After the cottage was fixed up to their liking, Sierra spent the rest of her summer days exploring from her bicycle the area around her new home. Farmland! The neighborhood was a checkerboard of farms: a dairy farm, Christmas tree farm, a farm that specialized in apple products and boasted strawberry and blueberry fields; farms with fields of hay, corn, and pumpkins; and most exciting of all, at least five of the farms also had horses grazing in pastures and three were actual stables with paddocks and riding arenas with jumps set up. It was during one of her bicycle rides after school that she had seen the sign advertising for stable help posted at the entrance gate of Pegasus Equestrian Center.
Living in this cottage, having a pet of her own, gardens for her mom, and now the chance to work around horses and learn to ride, far outweighed the fact that Sierra wasn’t making friends at school.
*****
4 River
The Horse: Here is nobility without conceit, Friendship without envy, Beauty without vanity, A willing servant yet never a slave. – Ronald Duncan
*****
Saturday, at six-forty-five a.m., the early morning of mid-September greeted anyone willing to leave one’s bed with cool crispness and a sharp scent in the air that warned of winter coming. Sierra breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the freshness of the morning and allowed the crisp feeling to unwind the knots of nervousness in her stomach. She stood outside the locked main door to the stable at Pegasus Equestrian Center, waiting for someone to arrive and tell her what to do.
About ten minutes later, a lone figure emerged from the lane leading into the stable yard, and Sierra recognized the dark-haired boy who had startled her the other day. A large black dog of mixed breed, maybe part shepherd and part lab, trotted at his side. The boy glanced at her without speaking as he walked past the main entrance and out of sight behind the stable.
Should I follow him? He didn’t look particularly happy to see her. Sierra decided to wait a little longer to see if someone else might arrive; someone who expected her and would get her started with what she was supposed to do.
Sounds of activity from inside the stable filtered out through the closed door, mixed in with the whinnies of horses. Sierra’s spine jumped as the large entrance door rose slowly upwards to the low rumbling of an automatic opener. She spied the boy walking away from the wall where he must have activated the switch to open the doors. Not knowing what else to do, Sierra swallowed down her shyness and stepped inside to catch up to the boy.
“Hi,” she greeted, “I’m Sierra Landsing. I was told to be here at seven this morning.”
He glanced at her without stopping. “For what?”
“Ms. Holmes…Tess, said I could help feed and clean stalls.”
He looked at her more directly now, obviously evaluating the small girl’s ability to be of any help. “Have you ever cleaned stalls?” he asked doubtfully.
“No, but I’m a fast learner.”
He didn’t comment as he continued to walk down the aisle, past horses snorting and nickering and sticking their heads up to the barred grates to look out. Sierra followed, the nervousness in her stomach knotting tighter.
At the back end of the stable an electric cart with its open bed filled with bales of hay had been parked. The boy hopped onto the driver’s seat, started the ignition, and drove the cart about a quarter way down one aisle. He jumped out, grabbed an armload of hay, toted it back to the first stall, opened the feed grate and tossed it in to the nickering horse inside. Then he returned to the cart for another armload of hay which he delivered to the next stall.
Sierra’s fear seeped away, replaced by frustrated annoyance at such rudeness. In a burst of angry determination she marched up to the boy as he began his third trip to deliver hay and announced, “Tess said I could help feed too.”
He tossed the hay into the third stall and without answering, returned to the cart. Sierra persisted in following him, but her heart sank as it occurred to her that Tess had not told anyone to expect her, or perhaps had even forgotten she had consented to give her a chance at the job.
At the cart, he asked without looking up, “Do you know the difference between alfalfa and grass hay?”
Actually she did. She recognized the two types of hay from pictures she had seen in a book she had read on horse care. “This is alfalfa and this is grass hay,” she correctly pointed out.
“Read the card on the stall door.” He hopped up onto the driver’s seat and moved the cart another quarter way down the aisle.
Sierra stepped over to the fourth stall and read the name on the brass plaque, Fala. A dainty black mare whinnied and poked her nose at the grate, demanding her breakfast. Below the brass plaque was a card neatly typed with the owner’s name and telephone number, the name of a veterinarian and farrier, and a line for its morning and evening feed requirements. Two grass, had been printed on the card. Not knowing what the two meant, Sierra went back to where the boy had halted the cart, hoping to get a clue by watching what he did.
The boy had jumped out and was again loading his arms with hay. She said, “I’ll carry the hay to Fala, but I’m not sure about the amount.”
“She gets two grass, like the card says,” he answered, sounding annoyed, and walked away with his armload.
Sierra waited, taking deep breaths until he returned. “Didn’t Tess tell you that I was coming this weekend?” she asked to his back.
He looked over his shoulder and with a half grin that held no humor replied, “No; but she tends to forget to tell me things.” He loaded his arms with hay and turned away.
“She told me to be here at seven and if I can do the work she’ll give me riding lessons,” Sierra explained, trailing behind him. “Is there someone else I should talk to?” She followed him from the stall where he tossed in the hay, and back to the cart.
“I thought you said you’d feed Fala.”
“Can you show me what the card means by two?” she asked pleadingly.
