Horse Gentler in Training

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  I’m really sorry about bragging with a lie mixed in. I say this to God, too. Only the prayer stays inside my head. God still hears it in there.

  Our bus jerks forward, then stops. There’s a rumble and a squeak, and the old bus shakes to life. Our driver, Mr. Ted, only started driving buses this year. If he were a horse, he’d be a Shetland Pony. He has to sit on a pillow to see the road. Plus, he’s as moody as a Shetland. Those ponies can be sweet friends. They can also buck and bite without warning.

  “Guess what Simon’s reading,” Lizzy says.

  “A book,” I guess.

  “A magic book!” Lizzy says. “Magic tricks with coins, boxes, scarves . . . Not real magic.”

  Simon stops reading. “How’s Princess? How’s that ride?” He whispers the last line of his rhyme so only I can hear: “Austin thinks that Winnie lied.”

  I hardly notice when the bus pulls up at our stop. When I step down, I see that Mr. Ted knocked over the school bus stop sign. Again.

  Austin is the first kid off. “Bumpy ride, Bus-Ted!” Austin laughs at his own joke. “Get it? Bus-Ted? Busted!” He’s still chuckling as he heads for home, not waiting for his brother.

  Lizzy gets off behind me. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Ted,” she says.

  Simon hops off after Lizzy. He goes left, and we go right.

  “Lizzy!” he calls back. “I’ll come by in a while. What I bring will make you smile.”

  “Yay!” Lizzy shouts back. “See you, Simon.”

  Lizzy and I walk home together. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks.

  “Austin says they might take Princess to another stable, Lizzy.”

  “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad,” she says.

  I turn and look at her. “Are you kidding? It would be awful!”

  “Don’t worry, Winnie. God’s got this. He knows everything.”

  Not a comforting thought right now. I picture Jesus shaking his head as I brag about riding Princess.

  But what if I really do ride Princess? I was riding horses before I could walk. And if I really ride Princess, then my lie wasn’t totally a lie. I can ride Royal Princess.

  Note to self: do it!

  As soon as Lizzy and I get home, Mom makes us do homework, then heads for the garden.

  “Simon might come over later,” Lizzy says.

  “Good. I like that boy.” Mom grins. “He’s filled with joy.”

  I groan.

  Simon is waiting for us outside. He hands Lizzy something squirmy. It’s round with short legs.

  “Oh, Winnie, look!” Lizzy takes the ugly, squirmy thing from Simon.

  “Don’t tell me you’re starting a toad farm,” I plead.

  “It’s not a toad, silly,” Lizzy says. “You’re looking at Wyoming’s state reptile, the Horned Lizard!”

  Simon’s grin takes up his whole face. “Some folks call him a Horned Toad. I found him on a country road.”

  “But they’d be wrong,” Lizzy explains, petting the creature. “He’s part of the iguana family. Simon, he’s wonderful! Thank you! I think I’ll call him Bug.”

  Leaving Lizzy with Bug, and Mom with weeds, I trot to the pasture. When I whistle, Chief comes lumbering over. I scratch his cheek. Every horse has a favorite scratching spot, and Chief’s is definitely his cheek. Chief was probably browner when he was young, though never as shiny brown as Princess. The old plow horse’s coat must have faded with age. Horses can get sunburned, and too much sunshine has speckled the brown hairs over Chief’s back. His mane and tail are thin compared to Princess’s. But I like his giant hooves, except when he accidentally steps on me.

  Princess is waiting for me in her stall. I don’t even have to catch her.

  I give her a quick brushing and bridle her. “I’ve never ridden a champion,” I tell her. “No time for a saddle. Besides, Austin’s saddle is too fancy. And I love riding bareback.” When I ride bareback, I can feel what a horse is going to do before she does it. I love being as close as I can to a horse.

  I can’t wait to tell Austin that I’ve ridden Princess—for real.

  Plus, Mom will have to admit I’m an honest-to-goodness horse gentler.

  The only hard part about riding without a saddle is getting up on a horse’s back. I lead Princess to the step stool in the pasture. Some of our riders use it to reach the stirrup when they mount. Mom makes kids ride with saddles for lessons, and that’s the way they like it anyway.

