Touching ground defining.., p.12
Touching Ground (Defining Gravity Series Book 5), page 12
“Oh, sure,” I said, “just.—”
I broke off, biting back the words I’d been about to say, don’t get in the way, don’t bother anyone, don’t get hurt… all things her mother might say. But she didn’t need to hear any of that from me.
“Just have fun,” I finished lamely.
“Yeah, okay, bye.”
I sighed and looked up to find Rob laughing at me. “I don’t know why you’re laughing,” I said, smiling despite myself. “You know this means we’ll most likely have to de-burr her horses, too. She’ll probably show up the second we’re done.”
“Most likely.” He nodded and headed into the roan mare’s stall with his own flake of hay.
“All right, horse,” I said to the little white gelding, “I don’t have a tub of margarine but I do have Show-sheen and detangler so one of those will just have to do the trick.”
He happily worked away at his hay pile while I tackled his mane from bottom to top. It was quite something. The prickly little burrs were about the size of a quarter and were shaped like perfect spiky spheres that caught the hair and wrapped it around in tight circles until the whole mane was twisted into one solid matt. It was hard to know exactly where to start so I just sprayed the entire mane with Show-sheen and used my mane comb to pick one hair free at a time.
The white horse didn’t seem to care too much, only swishing his equally matted tail now and then when I accidentally pulled too hard.
“Sorry,” I said, scratching his neck in apology. “I’m being as careful as I can.”
At first I’d just been pulling out the burrs and dropping them, and it wasn’t until I happened to glance down that I saw that the fallen spiky seed pods were already clinging to his legs and his chin hair. If I went on like that he’d be fully covered from the feet up in no time.
“This is the worst plant on the planet,” I said out loud, scooping up all the fallen ones I could see and tossing them into the aisle.
Gradually, piece by piece, his snowy white mane came free. It was all frizzy underneath; like hair that had been left in braids too long. But the strands were thick and lustrous, and I was sure that it was going to be beautiful once I was done.
Rob’s horse was in the stall next to mine and we plucked away in companionable silence, lost in our work, comfortable enough with each other that we didn’t even need to say anything. The only sounds were the horses crunching, the occasional ting of a mane comb and the satisfying whisper of burrs falling steadily to the aisle floor.
It took me nearly two hours to finish that horse from top to bottom and by the end, my fingers were pricked and stinging, and I had worn two raw grooves into my index fingers from pulling endless strands. The white horse’s body had been groomed to a luminous shine, and his mane and tail fell in waves against his coat.
“I can’t believe we’re actually finished,” I said, staring at him in satisfaction. “Now you can never, ever go near one of those burr bushes again. They should all be burned to the ground on sight.”
He sent me a bit of a grumpy look as he rooted around for the last few bits of hay. He was a nice horse but even his patience had been running thin by the end. Although you’d think a little pulling would still feel nicer than ten pounds of spiky burrs poking his skin.
“Hey, Rob, this guy is really well put together,” I said, leaning back against the stall to survey my handiwork. “It’s hard to believe he’s an old seasoned ranch horse. He looks pretty young.”
“That’s what I was kind of thinking, too,” Rob said, coming out of the mares stall with a handful of burrs in one hand. He dropped them on top of our giant pile and stretched his arms backward, making a face as he worked the kinks out of his muscles.
“Can’t you tell his age by looking at his teeth or something?”
“Technically, yes, but I actually have no idea how to do that.”
“Oooh,” I said teasingly. “I thought you knew absolutely everything about horses. I thought you were perfect.”
“Close,” he said, reaching up swiftly to tickle me in that sensitive spot behind my ear. Some people are ticklish on their ribs or behind their knees, but for me it was the side of my neck, and I squealed and ducked away, making him laugh, and the white horse toss up his head.
“Sorry, horse,” I said quickly, still laughing.
“Well, my hands are killing me,” Rob said, “we should take a break.”
“Definitely. I was thinking that we should take pictures of all these guys to show Justin. That way he can at least give us all their names and details. I don’t want to be calling this guy little white horse forever.”
“He’s actually not that little. And I could be totally wrong here but I think he has some more growing to do, too.”
“Maybe he was started under saddle really early.”
“Probably. These horses are so mellow that you can hardly tell the difference between an old trail horse and a young one. They’re practically born trained.”
“Aunt Lillian says that’s mostly genetics with a sprinkle of good handling and training.”
“She should know, I guess. She’s been breeding for a long time and she sure produces enough of them.”
I glanced at him quickly but his face was impassive. Rob was the ultimate horse professional who would never say a critical thing about anyone except as a last resort. Getting an opinion out of him sometimes was like pulling teeth.
I used my phone to take a couple of shots of the two horses we’d cleaned up and grabbed some apples out of my backpack for our snacks.
The sun was beating down on us but it seemed more of an effort to get into the un-air-conditioned truck and drive over to the training barn than it did to just walk down.
We stayed near the edge of the rutted trail where the towering trees threw at least a little shade and walked side by side, linking our pinky fingers like we sometimes did when we were on our own. Such a little link but powerful too in its own way.
