“Not to mention, there is no better way to build the strength and resilience you’re going to need if you’re really going to learn the language of horse. Frankie, would you like to have a job here at Pocket of Dreams?”
I felt as I were receiving a great honour.
“If you help me look after the horses and the property, I’ll train Zen and teach you in exchange.”
I looked around at the paddocks, where the horses were grazing so peacefully. It was so beautiful, and so full of promise and new things to discover. I never wanted to leave. But I knew almost nothing about horses, I reminded myself, and even less about looking after a property.
“You know, Frankie, this is what the best trainers do when they find young people who have promise,” said Shannon softly, as if she was reading my mind.
“You think I have promise?” I looked at her, to check she was being serious.
“I do, Frankie. I’ve been impressed by your focus and your dedication, and the connection you’ve already made with Zen.”
My heart felt like a balloon that was filling and filling with air. “Then I would be honoured to accept this job.”
“Wonderful,” said Shannon, beaming. Then she handed me her pitchfork.
This is what all the young apprentices had to do in fairytales before they could transform into a wise witch or a magician, I reminded myself, as Shannon and I walked around the paddocks that afternoon, picking up horse poo with the pitchfork and struggling to hold the full wheelbarrow steady as we dragged it up the hill to the shed, over and over again.
Sixteen
“This is my favourite time of the day,” said Shannon the next evening. We’d had an especially nice afternoon walking around the perimeter of the property checking the fences, and watching Zen hanging out with the rest of Shannon’s horses – Bravo, Spirit, Dawn, and Pippa – and now we were in the tack shed, sorting out their feed while Shannon told me about the herd hierarchy.
Bravo was their boss, she explained, because he’d earned it. He was fair and considerate and he used the phases of firmness, just as I was learning to do, where he became clearer and stronger, step by step, in his “ask”. If one of the other horses still didn’t do what he told them after he’d been through all the phases, them bam! He’d nip them or push them – whatever it took to make them behave.
Spirit was ambitious and wanted to be the leader, but the others never took any notice of his shenanigans. Dawn and Pippa idolised Bravo, and because Bravo was getting older, he got Dawn to help him keep Spirit in line. Spirit just kept trying to climb on top though, even though it was obvious he was never going to succeed.
“That’s why his old owner gave him to me,” said Shannon. “She didn’t get how strong you need to be with some horses, and how consistent you have to be with them.”
“I like the way Bravo leads,” I said as we took the buckets out to the round yard. “He makes sure everyone in the group has good manners and treats the other horses with respect. He wants it to be a happy group.”
“And what about how well Zen’s doing?” asked Shannon. “He’s just slotted right in.”
I felt proud of the way Zen had made a place for himself so easily, peacefully grazing with the others, ignoring Spirit and letting Bravo or Dawn handle him if he got too mean.
“There’s just one problem,” said Shannon. “He needs to learn how to eat.”
I stared at her, truly shocked. Eating wasn’t something I ever thought Zen would have to learn.
“Feeding the horses should be a relaxing and peaceful ending to our day. After all, there’s nothing nicer than watching dusk fall and listening to the horses munch. It’s a blissful time of day for me.”
“I think it’s going to be my favourite time of day here, too,” I said.
“Maybe not today.” Shannon grimaced. “Watch.”
She opened the gate and the horses walked into the yard, their hooves clopping sedately as they each headed to their usual places and waited calmly. Zen was in such a hurry, though, to get dinner happening that he barged straight through the other horses to his spot.
“Uh uh,” said Shannon, forcing him to walk back around all the other horses. “Zen needs to learn how to behave at feeding time. If he carries on barging around and behaving badly in this way, feeding time will become a frenzy. Worse, if we let him treat the other horses like this, soon he’ll start treating his humans this way, too.”
I remembered on the weekend when I’d stayed in the surf too long, and then we’d had to wait ages for our fish and chips. I’d been starving. If it was anything like that for Zen, I could relate to him wanting to bite someone.
