Dream Riders

by Jesse Blackadder

  “What if I told you that right now you have the horse of your dreams?”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed all over again. “You mean Zen?” As I looked over at him the breeze carried an unpleasant smell to my nose. It was a smell I was beginning to recognise. “I wouldn’t believe you,” I said. I had to be honest here.

  “Listen, I have an idea. Why don’t you go inside and make yourself a drink?” said Shannon. She began walking away, Gillie skipping at her heels, the little white undersides of his paws flashing up at me as he ran.

  “What?” I called out, scuttling after her. Were we done already? How was I ever going to make it back to pony club if this counted as a whole session?

  “There’s iced water, or Milo. Get one for Kai, too. And then come to the round yard in five minutes.”

  Shannon’s house was beautiful inside, with polished wooden floorboards and old-fashioned decorated ceilings with light blue trim, but it was dusty and almost empty, the rooms echoing and large. She must have just moved in. I poured myself a glass of iced water and then took one out to where Kai was lying under his tree, the thick textbook still on his lap.

  “Are you finished already?” he asked, closing his book and putting it in his bag.

  “Just grabbing a drink. Shannon said to give her five minutes, then she’s going to show me something.”

  “Well the five minutes must be up by now,” said Kai, climbing to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  We walked up to the round yard to find Shannon standing next to Zen, who was wearing just a rope halter. His ears were pricked forwards and he was stamping his feet.

  “Now watch,” said Shannon.

  She swung herself up onto his back and sat there, seemingly motionless, as Zen walked for a few paces and then moved smoothly into a trot, and then into a canter, rollicking slowly around the yard like a rocking horse, his ears pricked forwards and his neck arched. I watched Shannon closely, trying to work out exactly how she was making this happen. From what I could see she was simply sitting there, relaxed and comfortable on Zen’s bare back, her legs hanging long and softly wrapped around his sides and her hands holding the reins gently on either side of his neck. He wasn’t wearing a bridle and he didn’t have a bit – just the rope halter, with reins attached by a knot behind his chin.

  Zen slowed to a trot again, and then a walk, blowing air loudly through his nostrils, tossing his head and swishing his tail. He turned and walked towards us, coming to a standstill in the middle of the yard. Shannon looked out into the distance over our heads while Zen’s feet moved delicately backwards three paces, his feet moving in diagonal pairs, then in a straight line, before coming to a neat halt. Then he walked forwards three paces, along that same invisible line, and then sideways, his feet crossing over one another, first one way and then the other.

  “Wow,” said Kai. He knew even less than I did about horses, and even he could tell that what we were seeing was something special.

  “Wow,” I agreed.

  Then Zen did it all again in reverse. The whole time his ears pricked forwards and his bearing was erect. His face seemed gentle, and listening, and his movements were confident and strong.

  “There,” said Shannon, gathering the reins into one hand and sliding down off his back onto the soft dirt.

  “Dude, that looked good,” said Kai, clapping slowly, first in Shannon’s direction and then towards Zen.

  Shannon smiled, and I wondered how many times she’d been called “dude” before.

  “What did you think, Frankie?”

  I was almost crying. Again! “He seems like a completely different horse.”

  “So let’s start again,” said Shannon, ten minutes later. She’d taken off Zen’s halter and Kai had gone back to his tree with his textbook.

  “As you approach Zen, I want you to be aware of your own thoughts and feelings so that you don’t put them onto your horse. Not just the bad ones – and not just the good ones, either,” she added, just as I was about to tell her I was feeling great. If I could learn to ride like Shannon, Zen and I would probably win the whole show!

  “It’s important for you to understand that horses are prey animals, which means other animals hunt them for food. All they have to protect themselves are their instincts, their ability to spot a predator in time, and their ability to run away. They’re also herd animals, like I said before, and that means they live in groups, with very strict rules. To be safe and secure in their herd they need to be very sensitive to what the other horses are telling them, and to pick up on the rules and follow them correctly.”