The boy pulled two sections of hay that easily separated apart from a bale of grass hay, and thrust them into her arms. “Two flakes,” he stated, as if she were dense.
“Thank you,” Sierra clipped a response, and turned away to carry the hay to Fala. So, the number on the card refers to how many sections of hay, or flakes. The mare nickered in anticipation as she opened the grate and tossed in the hay. Sierra watched her greedily thrust her muzzle into the sweet-smelling dried grass and then bring her head up with her mouth full. She looked at the girl with her large, warm eyes, as if saying, thank you, and Sierra felt her irritation draining away. It’s about the horses, she reminded herself. I can put up with his rudeness as long as I can be around the horses.
With determination, Sierra followed the cart down the aisle, reading the cards. The boy stopped the cart after every three stalls and she helped carry hay to the horses in those stalls. He did not offer to let her ride on the passenger seat when he moved the cart.
When every horse in both aisles had been fed hay, the boy drove the cart alongside the door to another room at the back of the stable and jumped out. Sierra dogged after him as he opened the door and entered the room.
“Feed room,” he announced and handed her a clipboard that he took down from a hook on the wall. A schematic diagram of the stable with the rows of stalls had been sketched onto a paper, and the name of each horse with his feed requirements had been written in the box that corresponded to his stall. There were ten stalls in each aisle, and currently eighteen horses occupied the stalls.
“Whole oats, crimped oats, cob, sweet feed,” he lifted off the lids of a group of bins as he identified the grain inside. He pointed out a long counter loaded with several containers and bags of horse vitamins and supplements, and underneath the counter, stacks of feed buckets with each horse’s name printed on one bucket. He picked up the first two buckets and handed one to Sierra. “Just follow the directions on that chart for each horse,” he said, and took the first bucket over to the grain bins to s
coop in the appropriate feed.
Sierra read the name on the bucket, Silver, and found his name on the chart. Copying the routine of the boy, she went first to the grain bins and scooped in the designated grain, then found the supplement to add. They worked in silence, filling all the feed buckets and setting them in the back of the cart. The boy watched from the corner of his eye to make sure Sierra made no mistakes. When all the buckets were filled, the boy climbed back onto the driver’s seat of the cart.
“Get in,” he directed in a neutral tone.
How generous, Sierra thought with smoldering resentment, but she climbed onto the passenger seat and they repeated the routine of driving and stopping along the two aisles to dump the contents of the feed buckets into the manger of each horse’s stall. The boy drove back to the feed room and they stacked the buckets back underneath the counter.
“That’s all there is to feeding,” he stated and walked away, leaving Sierra alone in the feed room.
Now what? She sighed. She decided to follow after him and continue the painful extraction of information of what chore she should do next. Walking past the stalls of horses munching rhythmically on their feed, her annoyance again diminished as she felt the contented pleasure of the horses fill her own heart with joy. She reminded herself again that she could tolerate a lot just to be around these animals.
Outside, she spied the boy at the end of a lane between rows of white-fenced paddocks. He stooped over the water trough in the last paddock, using a long-handled brush to scrub it out. Then he rinsed the trough, tipped it to dump out the dirty water and then filled it with fresh. He stood and moved on to the next paddock’s water trough.
“Can I help?” Sierra offered, venturing up to him.
He scowled up at her from where he hunched over the trough but didn’t answer as he started scrubbing.
Sierra waited awkwardly.
He finished scrubbing and rinsing the trough and unbent himself to glare at her. “Look,” he said, “girls like you show up here all the time thinking that stable work is easy. I waste my time showing you what to do and after a few days you figure out it’s not worth free lessons. Tess was supposed to hire someone who knows how to work.”
Sierra flushed with anger. This kid had no idea how hard she could work! She hated being pre-judged. Squaring her jaw she met his cold stare. “I can learn the work and I will not quit,” she challenged.
He shook his head doubtfully and sighed. “You can fill the water troughs after I’ve cleaned them; one quarter full,” he stated and moved away to the next paddock.
With a deep sigh of frustration, Sierra turned on the spigot over the trough and filled it to the level he had told her. Going from paddock to paddock after the boy finished cleaning, she filled the other troughs. He again disappeared after he scrubbed out the last paddock’s trough, leaving her alone again as she finished filling it with fresh water.
Sierra decided to return to the stable and enjoy the company of the horses. She was here to help clean stalls, so she figured she might as well wait around the stalls until the boy or someone else came to start the cleaning. She heard the electric cart coming down the aisle and saw the boy drive it to the back of the stable and park. Its open space had been filled with fresh hay bales, ready for the next feeding. Steeling herself for more rudeness, Sierra approached as he stepped down from the cart.
“What do you want me to do now?”
“The restrooms need to be cleaned,” he answered, walking away from her.
“Where’s the restroom?” she asked, trailing him again.
“There’s one inside the tack room and the one in the lounge.”