  Princess plants her hooves and refuses to go closer.

  “Come on, Princess.” My voice is gentle, like Mom’s.

  Princess shies away from the stool a couple of times before finally standing still.

  It takes three tries, but with a little jump, I make it onto her back.

  I am on Austin Green’s horse! I did it! Now all I have to do is—

  Princess starts dancing in place.

  I grab a handful of mane. “Easy, Princess.” I squeeze with my legs—gently—to urge her into a walk.

  Princess bolts.

  “Whoa!” I cry as her mane slips through my fingers.

  She rears. I slip back. She bucks.

  The last thing I see is Princess’s tail as she runs off and I’m catapulted up, up, up into the sky.

  Ouch!

  There is a point in my flight where I stop going up.

  Then down,

  down,

  down. Thunk!

  Princess gallops away. Without me.

  I hear footsteps. Voices.

  “Winnie!” Lizzy shrieks. “Please, Lord, let my sister be okay!”

  Lizzy and Simon squat beside me. They look so scared that now I’m super scared.

  “What happened?” Lizzy demands.

  “A-OK?” Simon says. “Please say.”

  I sit up. “I guess.”

  “Thank you!” Lizzy says, probably to God.

  I agree.

  Simon stretches out a hand to help me up. I take his hand. He pulls.

  “OUCH!” I sit back down. Simon backs off.

  “What?” Lizzy cries.

  “My wrist.” I’m trying to hold back tears.

  “I’ll get Mom!” Lizzy races off.

  Simon is staring at me like I’m a horror movie. “Sorry.”

  I wait for the rest, wondering what rhymes with sorry.

  The rhyme doesn’t come.

  Note to self: I must be worse off than I thought.

  Dinner at the Willises’ kitchen table is silent. Mom called Dad, and he had to leave work early to meet us at the emergency room.

  When Mom came to my rescue, I thought about telling her I slipped and fell. I did slip—off of Princess. And I fell.

  But that would have been just a fancy lie. And lying got me into this mess.

  The emergency room doctor said my wrist is just sprained. But he put my arm in a sling so I wouldn’t use it.

  I have been trying—and failing—to eat corn left-handed since we sat down to supper. I drop my fork. “This is impossible.”

  Dad harrumphs. “I’ll tell you what’s impossible. Keeping this ranch going.”

  Mom sets down her fork. “That’s not true, Jack. We should be able to pay that feed bill by the end of the month, thanks to the Greens. Father, thanks for sending the Greens to us.”

  Mom doesn’t call Dad “Father,” so I know she’s slipped into a prayer.

  “The Greens?” Dad says. “Mr. Green phoned me at the office. He’s taking his horse somewhere else unless there’s more progress.”

  If Mom were a horse, her ears would be flat back in anger, and her nostrils would flare. “Can’t he talk to me? I have half a mind to kick him and his horse off the ranch!”

  “Great,” Dad says. “Then it really will be impossible to save the ranch.”

  I wait for Lizzy to remind us about nothing being impossible with God.

  Dad isn’t finished. “And now, thanks to Winnie, you’ll have to do everything yourself—your chores and her chores.”

  I wince like
I’ve been hit. I hadn’t thought about how having my arm in a sling would make life harder for Mom. Suddenly, I don’t feel like eating.

  Dad takes his last bite of meat loaf and mutters, “Impossible.”

  When Lizzy still doesn’t chime in, I elbow her.

  Lizzy is staring at her plate. I know my sister well enough to know she’s praying.

  Even Lizzy realizes we’re in trouble.

  Note to self: this is all my fault.

  Very Tricky

  School is harder left-handed. My journal looks like a chicken danced in it. I have to sit out in gym because we play gaga ball. And you need a good wrist for that one. I don’t go out at recess because Miss Pento is afraid I’ll fall and hurt my wrist.

  Plus, everybody knows I fell off Austin’s horse. Austin claims if they don’t see progress by the weekend, they’re moving Princess to the Triple Bar Ranch in Laramie, where they punish horses to break their spirits.

  Wednesday, Simon walks home with Lizzy and me. I can’t stop complaining about Simon’s brother. “Sorry, Simon. I just don’t want Austin to move Princess from our ranch. And I can’t do anything about it.”

