the walking, the trotting, and the cantering down.”

  Brisa looked up from her beautifying.

  “Um, can we go through that one more time?” she asked.

  But Gemma’s ears had already cocked forward. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  “The judge just signaled!” she announced. “We’re up!”

  “I’m right behind you!” Kona whinnied excitedly, wishing she was visible to humans so the judge could see her performance. Still, she was ready to put her all into it. Even the magic flowers in her halo stood at attention.

  “And I’m right behind, er, you, Kona!” Brisa told the violet filly. Brisa gave her mane a gentle shake to make sure all her jewels were in place.

  I’ll just follow Gemma and Kona as they go, she told herself. And I’ll look fabulous doing it!

  As Gemma began her routine, Kona imitated her steps exactly. Kona’s walk was as smooth as melted butter.

  Brisa’s was halting and hesitant because she didn’t know how many steps to take.

  Kona’s trot clop-clop-clopped with perfect rhythm.

  Brisa’s trot was about as rhythmic as a broken drum.

  Kona and Gemma turned first to the right, and then to the left.

  Brisa went left, then right.

  And when it came to cantering at just the right speed?

  Brisa fluttered her wings and darted upward. Then she began trotting, cantering, and turning in the air, her magic jewels clinking together chaotically.

  “Brisa,” Kona muttered between clenched teeth. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Improvising,” Brisa chirped with a giggle. “If the judges could see me now, don’t you think they’d love it?”

  It was Gemma who answered—but not before she’d come to a neat stop in front of the judges’ table and then trotted cleanly out of the riding ring.

  “I’m afraid that the judges would have disqualified you, Brisa,” she said kindly. “After all, flying is not a legal part of the competition.”

  “Oh!” Brisa said. Then she grinned. “But don’t I score points for my lovely mane and tail grooming?”

  “I’m afraid not, darling,” Gemma said. “The judges don’t put style over substance.”

  “Oh!” Brisa said again. She hung her head as Gemma turned to Kona.

  “But you, my dear!” she said. “You were brilliant! In fact…”

  Gemma trotted over to her rider’s tack bag near the fence and nosed around inside it. She emerged with a first place ribbon that she’d won in another competition. She nipped a bit of the blue satin out of it.

  “… you deserve a blue ribbon!”
r />   Kona gasped at the honor.

  “I completely agree!” Sumatra burbled. She helped Kona tuck the tiny ribbon into her flowery halo necklace.

  “Yeah! Bravo!” Sirocco added, clicking his hooves and grinning at Kona.

  “Oh, no!” Brisa murmured to herself. “Why didn’t I stick around and listen to Gemma’s instructions? I could have had a blue ribbon, too! Of course, then I would have missed the show jumping. And the Western pleasure horses. And … come to think of it, if I keep on moping, I’ll miss even more of the fair!”

  So, while Gemma, Sumatra, and Sirocco continued to congratulate Kona on her performance, Brisa fluttered high into the air.

  She gazed this way and that, searching for the next fare to sample at the fair.

  That’s when she spotted something in the distance.

  Something that made her eyes go wide.

  What was it? The most gorgeous horses ever! Lavender, pink, and robin’s egg blue.

  And they’re not trotting, cantering, or galloping, Brisa thought. They’re flying!

  Brisa flew down to her friends and said: “You’ll never guess what we’re going to do next!”

  “Have somebody guess how much we weigh?” Sirocco asked mischievously.

  “No!” Brisa burst out with a grin. “We’re going to meet some other Wind Dancers!”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Horses at the Fair Go Round and Round

  Brisa’s friends followed her gaze. And just like her, they spied—

  “Horses!” Sirocco neighed. “Brisa’s right. Those are candy-colored horses just like us!”

  “There’s not a brown, black, or white coat among them!” Kona agreed.

  “And they’re definitely flying,” Brisa said with satisfaction (and a sly glance at Kona).

  “But where are their wings?” Sumatra wondered, squinting at the faraway Wind Dancers. “I can’t see them.”

  “Well, you can’t see them from all the way over here!” Brisa scoffed. “We need to get closer.”