movies. He shows me how to place the saddle blanket and where to cinch the saddle.
Blackfire’s back twitches when we tighten the girth, but he doesn’t try to get away.
“Are you sure this saddle’s comfortable for him?” I don’t like the way the horse keeps turning his head to look at it.
“As comfortable as a 25-pound chunk of leather can be on your back, I guess,” Hank says, pulling the cinch two notches tighter than I had it.
Hank teaches me how to mount, and it’s much easier with a real stirrup and a horn to grab on to. “Ready?” he asks, as I settle into the saddle.
I nod. My heart is racing. At first, I hang on to the horn while Hank leads me around the pen. Then I let go and feel my body move with Blackfire’s stride.
Still, I can’t feel the horse like I could when I rode Starlight bareback. “Hank?”
“What?”
“Do you think I could ride bareback?” I ask.
“You’re kidding. Remember what happened last time?”
“But I want to feel Blackfire. I think I need to feel him. Please?”
Hank stops, and so does Blackfire. When Hank stares at me, I think this could go either way. “You sound just like Winnie. You know that?”
“I do?” Right now, on horseback, there’s nobody else I’d rather sound like.
“Winnie loves to ride bareback.” Hank scratches his head, then sighs. “Okay.”
Blackfire seems more relaxed the second the saddle comes off. Hank boosts me up, and I settle onto the horse, feeling more a part of him this way. I know it will be harder to stay on without a horn and stirrups. But Blackfire’s not as broad-backed as Starlight, so it’s easier to grip with my thighs.
Hank leads me, and I cling to a fistful of mane. But after once around, I loosen my grip and rely on my legs to keep me on. I lose track of how many trips we take in the round pen. When we quit, I slide off and hug Blackfire.
“There’s hope for you yet,” Hank mutters.
I don’t know if he’s talking about Blackfire or me.
I run inside and tell Kat about riding Blackfire. Then I log on to Annie’s e-mail and get ready to write Winnie. But Winnie has beat me to it. There’s a message waiting with the subject line: Fight or Flight .
I read through it. It’s the same kind of thing Catman told Kat about cats. Horses are “prey” instead of predators. So when they get frightened, their instinct is to fight or run away, and almost always, they’ll choose to run away.
If you can just remember that a horse’s first reaction to anything new is to run away, you’ll go a long way toward understanding Blackfire.
I can’t help smiling to myself. Maybe that’s why Blackfire and I have understood each other from the beginning. Running away is something I’ve always understood.
I start upstairs, but Kat meets me on her way down. “Come on!”
“Come on where?”
“Sunday night stargazing,” Kat answers. “Didn’t anybody tell you?”
I shake my head.
Hank comes thundering down the stairs, and even Wes heads for the lawn, where Annie and Popeye are spreading out blankets.
I follow along and take a spot next to Kat. For the rest of the night, under bright starlight, we watch the sky and eat popcorn to the tune of crickets, hoot owls, and an occasional woodpecker.
* * *
The next morning, I’m ready for another driving lesson. But when I come downstairs, Popeye’s chugging a glass of milk as he stands over the sink. He’s wearing brown pants and a matching jacket that says “Nice Fire Dept.”
When he sees me, he says, “Good, you’re up, Dakota. I’m due at the fire station. One of the boys called in sick.”
Annie’s stuffing papers into her briefcase. “Morning, Dakota. Sorry we have to rush off like this.”
“When are you coming back?” I ask, hoping it will be in time to give me another driving lesson.
“Up to my chauffeur,” Popeye answers, switching his lunch bag to his teeth so he can open the door for his wife.
“Great,” I mutter when they’re
Blackfire’s back twitches when we tighten the girth, but he doesn’t try to get away.
“Are you sure this saddle’s comfortable for him?” I don’t like the way the horse keeps turning his head to look at it.
“As comfortable as a 25-pound chunk of leather can be on your back, I guess,” Hank says, pulling the cinch two notches tighter than I had it.
Hank teaches me how to mount, and it’s much easier with a real stirrup and a horn to grab on to. “Ready?” he asks, as I settle into the saddle.
I nod. My heart is racing. At first, I hang on to the horn while Hank leads me around the pen. Then I let go and feel my body move with Blackfire’s stride.
Still, I can’t feel the horse like I could when I rode Starlight bareback. “Hank?”
“What?”
“Do you think I could ride bareback?” I ask.
“You’re kidding. Remember what happened last time?”
“But I want to feel Blackfire. I think I need to feel him. Please?”
Hank stops, and so does Blackfire. When Hank stares at me, I think this could go either way. “You sound just like Winnie. You know that?”
“I do?” Right now, on horseback, there’s nobody else I’d rather sound like.
“Winnie loves to ride bareback.” Hank scratches his head, then sighs. “Okay.”
Blackfire seems more relaxed the second the saddle comes off. Hank boosts me up, and I settle onto the horse, feeling more a part of him this way. I know it will be harder to stay on without a horn and stirrups. But Blackfire’s not as broad-backed as Starlight, so it’s easier to grip with my thighs.
Hank leads me, and I cling to a fistful of mane. But after once around, I loosen my grip and rely on my legs to keep me on. I lose track of how many trips we take in the round pen. When we quit, I slide off and hug Blackfire.
“There’s hope for you yet,” Hank mutters.
I don’t know if he’s talking about Blackfire or me.
I run inside and tell Kat about riding Blackfire. Then I log on to Annie’s e-mail and get ready to write Winnie. But Winnie has beat me to it. There’s a message waiting with the subject line: Fight or Flight .
I read through it. It’s the same kind of thing Catman told Kat about cats. Horses are “prey” instead of predators. So when they get frightened, their instinct is to fight or run away, and almost always, they’ll choose to run away.
If you can just remember that a horse’s first reaction to anything new is to run away, you’ll go a long way toward understanding Blackfire.
I can’t help smiling to myself. Maybe that’s why Blackfire and I have understood each other from the beginning. Running away is something I’ve always understood.
I start upstairs, but Kat meets me on her way down. “Come on!”
“Come on where?”
“Sunday night stargazing,” Kat answers. “Didn’t anybody tell you?”
I shake my head.
Hank comes thundering down the stairs, and even Wes heads for the lawn, where Annie and Popeye are spreading out blankets.
I follow along and take a spot next to Kat. For the rest of the night, under bright starlight, we watch the sky and eat popcorn to the tune of crickets, hoot owls, and an occasional woodpecker.
* * *
The next morning, I’m ready for another driving lesson. But when I come downstairs, Popeye’s chugging a glass of milk as he stands over the sink. He’s wearing brown pants and a matching jacket that says “Nice Fire Dept.”
When he sees me, he says, “Good, you’re up, Dakota. I’m due at the fire station. One of the boys called in sick.”
Annie’s stuffing papers into her briefcase. “Morning, Dakota. Sorry we have to rush off like this.”
“When are you coming back?” I ask, hoping it will be in time to give me another driving lesson.
“Up to my chauffeur,” Popeye answers, switching his lunch bag to his teeth so he can open the door for his wife.
“Great,” I mutter when they’re
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