  Simon sticks his book, Millions of Marvelous Magic Tricks, in my face. He wiggles his eyebrows. “If you need an answer quick, you could always try a trick.”

  Note to self: well, I’ll be a Horned Toad! That’s it!

  At home, I beg Mom to let me go to the barn.

  “Yes,” she says, making it sound like no. “But no riding, no leading, no sitting on any horse.”

  “Got it.” I take off for the barn. If I had more time, I could go to the library. Maybe they’d have books on teaching horses tricks. But I don’t have time. I need to teach Princess a trick by Friday.

  I brush Princess one-handed. I stroke her all over and find her sweet spots. She loves being scratched where Mom scratched her, under the mane. But I find another favorite spot. When I rub behind her ear, her eyes close and she tilts her head closer to me.

  “Let’s shake hands, Princess.” I remember seeing a TV show where the horse could shake hands. I reach for her foreleg with my good hand.

  Princess eyes me and takes a couple of steps back.

  I run my hand down her leg. “Shake?”

  Her hoof stays planted.

  I stroke her foreleg again and press my fingers to her pastern, the part of the lower leg between the fetlock and hoof, kind of where an ankle would be.

  No go. I try the other foreleg. No luck there, either.

  For over an hour, I try and try. Twice, Princess lifts her leg. But she thinks I want to clean out her hoof.

  This is not working.

  Thursday after school, I race home and try the handshake trick again.

  Once again, I fail.

  I rub behind her ear. “Princess, they’re coming tomorrow.”

  Without warning, Princess bobs her head, nose to chest. I shoo the pesky fly that was bothering her.

  The fly returns. Princess bobs her head again.

  I flick the fly away. Then I get an idea. I barely touch Princess’s chest, just like that fly.

  Yes! Princess nods.

  “That’s it! Princess, do you like me?”

  I touch her chest. She bobs her nose to her chest and answers yes.

  “Do you want to stay with us at the Willis Wyoming Ranch?”

  She answers yes.

  I laugh. It feels like Princess is laughing too. But this time, it’s a good laugh.

  We practice until all I have to do is point to her chest to get a yes.

  It’s getting dark, but I can’t quit. Every yes needs a no. I’ve seen horses shake their heads to get rid of flies.

  It takes a lot of touching and talking, but I find a sensitive spot under the mane. After more practice, Princess shakes her head no when I lightly touch the spot.

  I run through a bunch of no questions and answers. Princess is perfect. I can’t wait to show Austin and his dad.

  Note to self: and Mom.

  Trick or Treat

  On Friday the doctor gives me one more day with the sling if I keep my wrist bandaged. It’s all I can do not to tell Landri and Ellie about Princess’s tricks. It’s a long day, and I’m glad when school ends.

  On the bus ride home, Simon is still reading his magic tricks book. He’s on the last chapter: “Locks.” When we’re almost to our stop, I ask, “Simon, are you coming over later, with Austin?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be there. So will Dad, so best beware.”

  Princess nickers when I walk into the barn for some last-minute practice. A soft, sweet nicker.

  “I’m glad to see you, too, girl,” I say. So far, I haven’t blown into Princess’s nostrils, the way horses greet each other. But since she’s given me her first nicker, I try it. She doesn’t blow back, but her ears flick up, and she lowers her head. We’re getting to be friends.

  I climb into the stall with her. She gets my best one-handed brushing. Then I scratch her in her favorite spots. “Time for business now, Princess. Austin and his dad will be here before long.”

  I hear a truck outside. “Can’t be the Greens this early,” I tell Princess.

  I take a peek just in time to see a green car, pulling a green horse trailer. It is the Greens!

  Our screen door slaps. Mom comes out, hands on hips. “Evening, Mr. Green.” She strolls to the trailer. “Interesting choice of vehicles.”

  “Be prepared, I always say,” says Mr. Green. “We’ve come to talk over our options concerning Austin’s horse.”

  “Yeah.” Austin steps out of the car. He’s wearing fancy boots with the worst kind of silver spurs—wheels of sharp little daggers.

