PONY JUMPERS
BY
CLAIRE SVENDSEN
Copyright © 2013 Claire Svendsen
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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, places or events is purely coincidental.
For Dr. Delius, who was always there when we needed him.
CHAPTER ONE
“Is it laminitis or founder?” Mickey said, swinging on the fence.
“I thought they were both the same,” I replied.
We had the questionnaire for Esther’s Sand Hill summer camp spread out before us on the grass. Two of the pages had already blown away and the rest were held down by some big rocks we found in the ditch.
“This is so dumb,” Mickey flopped down beside me. “Three year olds aren’t going to know what either of them are anyway so what does it matter?”
“The camp kids aren’t three. It says right here, ages six to nine.”
“They might as well be three. This is so boring. I don’t know why we have to do this.”
“Because it’s for Esther,” I said.
But I had to admit that I thought it was pretty boring too. It wasn’t exactly how I’d seen the start of my summer going. Esther had insisted that we give the horses a week off after the Fox Run Farm show and that meant we’d been hanging around the barn like lost dogs, bored out of our skulls.
“Help me with these,” Esther finally said, shoving the questionnaires at us.
After Harlow and I won the jumper class at the show, several parents had come up to Esther and inquired about lessons. Many of them had enrolled their kids in her summer camp program as a sort of trial run. If the camp was a hit then these kids could go on to take weekly lessons and that would inject some much needed cash flow back into the dwindling Sand Hill bank account.
“Esther really needs this to go well,” I said. “Last week I overheard her tell the feed guy that she’d have his check next week.”
“So?”
“So, that means she didn’t have enough money this week.”
Mickey kicked the fence with her boot, a blank look on her face. I knew she didn’t get it and it wasn’t really her fault. Her family had always had money. She’d never known what it was like to struggle. I’d lost count of the times my mom and I had stretched a can of beans into several meals because it was either pay the rent or put food on the table.
“She got half your winnings,” Mickey said. “She should be happy.”
“I don’t think five hundred dollars goes very far in a barn,” I said. “I think she used it to pay off the farrier.”
“Well, I still don’t think it was fair. You won. You should have got to keep it all.”
The prize for winning the jumper class was a blue ribbon and a thousand dollars. I’d never seen so much money in all my life. I had dreams of handing Esther the check and in return she would place Harlow’s reins in my hand.
“I always wanted you to have him,” she would say.
But the reality was that instead I placed five hundred dollars in her hands because I’d ridden her horse and Mom said that it was only fair that we split the winnings. Esther tried to give it back but my mom insisted.
“How are you going to buy a horse now?” Mickey said.
“I don’t know,” I sighed.
But I didn’t mind that Esther had half my winnings because the truth was that I was lucky to be able to ride at all. My mom and I had worked everything out. I mucked stalls at Sand Hill in exchange for lessons and she didn’t come and watch me ride. It was still too painful for her, after all my sister had died in a riding accident. But she had come to the show and watched me win so we were making progress. And when Mickey outgrew her riding clothes, she passed them on to me and it meant that Mom didn’t have to use our electric bill money on breeches, not that she ever would. She’d rather see me ride naked than spend any money on anything to do with horses.
“I’m hungry, let’s go inside,” Mickey groaned.
“You’re always hungry,” I laughed.
Harlow hung his big gray head out of his stall and nickered as we ran into the dark barn.
“I miss riding you so much, boy,” I said, feeding him a crumbling sugar cube from my pocket.
“They may miss us but they sure don’t miss working,” Mickey said. “Look at Hampton.”
Her big bay Warmblood was lying flat out in his stall, his stomach rising and falling gently. Every now and then he made little grunting sounds.
“He’s dreaming!” I laughed.
We opened the latch to his stall and slipped inside quietly so as not to wake him. Then we fell into the shavings and hugged him. I lay my face on his warm broad back while Mickey hung all over his neck and lavished his face with kisses. He opened one eye and looked at us like we were mad.
“He hates this so much,” Mickey laughed.
“But not enough to get up,” I giggled.
Eventually Hampton did get up, sending us scattering out of the stall as he shook the shavings from his coat. We ate our sandwiches in Esther’s office, her equine veterinarian manual spread out between us.
“Look,” I said. “Laminitis is the inflammation of the laminae but it’s not considered founder until the coffin bone sinks and rotates.”
“Whatever,” Mickey said. “I don’t even want to think about it. It’s too horrible. I don’t see why little kids should have to learn about all the awful things that can happen to horses. I think they should just enjoy the nice stuff.”
“Like braiding their manes with ribbons and putting glitter on their hooves?” I said sarcastically.
“Exactly.”
“That’s not going to turn them into good horsemen.”
“I don’t think any of them are going to turn into good horsemen and they are probably only coming because their parents are making them. I bet riding camp is probably wedged in between ice skating lessons and beauty pageants.”