I didn’t believe in things like soul mates or love at first sight or anything, but I had to admit that Rob made me a better person. I always felt smarter, braver and stronger when he was around. I didn’t know if that was his essential goodness rubbing off on me or if his presence just brought my best traits to the surface. All I knew was that when he was beside me I felt sort of invincible.
The training barn was so nice and cool after the afternoon heat that we both let out audible sighs of relief when we walked inside and then started laughing.
“We’re really going to have to toughen up if we’re going to survive a month of this,” Rob said, “we’re not on the island anymore.”
“Oh, I know. The swarms of killer mosquitos that tried to assassinate us last night were my first clue.”
The barn was quiet. Most of the horses were still inside dozing and we went quietly down the aisle to look for Justin.
We found him cantering a grey gelding in circles in the arena and Liza was cooling out the sweaty chestnut stallion, Fox, on a loose rein.
“Oh, my gosh, Astrid,” Nori said, looking up guiltily from her spot on the bleachers. “I’m so sorry, I totally lost track of time. I’ve just been watching these guys work. They’re both amazing.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said, “your horses will still be waiting for you when you get back. I’ve learnt that burrs are evil, though. It’s a completely pointless plant.”
“Hey,” Liza called, nudging Fox in our direction. “How is your beautification project coming?”
“Er, slow. And a little painful.” I held up my reddened hands for her to see.
“Yikes. Yeah, they’re something else, aren’t they? We’ll need to figure out some time for lessons for you as a reward.”
“That would be amazing. I wouldn’t mind riding Quarry again if he’s sound. I miss that.”
She made a face and shook her head. “Sorry, kiddo, he’s fully retired now and he loves it. We can ride out to visit him after dinner if you like. He and Marcus are down by the lake with the broodmare band right now. Marcus worked hard all winter so I turned him out for a month of vacation. He’s coming along really nicely, though.”
I nodded, trying to look pleased for Quarry. Of course I was happy that he was enjoying his well-deserved retirement, but a small part of me had hoped that he’d be sound enough to ride, even a little bit, so I could experience that magic just one more time.
Quarry had been the first horse I’d had lessons on and I hadn’t understood at the time what a privilege it had been to ride him. I’d been a complete beginner and hadn’t known that not all horses could spontaneously elevate into a perfect piaffe and passage when they were feeling a little fancy. And that the subtle seat, leg, and breathing aids that Claudia had taught me were not something that every instructor even knew how to teach.
It’s funny how we don’t appreciate the good things we have until much later sometimes, I thought with a sigh as we followed Liza and Fox from the ring. I still loved riding but I missed those early days when everything was brand new and shining. Quarry had been more like a magical creature to me than a real horse, and he’d been a wise and generous teacher just as much as Claudia had been. Red was my best friend but lately Oona and I’d been the one teaching him to do things. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that we’d been learning how to do things together.
I guess that’s part of growing as a rider though, I thought a little wistfully, first you are a beginner, then a student and finally, you become a teacher yourself.
Chapter 11
We helped cool out Fox and give him a bath while Mara swiftly appeared to tack up Liza and Justin’s next horses. It was a treat to watch both of them ride. They had different styles but each of them looked like they’d merged with their horses completely, their aids were mostly invisible and the horses moved in an effortless, happy way like they were totally in tune with their riders.
“We’d better get back,” Rob said with a sigh, as reluctant as I was to leave. We’d watched two more sets of horses already though, and time was ticking away. “We have our own horses waiting. Come on Nori, you too.”
The air outside was scorching, a sharp contrast after being in the cool barn for hours. We hurried up the trail as fast as we could, clinging to the last remaining bits of shade that dotted the dusty road. When we got there we found Casey sitting cross-legged in the aisle with a book in front of her and three giant tubs of margarine stacked off to one side.
“Finally,” she said. “I thought you’d never get here. “Dad sent me to give this to you. You guys are working way harder than you need to. Margarine is like miracle sauce when you’re dealing with burrs.”
She laughed when she saw our skeptical faces. “Don’t believe me? Just watch.”
The paint horse was standing inside with his head leaning over his stall door, his eyes half-closed and his lower lip drooping as he napped. He didn’t even have time to react before Casey had pried open the lid to one of the tubs, scooped out a giant handful of yellow goo, walked over and splatted it right on the horse’s matted forelock.
“Whoa,” she said sharply, as the horse opened his eyes wide and tried to pull away. He stopped instantly, only reacting again when she reached over the stall and slopped more of the goop across his mane, working it in with her fingers. He looked like he was a cake being covered in frosting.
“Just give it a sec to absorb in,” she said, giving the horse a sticky pat on the neck. “Right, which one is next?”
We reluctantly opened all the tubs and followed her lead. Slathering each horse one by one until they were all slathered with a thick layer of yellow.
Casey looked on with satisfaction as Rob, Nori, and I started combing the greasy burrs out of the first couple of horses and the sharp little seed pods began to rain to the aisle floor.
“It’s like magic,” I said, as the burrs slid free.
“It’s disgusting,” Nori complained. “They’ll be so gross and greasy afterwards.”
“They’ll just be moisturized,” Casey said. “You can always give them a bath when you’re done. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Despite the mess and the grease, it was totally worth it and I think we all breathed a collective sigh of relief when it was finally over. Even the horses seemed much happier.
