also learned how to do something with her hair. She brushed it straight back, under a tortoiseshell head band. It hung below her shoulders and was very shiny. I saw Kyle Gonzalez bump into her and excuse himself as if he had never seen her before. Then she and I exchanged a glance, and she rolled her eyes. I laughed. My plan for high school was to stay out of the way and do my homework on the way home on the bus. The ride was about ten minutes longer than the old bus ride, so time at home would be short. Most of the high-school kids lived in town, which meant that we were the country bumpkins, and so we had to keep our eyes open and our mouths shut.
Riding Oh My, Blue and Nobby was the best part of the day.
*
I didn’t get back to real work with Blue until the Friday after school started. I had let him take a break for four days after the clinic, and then we went on the trail a few times. He seemed fine, and as happy to forget Peter Finneran as I was. But Friday was an early day – we got home from school before three – so Dad had set up some jumps in the arena to see what Blue had learned. There were hay bales, two verticals, and a gate Dad had put together out of tree branches, actually a very handsome jump – about two-foot-six, with an X surrounded by a frame, like a regular gate, though the tree branches curved a little and were covered with bark. I thought the stables should have one.
We did all the things I normally did – work him in the round corral, both directions at the trot and the canter, plenty of turns and plenty of stepping over. Then I got on him in the arena and trotted him in figure of eights and small circles and serpentines, backed him, walked him, cantered and did some lead changes. Dad was standing in the middle, and he didn’t tell me what to do – Blue was my horse and my business. But Dad was smiling. After our flat work, I felt good.
Blue had jumped all the jumps in the arena more than once, and over the summer, Dad had even done what he liked especially to do – put strange things on the jumps, books and soft toy animals and dangling spoons, to get Blue used to surprises. Blue had never been as calm about the surprises as Black George had been, but he got so he didn’t mind them. Today, though, there were no surprises – Dad had been doing errands all day with no time to think up tricks.
Nevertheless, Blue was a mess.
As he trotted down to the first vertical, his ears seemed to go further forward than possible, and then he tossed his head and refused. Not only that, but after refusing, he backed up a couple of steps. Dad said, ‘What was that?’ He looked around, then said, ‘His eyes are popping out of his head.’ But there was nothing on the hillside, nothing outside the fence, not even really a breeze. I turned him and tried again. This time I was prepared and made him jump the fence, which he did, but he seemed more nervous about it than he had ever been. Dad put the jump down, and instead of jumping, we trotted over the three poles lying together between the standards. It took us four times of that for him to calm down. Then Dad raised the poles about a foot, and we trotted through those.
The second vertical was only two feet high, and it looked exactly like the first one, but when we approached it, he did the same thing as he had done before – acted terrified. Well, we could not let him avoid the jump, so we did what we had done with the first one, and worked him over the poles until he was calmer. But after that, I went to Dad in the centre of the arena and said, ‘That’s enough for me. He’s scared to death. I don’t understand it.’ Inside, I was thinking about what Peter Finneran had said – maybe Blue was a worthless beast after all.
Dad said, ‘Is he seeing ghosts?’ I said nothing – this reminded me of the spring, but I had never told Dad about my ghost fears. ‘Well, tomorrow is another day, and we’ll definitely pray over this. Don’t worry
Riding Oh My, Blue and Nobby was the best part of the day.
*
I didn’t get back to real work with Blue until the Friday after school started. I had let him take a break for four days after the clinic, and then we went on the trail a few times. He seemed fine, and as happy to forget Peter Finneran as I was. But Friday was an early day – we got home from school before three – so Dad had set up some jumps in the arena to see what Blue had learned. There were hay bales, two verticals, and a gate Dad had put together out of tree branches, actually a very handsome jump – about two-foot-six, with an X surrounded by a frame, like a regular gate, though the tree branches curved a little and were covered with bark. I thought the stables should have one.
We did all the things I normally did – work him in the round corral, both directions at the trot and the canter, plenty of turns and plenty of stepping over. Then I got on him in the arena and trotted him in figure of eights and small circles and serpentines, backed him, walked him, cantered and did some lead changes. Dad was standing in the middle, and he didn’t tell me what to do – Blue was my horse and my business. But Dad was smiling. After our flat work, I felt good.
Blue had jumped all the jumps in the arena more than once, and over the summer, Dad had even done what he liked especially to do – put strange things on the jumps, books and soft toy animals and dangling spoons, to get Blue used to surprises. Blue had never been as calm about the surprises as Black George had been, but he got so he didn’t mind them. Today, though, there were no surprises – Dad had been doing errands all day with no time to think up tricks.
Nevertheless, Blue was a mess.
As he trotted down to the first vertical, his ears seemed to go further forward than possible, and then he tossed his head and refused. Not only that, but after refusing, he backed up a couple of steps. Dad said, ‘What was that?’ He looked around, then said, ‘His eyes are popping out of his head.’ But there was nothing on the hillside, nothing outside the fence, not even really a breeze. I turned him and tried again. This time I was prepared and made him jump the fence, which he did, but he seemed more nervous about it than he had ever been. Dad put the jump down, and instead of jumping, we trotted over the three poles lying together between the standards. It took us four times of that for him to calm down. Then Dad raised the poles about a foot, and we trotted through those.
The second vertical was only two feet high, and it looked exactly like the first one, but when we approached it, he did the same thing as he had done before – acted terrified. Well, we could not let him avoid the jump, so we did what we had done with the first one, and worked him over the poles until he was calmer. But after that, I went to Dad in the centre of the arena and said, ‘That’s enough for me. He’s scared to death. I don’t understand it.’ Inside, I was thinking about what Peter Finneran had said – maybe Blue was a worthless beast after all.
Dad said, ‘Is he seeing ghosts?’ I said nothing – this reminded me of the spring, but I had never told Dad about my ghost fears. ‘Well, tomorrow is another day, and we’ll definitely pray over this. Don’t worry
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