  Like at school, I thought.

  “What this means for you is that even if they don’t look like it, they’re watching you like a hawk – or a horse I should say – trying to work out what you’re thinking and feeling so they know how to respond. Now, I want you to imagine Zen is in the middle of a bubble. Within that area he is aware of everything that’s going on around him. For some horses the bubble is big, and for others it’s small. Just like for a person. A person who lives in the city is probably used to having a very small bubble, but they would still be instantly aware if someone came into their personal space. For someone who lives in the country it’s probably a very big bubble.”

  I was aware of Kai underneath the tree, and that he might be watching me. Did that mean my bubble was a big one?

  “Now, walk over to Zen, and stop as soon as you think he’s noticed you.”

  As I took a step towards him he turned and lifted his head. I stopped, and our eyes met.

  “Now give him a second to get used to the idea of you being in his bubble.”

  I took a deep breath, then took another step forwards. Zen lowered his chin and tilted his head away.

  “Be careful not to stare,” I heard Shannon say. “A horse can feel the strength of your gaze on his skin.”

  I shut my eyes tightly and tried again, letting my gaze wander lightly over his body and off into the distance as I stepped closer. I was feeling excited now, and still a little bit nervous.

  Zen’s ears pricked forwards as he watched me approach, as if he was curious. Perhaps he was excited and a little bit nervous, too.

  As I came to stand in front of him he raised his head above me, so he was looking at me down his nose.

  “Stand to his side,” said Shannon. “That way, if he moves he won’t smash you with his chin.”

  I moved to stand next to him. I lifted my hand and waited. Zen moved his chin with the tiniest movement and I laid my hand flat against his neck. He had a grey dappled cheek and thick white eyelashes, which somehow I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Hello, you,” I said.

  “A lot of people are afraid of horses, and pretend they’re not,” said Shannon. “It’s smart to be cautious – after all, a horse can kill you if it wants to.”

  I wished she hadn’t said that.

  “That’s why it’s so important to make sure you and your horse trust each other before you start riding,” said Shannon. “What are Zen’s eyes doing?”

  His eyes were like saucers. It was as though a light had come on. His lips and chin trembled, and he was blinking fast.

  “That means he’s thinking, which is a good sign,” said Shannon. “His ears will also tell you a lot about how he’s feeling. If they’re back and down, that means he’s not happy, whereas look, Zen’s ears are forwards. That’s another good sign. Now, what do you use to groom Zen with?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Mum’s been doing that.” The truth was, Mum had being doing pretty much everything Zen-related so far.

  “Starting from today, that will be done by you, Frankie. You and Zen need to spend time together. You need to hang out with him.”

  I chose a currycomb from the bucket by the fence and Zen stood still, his head up, his ears still alert, as I ran the brush over his round stomach and down his legs, which were delicate and fine.

  “See? He likes that,” said Shannon. “Never stand direc
tly behind a horse, just in case he kicks you, or even double barrels you.”

  “So what other secrets of horse whispering should you tell me about before I get myself killed?” I asked, trying to sound casual as I ran the currycomb over Zen’s back, even though I totally meant it. I hadn’t known a horse could kill you.

  “No secrets. Just do the work. Make the connection with your horse. Take the time to become friends. Treat him with respect and make sure he respects you.”

  “And how do you do that?” I asked as I ran my hand down Zen’s leg the way Shannon had just shown me, and touched the back of his knee. Right on cue he picked up his foot and held it there for me as I scraped it clean with the pick.

  “You need to learn the language of horse.”

  “The language of horse?” I tried it out on my tongue. “I like that.”

  “Well that’s great, Frankie.’ Shannon beamed at me. ‘Because you’re going to learn it from Zen.”

  After I’d finished grooming Zen, Shannon showed me how to put on his halter and tie a knot against the cheekbone on his face. My hands began to sweat as I tied and then retied it. I kept expecting Zen to move away, or push me, but he just stood patiently the whole time until I got it right.

