by Jessie Haas
“Trot, please, trot!”
Ears flattened. Tails swished. The ring got loud with hoofbeats. Chad lost Julia, found her again. She was keeping out of the dangerous clumps of too many horses, too close together. Tiger trotted calmly.
“Walk, please, walk.”
Next would come the canter. Julia’s face was white when she passed. Her eyes looked inward, as if she were listening to something only she could hear. Chad saw a flash of yellow in her right hand.
“And canter, please, canter.”
With deep grunts and sometimes a little explosion out the back end, most horses complied. Some pounded along at a furious trot while the riders kicked futilely. One bucked, throwing the rider forward onto the pommel of the saddle.
Chad kept his eyes on Tiger, who swished his tail and lifted into a canter down the long side of the ring.
After a few strides, though, he lurched down to a trot. Julia steered him toward the fence as other horses passed. She reached into her jacket pocket and then forward, and Tiger reached back to her hand, coming to a full stop.
Now forward again, walking. As they reached the corner Tiger began to canter, rounded, relaxed, not too fast.
A horse galloped past them, faster than the rest. Chad could almost see its speed swooshing Tiger along.
No. He was stopping again. A treat. They walked toward Chad, then lifted lightly into a canter as the announcer said, “And walk, walk.”
Horses tossed their heads, slammed on the brakes, ran right through the brakes, and Tiger kept gently cantering. As they neared Chad’s spot, he heard it: click! Tiger stopped, ears swiveling gladly, and received some small treat from Julia’s palm. Her face was flushed now, and her eyes looked as if she’d seen an angel.
“And reverse, please, reverse.”
The whole thing repeated, while Chad worked his way around the outside of the ring, past Gib, behind Jeep’s stone-like back. He’d almost reached David and Louise when cantering broke out again and he had to stop and watch.
It was all right. Once Tiger pinned his ears and shook his head angrily, but Julia clicked him, anyway, and that changed his mood.
“And line up, please, line up.”
Julia would not win a ribbon, but no one in the ring looked happier. Chad went on. As he caught the scent of Louise’s violet perfume, a large lady at the fence said in a disgusted voice, “A show is no place to train a horse!”
Louise’s hand went up as if to stop the woman from speaking. Then she pressed her fingers to her mouth as David turned.
“I beg to differ,” he said. “A show is the only place to teach show ring manners!”
Louise put her hand up to shield her eyes and turned away, almost bumping into Chad. “Oh! Hi!” She pointed at David’s back and shook her head. “I can’t take him anywhere!”
They headed toward Julia, but Jeep got there first, with a white glint of smile, a clap on the neck for Tiger. Julia’s dark-coated body, so upright in the ring, slumped toward Jeep. She reached down and put a hand on his shoulder. Then she wrapped her arms around Tiger’s neck in a big hug.
Hooves sounded behind Chad and Louise. Pia trotted past, a yellow ribbon fluttering on her horse’s bridle. “Jules!” Heads turned for fifty yards around. “What was goin’ on out there?”
Julia’s face glowed. “Clicker training. You use positive reinforcement to tell the horse what it’s doing right—”
This was going to be a lecture, a good old-fashioned, annoying Julia lecture. “C’mon,” Chad said to Louise. “I’ll show you the fair.”
CHAPTER
27
THEY STARTED WITH the Exhibit Hall. Sky’s beans had won two ribbons, a white fourth place for beanness and a blue with a card reading, “Youngest Exhibitor.” They watched the cattle show and toured the small animal exhibit. They assembled an early lunch of Thai chicken barbecue, falafel, onion rings, and fried dough. Louise shot a tin rabbit and won a teddy bear and gave it to a passing child. They moved on to the Horse Pull.
This was the hard-bitten part of the fair, and when he was younger, Chad had been allowed here only with Jeep. There was bad language, beer in the coolers, and sometimes a fight broke out. Jeep always made Chad feel safe, though. He knew this tough crowd. Some were even family of sorts, relatives of people Jeep lived with as a child. On the hillside in lawn chairs and down near the ring, Chad saw familiar faces. Jeep would have said hello. Talk would follow, and stories. By himself Chad felt half dumb, half a stranger. He couldn’t show Louise what Jeep could have. But she’d never seen any of it, and he could show her plenty.