I hated to admit it but Mickey was probably right, only I didn’t have much time to think about it. The campers were due to start on Monday and that meant we only had one weekend of freedom. I was going to make sure I spent all of it in the saddle.
“See you tomorrow girls, I expect you in the ring bright and early,” Esther called out.
“Bye Esther,” I called back, waving.
That night I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t wait to get back in the saddle and take Harlow over some jumps. The rush of winning at the show had worn off. There were so many things I knew I could improve on and do better. My position still needed work. My back was never straight enough, my legs never as long as they could be. There was only so much you could do on the ground. I’d spent hours with the balls of my feet on the edge of a step, forcing my tendons to lengthen and my heels to lower but nothing beat actual time in the saddle.
I was already awake when my alarm went off at six, having spent a few hours drifting in and out of restless sleep. I was excited to ride again but in the back of my mind was the nagging thought that something was wrong. The other day I’d seen Harlow take a funny step in the paddock. He’d been off for a few strides and then seemed fine. I brought him in and checked his legs for heat and swelling but I didn’t find anything. I even mentioned it to Esther.
“He probably just stepped in a hole,�
� she had shrugged.
But it made me nervous. Without Harlow, I had nothing. Lameness was always a concern with horses, especially older ones like Harlow. I even felt like I was jinxing myself just by thinking about it so I tried to push the thought from my mind. The only problem was that the more I tried not to think about it, the more I did. By the time Mickey’s mom pulled up outside my house, I was chewing my lip and frowning.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mickey said. “I thought you’d be bouncing off the walls now that we finally get to ride again.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s nothing.”
I could tell that Mickey didn’t believe me. She put in her headphones and ignored me for the rest of the ride but I couldn’t talk to her about my fears. They just sounded stupid and I knew that she’d say that it was pointless to worry about something that hadn’t happened yet. I also knew that she was right. It was just putting it into practice that I had trouble with.
Esther was still mucking out stalls when we got to the barn. Mickey and I grabbed muck tubs and rakes and helped her finish. Mickey didn’t really like cleaning stalls but I always found it relaxing. There was something so methodical about sifting through the shavings and tossing the bedding. Plus you could see that you’d accomplished something by the end of it.
“Thanks girls,” Esther said. “See you in the ring in ten minutes?”
She went to the office for probably her third cup of coffee and we got to work grooming our horses. Harlow nuzzled my pocket for treats as I ran the brush over his sleek, gray coat.
“After we ride,” I told him.
He sighed and looked disappointed.
“Do you think we’ll get to jump today?” Mickey asked.
“I hope so,” I said.
Mickey actually sounded as excited as I felt and by the time we were standing in the ring with the horses, my stomach was doing little flip flops of excitement. Esther came over with her coffee mug, setting it on the fence and motioning for us to warm up. As we let the horses walk out, she barked commands at us.
“Shorten your reins, Mickey. Emily, lengthen your legs.”
Mickey looked at me and rolled her eyes but I just grinned. This was what I’d been waiting for all week. Harlow felt solid and warm beneath me, his gray ears flicking back and forth as Esther told us to pick up the trot. We circled, bending and stretching our horses and then picked up the canter. Harlow moved easily under me, his canter reminding me of the rocking horse I had when I was a little kid.
“Just a couple of jumps today girls,” Esther said. “Let’s ease these guys into it.”
The horses didn’t seem like they needed easing into anything. They were fresh and ready to go after their week off. Hampton had already shied at Esther’s coffee mug on the fence and Harlow had let out a little buck at the canter.
“Over the cross rail to the vertical and then the oxer,” Esther said. “Mickey, you go first.”
Mickey picked up her reins and circled Hampton. He cantered over the fences, his face actually looking happy for a change. He tucked his knees and rounded his back with Mickey releasing him at just the right time. Esther looked pleased.
“Good,” she said. “I’m glad to see that your week off hasn’t set you back.”
Mickey pulled Hampton up next to me beaming. Sometimes it seemed like she felt she had to ride because her parents spent so much money on Hampton so it was good to see her happy about working for a change.
“My turn,” I grinned back.
But as I circled Harlow and he hopped over the first fence, I instantly knew that something was horribly wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
“Pull up,” Esther shouted at me. “He’s lame.”
I halted Harlow and jumped off, all the fears I’d had since I saw him take that funny step in the paddock came rushing back. The good feeling had gone.
“But he was fine on the flat,” I said to Esther as she came over. “He didn’t feel lame at all. Was it me? Did I do something wrong?”
Esther pulled Harlow’s boots off and felt his front legs. Then she picked up his feet and checked his hooves.
“Just walk him away from me so I can watch,” she said.
I walked Harlow down the side of the ring, trying not to cry. He seemed okay. He was nudging my pocket, still looking for treats. Maybe he’d just stepped funny like he did that day in the paddock. Maybe he’d be fine. He had to be fine. He was all I had.