  I’d been close to Zen before, of course, but close in the way you might stand close to a chair. Today I suddenly realised he was a living, breathing … “mammal” didn’t do him justice, and “animal” didn’t, either. He certainly wasn’t a “thing”. He was a living breathing … person, is kind of how I’d come to think of him.

  Then Shannon had given me a long riding whip with a long cotton cord on the end of it, and showed me how to teach Zen to trust me with it by rubbing it all over his body, down his flanks and under his stomach, and then lightly slapping it over his back.

  “The stick is like an extension of your arm,” said Shannon. “You would never, ever, beat a horse, but this is a way, when you’re working on the ground as we’re going to be doing today, to become even clearer in your ‘ask’. The ‘ask’ is the thing you want your horse to do,” she explained.

  We left the round yard and went up into the paddock next to the house, leading Zen on a long lead rope. I learned to ask him to walk in a circle around me, and then to trot, and how to ask him to stop, and to come forwards towards me in a straight line, and then walk back.

  At the end of all of this I took him back into the round yard, where we did all the same exercises again, without a lead rope to connect us this time. I simply stood in the middle of the yard and used the communication skills I’d just learned. Zen did everything I asked – without the rope!

  As I stayed there, concentrating, a small part of my brain was lit up with excitement and wonder. This is my horse? it kept saying. And, even more amazingly, this is me?

  “How could it be so easy?” I asked Shannon. “I mean, at pony club I had a saddle and a bridle to control Zen with, and I still couldn’t get him to do anything I wanted. By the end of today there was nothing to make him do what I wanted at all, and yet he did everything I asked!”

  “It’s all about those words, ‘make him,’ Frankie, compared to that word ‘ask’.”

  Every morning for the next two weeks I got up early to do my homework, and every afternoon I biked straight over from school to see Zen. Most afternoons, Kai came with me, lying under the oak tree while Zen and I went over the groundwork exercises, adding a little more every day, until soon I was riding Zen, first bareback – making sure I had my balance right – and then with the saddle.

  It went by so quickly that even though I had been counting down the days until I was ready to go back to pony club, it still came as a shock to me when Shannon smiled at the end of my sixth lesson and said “You’re ready”.

  Twelve

  This time I made sure I was fully prepared. I’d washed my jodhpurs, and even starched and ironed my one white shirt. I was wearing my favourite shell necklace and matching bracelet. I’d also asked Viv to do a French plait in my hair. It was hard with hair as short as mine, but she managed it, and I spent all night trying to lie flat on my pillow so I didn’t mess it up.

  I made sure Zen was ready, too. I washed him all over and even gave his tail a conditioning treatment. His hooves gleamed and his saddle and bridle shone when we turned up on Saturday morning for pony club.

  “Hi Frankie,” said Ash as I walked Zen into the arena. I was glad to see we were dressed identically, in black jackets and hard hats.

  “Hi Ash,” I said. “Hi Lesley,” I added, nodding at the smiling girl beside her. We had been running into each other a lot at school lately. Ash and I were in the same music class, and Lesley and I had been chosen for the same softball team in PE. Ash was short like me, and had black straight hair, which she wore short in a glossy bob. Lesley was tall and bouncy, with a big mane of curly hair she tied up in a messy bun or pulled back into a ponytail, though long tendrils were always escaping.

  We always smiled when we saw each other now, but if we weren’t actually in class I would look away quickly, because they were almost always with Violet.

  “I like your hard hat,” said Ash.

  I put a hand up to the stroke the velvet bow at the back. “Thanks. I love yours, too. This was my mum’s,” I replied. “I love your jacket,” I said to Lesley.

  “It was my mum’s, too!” she said.

  “It’s really got that vintage feel. But it still looks new,” I added quickly.

  “I was hoping you’d come back,” said Ash.

  I beamed at her. And then sure enough, there was Violet strolling towards us across the grass, her riding crop slapping against her thigh.