Once Zen was waiting calmly, Shannon took the buckets of feed she’d prepared earlier around to each of the horses – starting with Bravo – putting a bucket down in front of them and inviting them one by one to eat. Zen came last, and when she put his bucket down in front of him I held my breath.
“These horses all know that when their bucket goes down they have to back up and wait for my signal.”
Zen neighed and tossed his head as he waited, and finally – finally! – Shannon looked at him, which is what she did when she was about to wave a horse forward. Instead of waiting for her hand to actually move, though, he jumped the gun and rushed for the bucket.
“Uh uh,” said Shannon, moving in between him and his bucket with lightning speed. They tried again, but this time when Shannon stepped in between him and his bucket, Zen refused to step back. Shannon picked up her stick and began waving it in front of him until he relented and moved slightly. “You need to wait,” she said. She gave him the signal and he rushed it again. “Uh uh,” said Shannon, asking him to move back – ten, no, fifteen steps this time. “I’m asking Zen politely, going through the phases of firmness, to remember his manners. To give me space, and wait for permission to eat,” said Shannon.
Zen didn’t like it. His ears were pinned back and he had his ugly face on. Everything in him was focused on his dinner. But while the others were all happily munching, he was still being forced to wait.
“Couldn’t he have just a little treat?” I asked. Zen deserved food at the end of the day, didn’t he?
Shannon shook her head. “What does Zen need from us, even more than a treat?”
“I don’t know,” I said, mystified.
“He needs to learn that he never needs to fight for his food. He needs to learn that we require him to treat us with respect. If he still can’t get it this time, then dinner will be cancelled.”
I wanted to believe in Zen, but this was something I could see he was finding especially challenging.
Shannon put down the bucket. “Feeding your horse in a consistent way, with none of this naughtiness and chaotic behaviour going on, has a big impact on everything you do with them.”
She gave Zen the signal to come forwards.
You can do it, Zen, I urged him silently. But once again he barged ahead. This time, instead of making Zen back up, Shannon picked up his bucket and took it away. Zen stared at her in disbelief as she turned him out into the yard, so he couldn’t disturb the other horses as they peacefully munched on their dinner.
“So this isn’t the first time?” I was almost as devastated as Zen.
“Nope. Because no one has ever done anything about this behaviour, he has no respect for people with food. It’s your job to teach him, Frankie.”
I swallowed nervously. I just didn’t know if I had it in me to cancel my best friend’s dinner.
Over the next few weeks, as I learned how to rug the horses correctly, and maintain their tack, cleaning and conditioning their saddles and bridles, washing rugs and saddle blankets and grooming brushes, and keeping the tack and feed room clean and tidy, I remembered what Shannon said about them watching us all the time and judging us, and how it was the way we did the little things which made all the difference when it came time to do something big. It made me stronger than I’d thought I could ever be. I managed to ins
ist on Zen having good manners around food, even when what I really wanted to do was give in, and just give him a great big hug. But what Shannon had said about horses needing to be able to trust us made me focus on doing things properly every time. I made sure I was aware of my thoughts and my feelings when I interacted with them, and was careful to always ask for and give them respect.
At the end of the day we’d sit on the verandah, waiting for Mum and Kai to collect me. Shannon told me how she’d saved up for more than ten years so she could quit her job as an air traffic controller, and move here to follow her dream of teaching natural horsemanship. I told her about my old life in the city, and how hard it had been to leave everything I loved. She never said much when I told her about how I was going at school, or how things were going with Dad. But she had a way of making me feel important, and strangely, as I talked about these things, I realised I wasn’t feeling so sad about them anymore. Sure, I still thought about my old friends sometimes, and I still wished Dad would go back to the way he used to be, but I wasn’t thinking about them all the time the way I had been.
One evening, after I’d had an especially amazing afternoon giving all the horses a swim in the dam and then dinner (Zen got to eat this time!), Shannon hugged me when we said goodbye.