“My Dad said you could bring a few of them over to the training barn as soon as you’re ready,” Casey said. “He told Justin to find some tack for them and maybe put a ride on them if he has a second.”
“And hopefully tell us what their names are,” Nori said, leading her paint horse out into the aisle toward the wash rack.
“Um, I think that’s Whiskey,” Casey said, looking thoughtfully at the paint. “And that roan mare Rob has is definitely Kestrel, that’s Kitty’s half-sister, and Astrid your chestnut…. Um, I think that’s related to Fox somehow. Firefly? Fizzle? I can’t remember, we’ll have to ask my dad or Justin.”
“Sorry, buddy, you’ll have to stay nameless for now,” I whispered to him, running my hand down his neck. He snorted, still half-asleep, not caring what I called him. “Would you like a bath, too?”
He wasn’t covered in quite as much margarine as the others since only his tail had needed doing but he still hadn’t been groomed in ages and his coat was dull with dust and dirt. It wouldn’t hurt to get him clean too, and the horses would dry quickly in the heat.
All the horses stood perfectly for their baths, proof of their good natures and that they’d been handled quite a bit in the past.
“Did you ever have your own person, buddy?” I asked the chestnut, stripping the water from his coppery coat. “Were you always a guest horse or did you have someone special to fuss over you at one time?”
He blinked at me and nudged my arm softly, not giving away any secrets.
When our first three horses were clean, we let them amble toward the training barn, walking slowly and stopping to let them graze from time to time to give their coats a chance to dry properly. The sun was now in definite scorch mode and my tee shirt was already sticking to my back even though I’d made sure to turn some of the spray from the hose on myself to cool down. This was one thing I certainly hadn’t missed about living here. The ocean breezes back home kept the heat of summer relatively tolerable.
Coming into the training barn again was a hard relief, and I remembered again why desperate people paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to build themselves indoor arenas that were safe from the elements.
“Hello again, everyone,” Justin called, poking his head out of the tack room. “Just throw them in cross-ties and we’ll find some gear that fits them. We only have a million saddles in here to choose from.”
I clipped the chestnut to the wall then went to the tack room doorway and stopped, putting my hands on my hips in mock outrage. “What have you guys done to my nice, clean tack room?” I said because putting their dirty, chaotic tack room into order had been one of my projects back when I’d lived here. I’d cleaned and organized it until it was sparkling. And I bet it hadn’t taken them any time at all to let it revert into chaos.
Saddles were piled one on top of the other, sometimes stacked three high. A few bridles hung on the wall but the majority of them were heaped in a huge dirty pile on the floor next to the sink.
“Liza’s section is clean,” Justin said, winking, pointing to the corner near the door where a handful of dressage saddles hung neatly on their racks. There was a deep wall-unit where a saddle-pad collection, organized by colour, sat next to rows and rows of multi-coloured polo wraps. The bridles were all cleaned, oiled, and hung up in a precise row with their throat-latches done up in figure-eights to contain them in identical bundles.
“Ah, now that’s more like it,” I said approvingly.
“Sorry, Astrid, we don’t have much time for the fancy stuff around here. But, I won’t say no if you’d like to get this space cleaned up again. We sure missed how tidy everything was when you were here.”
He grinned at me and I narrowed my eyes, knowing a sucker-move when I saw it.
“Uh-huh, I’ll bet.” I sighed, mentally adding the tack room to the growing list of things that needed help on the ranch.
“Um, okay, grab a few bridles from that pile and I’ll bring the saddles. Let’s see what these old horses have to say.”
If I’d had any doubts that using ranch horses that had had an entire season off was a good idea, they were quickly laid to rest when I watched Justin work with them in the ring. He free-lunged each one briefly first and then hopped up on them one at a time. They didn’t miss a beat and acted like they’d never even had an extended vacation at all. They weren’t fancy but they walked, trotted, and cantered obediently in each direction without any fuss, did a few steps of basic leg yielding and some quarter turns.
“These horses are bred to work,” Justin said, “and that’s what they like to do. These guys will be fine for you to play around with. But they’re all out of shape so you need to start them off slow so that they don’t get sore or sour, right? Just light work and trail riding for a few days before you do much in the ring. I have to get back to work but bring the rest of them over tomorrow afternoon for me to look at.”
“You’re a good boy,” I told the chestnut, whose name had turned out to be Fenwick of all things. “Maybe someone at this clinic will see how handsome you are and take you home with them. Would you like that?”
Chapter 12
Dinner was another noisy affair with everyone on the ranch crowded around the big table, talking over each other. I was too tired to say much. Part of me longed to just crawl upstairs to bed but Liza had invited us on a trail ride to see Quarry and Marcus with the broodmare band that night and there was no way I was missing out on that.
Foaling season had been intense when I’d lived here and I had spent many late nights on foal watch. There had been so many amazing moments and one horrible, awful night when Red’s elderly mom Beezy had died. Her foal Figaro had been the one Folly had taken under her wing. We’d still had to bottle feed him of course, but she’d taken on the role of being his surrogate mom.