  I want to tell Austin that I won’t let him near Princess with those spurs. But I’m waiting for Mom to say something.

  Simon climbs out, and Lizzy appears from the backyard. She runs up to Simon and whispers something. They both look worried.

  “You won’t be needing that trailer, Mr. Green,” I announce.

  Mr. Green perks up and looks to Mom. “You’ve made progress?”

  Mom explains, “Princess is still getting used to us. I haven’t ridden her yet because I felt she wasn’t ready. I’ll ride her tomorrow before you come. Then I’ll know when to let Austin ride.”

  “See, Dad? They haven’t done anything! Let’s take Princess to Laramie.” Austin points to my sling. “She’s no help.”

  “Oh yeah?” I take a deep breath. “Princess and I have something to show you.”

  Mom frowns. “Winnie?”

  Mr. Green looks at me like he feels sorry for me. “Really, dear?”

  “Really.” I lead them to Princess’s stall, and I go in. Simon and Lizzy crowd closer, and I’m glad they’re here. I should have told Simon thanks for the hint about tricks. But I couldn’t think of anything good that rhymes with thanks.

  “Waste of time,” Austin grumbles.

  I send up a quick prayer for Princess. For our ranch. And for me. “Princess, are you making progress?”

  Blocking Austin and his dad’s view with my sling, I touch Princess’s chest.

  She nods yes.

  Mr. Green’s eyebrows shoot up.

  I keep going, like I’m not at all surprised. But inside, I’m thanking God and asking him to keep it up. “Princess, are you having a good time at the Willis Wyoming Ranch?”

  Again, she nods yes.

  “Well, that is something,” Mr. Green admits.

  “No, it isn’t!” Austin steps closer. “Let me ask the questions.”

  “Go right ahead, Austin.” My heart is pounding, but I manage a smile.

  Austin steps a little closer but stays out of the stall. “Princess, do you want to leave this dump?” He sneers like he’s got me now.

  Keeping my gaze on Austin, I touch Princess’s neck. She shakes her head no.

  “Wait,” Austin says. “Okay, horse. Do you like me better than Winnie?”

  Princess shakes her head no. />
  Austin frowns. “Do you like Winnie better than me?”

  Yes, Princess answers.

  Mr. Green bursts out laughing. “Well, I’ve seen enough for now. That’s quite a show, young lady.”

  “Dad!” Austin shouts, running after Mr. Green, who’s returning to the trailer. “I still can’t ride my own horse! That Laramie guy said he’d have me riding in 24 hours.”

  “I know, son.” He opens the driver’s door, then looks to Mom. “We’re leaving without the horse. For tonight. Tomorrow is another story. I’m going to need to see more.”

  We watch them drive away. I’m thankful they’re gone. But I’m scared about tomorrow.

  Mom puts her arm around my shoulder. “Nice job, Winnie.”

  Any other time, it would feel like heaven to hear Mom say I’d done a nice job with a horse. But she sounds as worried about tomorrow as I am.

  Try, Try Again

  Saturday, before dawn, I ditch my sling and run to the barn. My wrist still hurts, but I have more important things on my mind. Overnight, I got another idea, thanks to Simon’s trick book.

  Princess is restless while I groom her. I keep talking to her. “So, Simon was reading about locks. That gave me our new trick. You’re going to learn to unlock locks! All locks on the ranch are the same. You just lift the bar. Simple!”

  It doesn’t take long to discover locks are not simple. Not when you have to use hooves or a big horse nose.

  I try everything. I hold a handful of oats under the lock. I sprinkle oats on the lock bar. I unlock it with my nose.

  Nothing works.

  I trudge back to the house.

  Mom points to my sling-less arm. “How’s the wrist?”

  “Okay. The rest of me, not so much. I tried to teach Princess a new trick so they’d give us more time. But it didn’t work.”

  Mom puts her hands on my shoulders. “Sweetheart, it’s okay.”

  I fight back tears, remembering how Mom told me I’d done a good job.

  “Winnie, Princess’s progress didn’t come from tricks. She’s better because you’re spending time with her. She trusts you. That’s a wonderful first step. I’ll ride her after breakfast, and we’ll see where we are.”