Eight huge teams of horses stood tied to the chain-link fence. A yellow tractor dragged the stoneboat back up the lane of sand to the starting point and rumbled out of the way. The announcer said, “Next up, Bob Ring from Rockingham. Thirty-eight hundred pounds on the boat.”
Three men went to the back of a big blond team. Two picked up the whippletrees, the ironbound lengths of wood that would connect horses and harness to the load. The whippletrees were heavy; the men’s free arms hung out to the sides for balance. The driver leaned back two-fisted on the reins. Men and horses moved in a stiff unit, the men’s strides dragged long by the horses’ slow, ground-covering jounce.
They reached the stoneboat, turned. A clamor of voices rose harshly: “Whoa!”; “Back!”; “C’mon, back!” The team lunged once before it was hitched. More yells and suddenly: “Hut!” The horses surged forward, digging in their toes, while the driver slapped one set of haunches with the reins and yelled, “Pull, Dick! Pull!”
They crossed the finish line, and the horses slacked off instantly. The men unhitched, and the horses jounced back to the fence, snorting and purring out their breaths. The driver tied them to the fence and went behind them to pick up his conversation.
“Not even a pat?” Louise asked. That didn’t seem strange to Chad. The horses were like a tractor, and that was how the men stood behind them; no question of a kick.
“C’mon, let’s go closer.” They wandered along the chain link in front of the teams. The little eyes, closed between the black curve of blinders and the blur of the fence, looked at them incuriously. These horses didn’t expect much from people. One mouthed its teammate’s rein, then ducked and rubbed its head against the other horse’s neck. Another bit at the fence till a teamster yelled, “Hey!”
“Look at their noses,” Louise said. “They must wear halters every minute that they aren’t wearing bridles.”
Chad had never noticed that before, the pink band of chafed skin across many of the horses’ faces. At each bite of grass, each mouthful of hay, the noseband of the halter rubbed, a hundred, a thousand, a million times. No one noticed.
These people used themselves the same way, though. Their own bodies were blunt instruments, treated no better than the horses, and no worse. Chad wondered if Louise saw that. He didn’t think he could explain. If she could walk around here with Jeep, she’d see.
And there Jeep was, talking to a thin old man with a greased helmet of yellow-white hair and three visible teeth. “Come on over,” Chad almost said. Jeep would welcome Louise at least. But he couldn’t make himself do it.
“All right,” Louise said finally. “What else?”
“Horse show?”
“We’ve seen the horse show. Come on, now I’ll show you something!” She led him toward the ring with the tunnels. Chad had never seen that at the fair before, but apparently it was something Louise knew all about.
The crowd was thick here. They stood behind short people and watched a dog scramble over a tall plywood A-frame and leap out of the ring through a tire. A man ran to catch the dog, a woman in the ring stood holding both hands above her head, and everybody clapped.
“Next up is Sasha, owned by Ann Mott,” a woman announced over a loudspeaker.
Before Chad could figure out what had just happened, or even locate the new competitor, a black-and-white streak shot through the tire. A woman in T-shirt and shorts
ran parallel to the dog, toward two sets of jump poles. “Jump!” she shouted. The dog soared over the first pole. “Jump!” Over the second.
“Tunnel!” She pointed toward an orange curved tunnel nestled at the bottom of some of the strange jungle gym equipment. The dog disappeared into one end and came out the other almost instantly, as if the tunnel were a time warp.
“Don’t blink!” said the announcer, and the handler said, “Jump!”
Another jump, a yellow tunnel. That shot Sasha straight toward a narrow catwalk with ramps at each end. She raced up the ramp, slowed to a trot across the walkway, began to race again down the slope.
“Touch!” The woman held up a warning hand.
Sasha slowed to a creep, eyes glued to the woman’s hand.
“Remember,” the announcer said to the audience, “the dog needs to touch the yellow with at least one paw.” The bottom third of the ramp, of all the ramps, was painted yellow.
Sasha’s handler made her pause on the yellow for several seconds. Then she dropped her hand. “Jump!”