  Please don’t fart, Zen, I begged him silently.

  “Frankie. You’re back,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun. Somehow, even though she was on the ground and I was on Zen, it still felt as though she was taller than me.

  “I’m back,” I said, giving her my most dazzling smile.

  She frowned. “And so you still want to join the club?” she said.

  Still want to? I never didn’t want to. But I just smiled again. “Of course.”

  “You must have been working hard if you think you can make it.”

  “Just a little bit,” I said, trying to sound breezy but feeling quite breathless as I sent a “feeling” command down Zen’s reins and we moved away. You have no idea, I thought as I urged him to go faster. I could feel their eyes on my back as we trotted smoothly away, and just for the sake of it I urged Zen into a little canter.

  Now I knew how to keep my balance, and didn’t grip Zen with my legs. I knew to keep my body soft and to make sure the angle of my belly button pointed up through Zen’s ears, sending him forwards with my energy while I looked ahead.

  “Frankie!” Oliver said. I saw his eyes widen as Zen and I came to a perfect halt in front of him. Then I delicately backed Zen up so we were standing perfectly spaced apart in the circle.

  “Zen seems like a different horse to last time.”

  “I feel like a different rider.”

  “Well, you certainly made a perfect entrance just now. We can enter you for the show as one of our beginner riders.”

  “That would be great,” I said. Already! I’d only just entered the arena and already all my wishes were coming true!

  “As you all know, the next big event we have coming up is the Mullumbimby Show,” said Oliver, when everyone had gathered in a tight circle around him. Today we were joined by some older riders – including two boys – who I hadn’t seen before. “This year we have a chance to win the State Cup. Not only is that a great honour in itself, but it will also cement our growing reputation as New South Wales’ premier pony club.”

  A few of the riders around me cheered, and I joined in. I would be competing – and maybe even winning! – with the state’s number one pony club! Wait until my old friends heard about this!

  “So today I’m afraid we won’t be playing any games or learning anything new, we’l
l be purely focusing on what will be in the competition – which, may I remind you once again, is just four weeks from today.”

  That was fine with me. Zen and I were prepared.

  “We’ll be getting our routines as perfect as possible and then going over them again.”

  “And then again, and again,” I heard Ash mutter under her breath.

  “And then again,” echoed Lesley.

  I glanced over at them but their expressions were perfectly deadpan. If I hadn’t just heard them, I would have sworn they were taking this one hundred per cent seriously.

  Violet certainly looked serious. She was mounted on Paris, and the two of them towered over everyone else. Paris looked beautiful, his dark brown coat gleaming and his black mane and tail perfectly braided. Violet’s long dark plait was braided in the same way, and although she was dressed identically to everyone else, she seemed brighter, somehow. Her nails were perfectly manicured, I noticed, and her cheeks and eyes wore a dusting of make-up.

  And I thought I’d done well to be in a clean blouse!

  She wore sparkling studs in her ears, and her long riding boots were gleaming somehow – there wasn’t a speck of mud or dust on them. It was as if she’d floated here from the trailer. She looked at me and I quickly glanced away.

  “Don’t forget,” Oliver was saying, “this is all about preparing for what will score well with the judges, so we can win that cup and prove to everyone we’re the best. Who’s the best?”

  “We’re the best!” everyone around me shouted back at him, in perfect unison.

  “Who’s the best?” he asked again.

  “We’re the best!” we shouted back, and I was one of them this time.

  We divided into the groups we were going to be competing in, and went to different parts of the arena to practise our drills for the show. There were four of us in the beginner riders: three girls who looked about Eloise’s age, and me. Their names were Flora, Rose and Fern, so I decided I’d call them the Flower Pot Girls. They didn’t want to play with me the way Eloise did, though, or joke around and ask crazy riddles. They didn’t actually smile or laugh once, the whole hour and a half that we were practising. I didn’t know eight year olds could be so serious!