“Now trot him back,” Esther shouted.
I encouraged Harlow into a trot and we came back towards her. He was prancing a little at the end of the reins, probably confused as to why we’d stopped jumping after only one fence. But as we came back past Mickey and Hampton, I could see that his head was bobbing a little. I’d read Esther’s vet book. I knew head bobbing was bad. She was right. He was lame. Somehow I’d broken him.
Esther felt his legs again and shook her head.
“Take him back to the barn and cold hose his left front for ten minutes,” she said.
“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, blinking back tears.
Esther patted me on the back.
“If you want to be in this business,” she said. “You’re going to have to learn to deal with lame horses sooner or later. It’s the nature of the game.”
I knew she was right but as I led Harlow back to the barn, my heart sank. I didn’t want Harlow to be lame and I didn’t want to spend my summer wrapping and cold hosing his leg. I wanted to be out there in the ring finishing up the lesson with Mickey. I’d planned my whole summer out with jumping and beach rides and the endless possibilities that riding could bring and now it had all been taken away from me.
“I’m sorry you’re lame,” I said, standing in the wash rack and letting the cold water run over his leg. “But this really sucks.”
He let out a sigh. I was pretty sure that he thought it sucked too.
“Is he okay?” Mickey asked when she came back into the barn, sweaty and exhausted.
“He seems fine,” I shrugged.
“Hampton missed him,” Mickey said, pulling off her saddle. “He had to work twice as hard once you guys left and so did I.”
“Sorry. Trust me, I’d have rather been out there too.”
Esther brought big puffy pillow wraps out of the tack room and showed me how to put the standing wraps over the top after she’d slathered Harlow’s legs with poultice and brown paper.
“Like this,” she said. “Not too tight but not too loose.”
She did one leg and let me practice on the other. It took about five tries before she was finally satisfied with the job I’d done. Slipping two fingers down inside, she nodded her approval.
“Good, now put him in his stall with some hay.”
“Do you really think he’ll be okay?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “A few days of stall rest and wrapping and we’ll see what happens.”
“Should we call the vet?”
“In a few days, if he’s still not better.”
She walked off, shaking her head. With the unpaid feed bill looming, I knew that Esther didn’t have the money to call the vet for every little scratch and she was very good at healing the horses. I’d seen her cure an abscess and fix numerous cuts with a special salve that her grandmother taught her to make but Harlow seemed like he might need more than a special salve. I still had the five hundred dollars in the tin in the back of my closet, my winnings from the Fox Run Farm show. If I had to give it all to Esther to make Harlow better, I would.
“He’s bored,” Mickey said as we hung on the front of Harlow’s stall the next day.
He’d eaten all his hay and was snuffling along the ground under his feed tub, looking for any morsels of grain that he might have missed.
“So am I,” I said.
Mickey had a lesson later and Esther told me that I could use any of the other riding school horses I wanted but it wasn’t the same. I didn’t want to ride anyone else.
&nb
sp; “I think I’ll just wait until Harlow gets better,” I told her.
“No,” she said. “You ride. You think professional riders give up when a horse goes lame? No. They get on another one. Besides, it will be good for you.”
“I don’t think it will be good for me,” I’d mumbled under my breath.
“So who are you going to ride?” Mickey asked. “Duke? Or Rocky? Or one of the ponies?”
“How can I choose? They all sound so appealing,” I said sarcastically.
I knew I was being ungrateful. When I wasn’t able to ride at all, I would have given anything to ride any horse or pony in the whole world. Now I only wanted to ride Harlow.
In the end Esther made the decision for me. She said that the ponies were the ones that needed schooling because the kids let them get away with too much so she put me on Princess. She was a spunky little pony of undetermined breed that all the kids fought over because she looked like she’d just stepped out of a children’s book. She had a long, flowing black mane and tail and a forelock that came down to her nose. She’d bat her brown eyes and snuffle up carrots faster than the kids could shovel them into her mouth but as soon as they got in the saddle, she’d turn around and bite them. She sent most of them back to the barn in tears.
“I need the kids that ride here to enjoy it,” Esther said. “I want them to come back for more, not swear off riding for life because they have had a traumatic experience on the back of a demonic pony.”
So I was sent off to the ring with Princess who was about half the size of Hampton.
“I feel like my feet are dragging on the ground,” I grumbled.
“They practically are,” Mickey said, looking down at me and laughing.
But after the initiation in which Princess tried to bite my feet, rear and then attempt to lay down, she wasn’t a half bad pony to ride. She even jumped over the same fences that Hampton did, it was just that I felt like I was going a million miles an hour, her little hooves beating away as she got twice as many strides in between the jumps. By the time we were done, I was exhausted. I felt like I’d been posting in double time.
Pony Jumpers (Show Jumping Dreams ~ Book 2) Page 1