“I’m proud of you, Frankie,” she said. “You’re working hard, and really taking in what I’m teaching you. Most importantly, you’re creating a strong connection with the horses. I think you’re going to make a very fine horse girl.”
Seventeen
I was picking up poo with the pitchfork in the bottom paddock near the road, and Kai was stationed in his usual spot under the oak tree, doing his homework. He always offered to help me when I had chores like this to do, but he was working at the supermarket in town already, and I actually enjoyed wandering through the fields like this, working with my hands and letting my mind wander. “What’s your ultimate idea of a treat?” I planned to ask Kai when I reached him. My idea of a treat these days would have something to do with the beach, I decided, and horses. Maybe riding Zen bareback in the surf, with a bonfire and marshmallows melted on a stick afterwards. Kai would be there, and maybe Ash and Lesley, if I could work out a way to see them outside of school.
I was picturing this scene in great detail when I saw a silver Range Rover coming over the grate and turning into Pocket of Dreams, towing a familiar purple trailer. It came to a stop in the driveway opposite me and out jumped Violet, wearing skinny jeans, her hair in low pigtails over her shoulders. I was wearing my faded pink karate pants, which were a bit too short for me now, and a fantastic white-and-black check jacket that I’d bought second-hand. I knew I probably looked a bit baggy and messy, but I’d been feeling fine about my outfit – until now.
“Hi Frankie,” she said, smiling brightly. “So you’re a field hand here. How sweet! What have you got there?”
“A wheelbarrow.” I tried to smile back as I wiped the sweat off my forehead, forgetting that my gloves were dirty.
“Oh dear,” laughed Violet. “I might have landed in it the other day at pony club, but it looks like you’re covered in it, darling! You even have some on your face.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, wishing I could think of a witty reply.
“It’s Paris,” she said. “When we bought him from Shannon he was a champion horse, but now he seems to have gone completely off. Either Paris was a dud buy or something needs adjusting. So, let’s just say we’ve come back for a little fine-tuning.”
Fine-tuning? I fumed as I began filling gunny-sacks with manure. Once each sack was filled I had to tie it closed with twine before stacking it in the corner of the gardening shed. Fine-tuning! She talked about Paris as if he was a bicycle, or a car.
On my way to the compost heap I overheard Shannon discussing it with Violet’s mother, Leela, who was standing, dressed in a long hippy-type dress and looking impossibly glamorous and beautiful as usual, at the gate.
“Pigrooting in the yard at our place, and refusing jumps we know he can easily do …” I heard Leela saying. “… a very expensive horse. Really must insist that you give him some extra training.”
Shannon stood listening calmly. “Paris is a wonderful horse, and he loves dressage and show jumping,” she said finally, when Leela was done. “If there’s anything wrong it must be something to do with the rider.”
“Absolutely not!” said Leela, stepping back.
She was wearing strappy sandals with high heels, I noticed. It was lucky I’d just cleaned up the driveway.
“I won’t have Violet criticised in this way. She is a champion rider. This is all happening because of your horse.”
Shannon swallowed and looked down. Her cheeks were bright red, I noticed. She seemed to be about to say something, but then I saw her gaze go to the trailer, where Paris was standing, looking over the doors straight at her.
Her face softened. “Well, let’s get them into the undercover arena next to the shed, shall we? I’ll check him out to make sure there’s nothing physically wrong with him, and then Violet can ride him and we can see.”
As soon as I’d finished filling all the gunny-sacks I went straight to the arena. I tried to look casual as I loitered around, finding things to do just out of sight of Violet while making sure I could still see and hear everything that was going on. To see a rider as good as Violet riding a horse as good as Paris under Shannon’s expert tuition was fascinating. Kai obviously thought so too because I saw him put down his book and come over to the railing to watch.