Sasha exploded off the ramp, over another jump.
“Seesaw!”
The dog trotted up one end of the seesaw, paused in the center while the other end slowly sank to the ground, then trotted down, touched the yellow end.
“Weave!”
A set of twelve poles stood near the edge of the ring. Sasha wove between them, not missing one, while the handler made a “ch-ch-ch-ch-ch” sound. Then: “Jump! Chute!”
Sasha soared over the jump and disappeared into a blue tunnel with a long sock of fabric on the far end. In a second a blue form fought through the fabric; everyone laughed as the running dog shape animated the cloth.
Another jump, through the orange tunnel, the A-frame, and out through the tire.
The woman staggered across the finish line. “Yes, Sasha! Yes!” Hugs, leaps, a treat, leash on, and the next competitor came up to the line.
“Wow!” Chad said. “Wow!”
Louise was smiling. “The dog was good!”
“But what is this?”
“Next up is Spike,” the announcer said. “Spike is a Humane Society dog, half Australian shepherd and half beagle. If anyone’s wondering what you’re watching, this is a Dog Agility match, and this is our first year holding it at the fair. If you’re interested in learning, I teach a class right here at the fairground on Thursday evenings. Just show up with your dog!”
Spike was young and flexible and soared over every jump with his head swiveled halfway around to watch his handler. He was followed by a springer spaniel, a whippet on long, delicate steel-spring legs, a Lab, wagging all the way, and a Border collie, who barked once for every single pole of the weave, a dozen barks in just a few seconds.
The owners came in all shapes, too. Some seemed to court cardiac arrest. Others were fit. One guy in particular seemed a little too fit, a bit overtanned. After his run he led his dog around the outside of the ring and stood by Louise. Chad turned his head to check the guy out. He was surprised for a second that the rest of the fair was still here. He hadn’t looked away from the ring in what felt like an hour.
“This next dog’s quite good,” said Mr. Tan to Louise, in what sounded like a fake English accent.
Louise glanced his way. “Your dog is good, too.”
“Well, Spam’s been at it quite a while.”
And you’ve been picking up girls quite a while! Chad thought. The guy had lines around his eyes, actual wrinkles!
“Have you seen Agility be—”
“Shh,” Louise said, watching the next dog. Chad watched, too. Even with a guy putting the moves on Louise, he couldn’t help being drawn. The joy, the motion—and this handler used a clicker and treats to slow the dog on the ramp and seesaw. “This is a training match,” the announcer reminded everyone.
The dog soared out through the tire. Louise said, “Yes, I’ve seen Agility before. My father is David Burton, the trainer. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”
“Oh yes!” Tan said. He sounded startled. “How old are you—if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Nearly sixteen.”
Tan’s gulp was audible. “Oh.” He fell silent for a moment. “Well! Nice meeting you!” He and Spam wandered on their way.
Louise turned and smiled at Chad. “I handled that well, didn’t I?”
“Oh, ace!” For no reason except that he’d always wanted to, Chad touched her hair. It felt the way it looked, like meringue, crisp and brittle with spray. He wanted to crush one of the peaks in his fingers, feel the silky hair inside. But he only brushed it lightly, for just a second.
Louise gave him a startled look. “What are you doing?”
Chad smiled and shrugged and stepped back slightly, giving her space if she wanted it. She moved away, but only a little.
There was a pause in the action while jumps were lowered. A dense buzz of talk arose. Some people moved away, but most just shifted and stretched.
Chad discovered Phil standing nearby. Phil looked from him to Louise with an impressed face and a quick thumbs-up. Then he zipped his lips and melted into the crowd.
Hotfaced, Chad looked away toward the fairground. He could see Julia at a distance, riding around bareback with Pia.
And Jeep. Every time he’d looked around today, Jeep was somewhere in the picture. Now he was walking up the road toward the cattle show, alone. Chad’s hand flew up to wave. He snatched it back but not quite soon enough.
Jeep hesitated. It seemed forever, but it was just a second there in the middle of the fairground road. Then he came toward Chad, his face showing nothing. As he arrived, the next dog started.