Not bothering to try to get more instructions from him, Sierra found the two restrooms. With a little snooping around into cabinets she located cleaning supplies and extra toilet paper and paper towels. Cleaning bathrooms I can handle and if he thinks he can discourage me with this, well, he’s going to be disappointed. Her mother had raised her to help with housework ever since she was old enough to wield a mop and rag. She wiped down all the surfaces, scrubbed the toilets, swept the floors, emptied the trash cans, and refilled the toilet paper and paper towel holders. The restroom in the lounge even had a shower and Sierra polished the fixtures and wiped down the tiled walls. I might as well tidy the lounge, she decided after the bathrooms were clean. She picked up the debris of soda cans, used coffee cups, and food containers; dusted, swept the floor, and emptied the trash. With those chores done she figured it was time to go find ‘Mr. Congeniality’ for what to do next. Walking back from the lounge to the stable, Sierra noticed the boy’s dog lying in the shade of a tree, head on its paws, watching her.
The boy was nowhere in sight. To make use of the time, Sierra strolled down the aisles, getting to know each horse by name and noting the information on the card, trying to familiarize herself with their feed requirements so that tomorrow morning it might be easier to keep up with the boy as they fed. She noted that four of the horses belonged to Pegasus. The other fourteen had names of private owners and she assumed they were boarded horses. She talked softly to each one, noting their personalities. Some completely ignored her, their full attention on their hay. A few would jerk their heads up to eye her with suspicion as she peered through the grate, probably worried that she would take them away from their breakfast. But when she made no move to enter the stall, they returned warily to their feed. The friendlier ones actually left their hay to poke a muzzle at her, just in case she had brought a treat.
She found Crystal’s horse, the chestnut gelding, and noted his name, Red Magic. She lingered at his stall admiring his impressive beauty. He was one of the wary ones, bringing his head up high to eye her. She spoke softly to him, pleased when he returned to munching his hay and relaxed enough to ignore her presence.
The sound of footsteps warned her that someone approached and she looked over her shoulder to the see the boy, a frown on his face. She backed away in apprehension, reminded of his anger the other day when she had petted this horse. He stepped up to the grate. The chestnut raised his head, nickered a greeting, and took a step toward him.
Sierra watched in awe how the horse responded to the boy. “He trusts you,” she commented in a respectful tone.
The boy looked back at her, his frown replaced with a pensive expression. Sierra waited for his retort. To her great surprise he suddenly smiled and said, “He’s some horse, don’t you think?”
“He’s magnificent,” she smiled back.
Nodding, he turned away and started down the aisle. Sierra remained frozen, not sure what to do. He looked back over his shoulder and stopped, it seemed waiting for her. “Have you ever worked with horses?”
“No,” she replied honestly and stepped up to walk at his side.
“You’re the girl hanging around here the other day.”
“Yes, I had come about the job.”
“What was your name again?” he asked.
“Sierra.”
“I’m River.”
*****
5 Chores
Let the love for the feeling of responsibility toward the horse rule all your decisions and actions. – Egon von Neindorff
*****
“We give the horses about two hours to eat their breakfast and then we turn them out for the day,” River explained. Sierra followed him to the first stall with the nameplate, Morrison. “This is Morris.” He grabbed the halter from its hook and opened the stall door. A round-shaped, sturdy bay gelding with a wide white blaze and four white socks watched placidly as they entered his stall. “Hola amigo,” River greeted the bay softly. “Watch,” he said over his shoulder as he deftly hooked the halter onto the horse’s head, then removed it and handed it to Sierra. “You try it.”
Mimicking his actions, Sierra stood next to Morris’s head and awkwardly managed to buckle on the halter. She gave silent thanks to the little bay horse as he stood patiently and even lowered his head. His body radiated warmth and he smelled wonderf
ul.
“Okay,” River acknowledged. Then he showed her how to hold the lead rope with her right hand about a foot from where the lead attached to the halter, and the trailing end of the lead looped in her left hand. “Lead him outside.”
Sierra stepped out of the stall with the lead in hand and marveled that Morris willingly followed behind. As they neared the main door and the little horse noted the sunlight pouring in, he picked up his pace and came up alongside her.
“Don’t let him crowd you,” River instructed. He showed her how to tug back gently with the lead so that Morris stayed back. “He should walk right behind you. He should not get ahead of your shoulder or lag too far behind.”
“Okay,” Sierra agreed.
She led Morris to an open paddock. River opened the gate and told her to walk the horse inside and turn around so they both faced the gate. Sierra unbuckled the halter and watched Morris lower his head and snort as he ambled away.
One by one they brought each horse out of the stable and turned it loose in one of the paddocks or into a large communal pasture. River helped Sierra lead the horses that had good manners; the more nervous and hot-tempered ones he led out himself. Many of the horses after being confined inside all night, tossed their heads, squealed with glee, and took off running and bucking playfully in the paddock, expressing their happiness with the freedom to move; a joy to behold. Sierra grinned in delight and even River smiled as both of them stopped to watch the antics before turning away.
With all the horses turned out, River led Sierra to an equipment bay where he took down two pitchforks. He showed her how to pick out manure from the shavings and shake the pitchfork gently to allow the dry shavings to fall back down through the tines; then dump only the manure into a cart attached to a small tractor. Wet shavings they had to scoop up completely.
The Girl Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series) Page 3