Eighteen
Unfortunately, it went just as badly for Violet and Paris as it had at pony club. Or even worse, maybe, from Violet’s point of view, because this time they weren’t even going over jumps, they were simply riding around the arena, while Shannon stood in the middle and picked apart her every move.
“Stay loose in your body, your shoulders are tense,” said Shannon. “Keep your gaze soft, soft between his ears. Don’t nag him,” she added, as Violet edged Paris up into a trot. “Wait for him to understand, and agree, before you push him further. Wait!” Shannon called out as Violet pushed Paris up into a canter. “He’s not ready yet, Violet, and neither are you. Slow down!” cried Shannon, but it was as if Violet couldn’t hear.
But Violet could hear. I could tell. She had the same expression on her face as she’d had a week ago at pony club, when Oliver had told her not to try that jump. And Paris had the same expression too, as though he was determined to outwit her.
“Violet, you’re going too fast. Wait!” shouted Shannon one more time, but Violet’s eyes were fixed forwards as she cantered around the edge of the big arena, and she didn’t seem to hear. Paris was snorting and tossing his head, and the two of them seemed to be a storm of energy. It wasn’t beautiful, or restful, or easy looking, the way it looked when Shannon was riding Zen or one of her other horses, but it was certainly exciting. You could easily see how, if things could somehow be different between them, they could be an amazing combination.
Shannon watched silently as Violet and Paris cantered past her, not slowing, then she let out a huge breath and walked out of the yard.
“She’s not listening to me,” she said to Leela, who was watching on from just outside. “And she’s not listening to Paris, either.”
Leela shook her head sympathetically. “Join the club.”
Shannon sucked in her breath as though she was about to say something, then looked back at Violet. She gave Leela a disapproving look and walked back into the middle of the arena. This time she didn’t even glance at Violet as she cantered past. She simply stepped out behind Paris and looked at his rear end. He immediately slowed to a fast trot and turned into the middle of the arena, towards Shannon. Paris came to a stop, but Violet was still urging him forwards and so she lost her balance and slid off his back, slumping softly to the ground. She and Paris both looked absolutely miserable, and this time I had no desire to laugh.
“Violet!” called Leela,
rushing over.
“I can’t believe you just did that to me,” said Violet, climbing to her feet.
“You did it to yourself,” said Shannon.
“You made him stop. On purpose!”
“I did it because you wouldn’t when I asked you to, and what you and Paris are doing right now, the way you’re struggling with each other, and not listening, is very dangerous.”
“I could have hurt myself.”
“Yes. And you could have hurt Paris,” said Shannon. “This is a stressed and unhappy horse you are riding. And, if you don’t mind me saying so, you seem stressed and unhappy too. If you keep going like this something much, much worse is going to happen.” She walked over to Paris and stood in front of him. He shuddered, pawing the ground and tossing his head. After a few moments he seemed to calm down, and even though she was still just standing there, something about the way she was standing made me think that Shannon was feeling calmer too.
She turned back to Leela. “I agree with what you say. This has been a bad sale, and I’d like to buy Paris back. I’ll return your money and render our transaction null and void.”
I gasped. Paris had cost a fortune! Shannon had told me the only reason she sold him was so she could afford to keep running Pocket of Dreams.
“Sell him?” said Violet. “No! Paris and I are going to win the State Championship next year, just like you and Paris did last year. It’s too late now for me to train another horse!”
“It’s too late now for me to be willing to train you,” said Shannon. I was used to her always being optimistic and positive. I had never seen her angry, the way she was now.
“What?” Violet looked from Shannon to her mother and back again.
“Paris is not a car,” said Shannon, quietly but emphatically. “He does not need fine-tuning. You have been upsetting him by pushing him to do things he’s not yet ready to do with you. If you’re going to ride him you need to learn how to listen to him and communicate with him in his own language. You need to gain his respect, so that he knows he can trust you. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” said Shannon, “I need some time alone with my horse.” She turned and walked to the far end of the arena, with Paris following quietly.
Dream Riders Page 7