Chad sneaked a look at Jeep’s profile. A man like Jeep, who’d worked animals all his life, could think this was foolishness. It wouldn’t be surprising.
But almost at once Jeep’s smile started to spread. It looked to Chad as if he were trying to hold it back. But come the seesaw, come the poles and the long blue sock, and Jeep’s whole face was smiling.
He watched another dog, a beautiful young Rhodesian ridgeback, and chuckled when she paused atop the A-frame and regally surveyed the crowd.
He glanced at his watch then and took a step away. Don’t! Chad thought.
“This one looks like Ginger,” he said. Jeep glanced at him, surprised. “Don’t you think?”
It was a stretch. The dog was small; that was all the resemblance. She went around the course like a silken streak, and Jeep settled back on his heels, arms folded.
The dog whipped through the weave poles. A child’s voice shrilled, “Doggie!” When she completed her run and the ring was empty for a moment, the child cried, “Do it again!”
“Did I mention that you and your dog can take classes?” the announcer wondered jokingly. This was the fifth mention; it kept coming around, like the chorus of a song. “I teach right here at the fairgrounds every Thursday evening—”
Chad didn’t look at Jeep. He looked straight ahead and spoke in a carefully flat voice. “Want to try it? Bring Queenie and Ginger?”
A fat beagle came out. They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching her. Chad felt the heat off Jeep’s arm. He heard the slow breath Jeep took in through his nose.
“Baseball on Thursdays. For a couple more weeks.” Jeep sounded careful, too, like a man dickering over the price of something. He waited a moment and said, “Ted Bushway broke his leg. Couldn’t hit, anyway.”
“I could fill in,” Chad said, watching the beagle. “And then we could do this.”
“All right.”
They didn’t look at each other. They kept their eyes on the beagle. Obligingly, she soared off the back side of the A-frame, short legs all spraddled, and that let Chad laugh out loud.
CHAPTER
28
THURSDAY EVENING CHAD rode with Jeep to baseball practice. They didn’t talk on the way down. Chad didn’t know what to say, and he figured it was the same with Jeep.
Eventually they would talk. Eventua
lly, one way or another, Jeep would show himself, and say the things he knew about life and death, bright and dark, here and gone. Not yet, but it would happen. For now they were together in the truck.
Jeep pulled into the parking lot. Chad got out, and his door slammed a moment after Jeep’s did. Phil’s and Gordie’s heads swiveled toward the sound. Gordie’s elbow nudged Phil’s ribs, and the two of them waited. The pulse pounded in Chad’s throat as he crossed the parking lot toward them. It seemed like a long walk.
He opened his mouth, wondering what he was going to say, but Gordie spoke first. “Chad. How’s it goin’?”
It was a real question. Gordie really wanted to know. All this time, Chad thought. The backs of his eyes stung. He stretched them wide open. “Better. It’s going better.”
He passed between them, clapping his hands on their backs. Somebody cuffed his hat down over his eyes, and Phil said, “Then let’s play ball!”
Chad was amazed at the new power in his swing. He was better than before: bigger, stronger, faster. His arms bulged the sleeves of last year’s shirt. Later, riding back in the dusk with Jeep, he felt the mysteriousness of growth, of all processes that go on without your participation or consent.
On Saturday Louise and David came to watch the game. It was Louise’s last week and impossible to pry her and her father apart. She was going away. Sooner and sooner she would be leaving, and did either one of them care about baseball? It didn’t seem likely, but there they were in lawn chairs among the other spectators.
The game went into extra innings, and Chad hit the grounder that drove in the winning run. Minutes later dusk closed in. Everyone clustered around the coolers, recapping, crowing, and a lot of people hit Chad on the back. “Holloway! Varsity next year!” the high-school coach said. Chad didn’t want to stand there grinning and congratulating himself, but he couldn’t hold back the smile from the corners of his mouth.
He grabbed a soda and looked around. David was right there with the rest of them, talking with Barrett’s most fanatical baseball mom. Louise stood a little way off, watching him. Chad made a long arm through the crowd for another soda and strolled over to her. As he reached her, he was aware of the smell of sweat on him, but that was August and baseball.
