“That was great,” she said when Carole dismounted and joined her at the edge of the ring.
“I think that’s good for today,” Max said. “Who brought the treats?” The riders immediately moved forward to give Clara thank-you pats and a few pieces of carrot. Clara lapped up the attention, enjoying her queenly status.
In exchange for being able to ride Clara, all the students were required to help take care of the large mare, before and after class. That included a rubdown, mucking out her stall, providing fresh hay and water, and cleaning her tack so that it would be ready for the next lesson.
The riders split the duties equally among them, rotating with each lesson to make sure that everyone got a chance to do the more favorable chores, such as bathing Clara, as well as the not-so-favorable chores, such as mucking out her stall.
Today it was Lisa and Carole’s turn to make sure that Clara was properly cooled out. After pulling off the equipment, they led her to the wash stall and hooked her up to the cross-ties. They readied their sponges and buckets, then simply stared at Clara’s huge head, which was several feet above theirs.
“I think we’re going to need a ladder,” Lisa joked.
But the moment Lisa lifted her arm, Clara gently lowered her head, allowing Lisa to reach the top of her neck. The mare sighed contentedly as Lisa swept the cool sponge down the length of her sweaty neck.
Lisa laughed. “I think she likes this.”
When they’d finished bathing her, the girls relaxed by leaning against the mare’s stall, contemplating Clara’s shiny coat. Clara returned their gazes and nickered her thanks.
Carole smiled and said, “I wish we had more time to practice. It’s going to be pretty tough to beat Veronica now.”
“You’re probably right,” Lisa said. Once Veronica set her mind to something, nothing would stand in her way. And certainly not anything as meager as the expense of hiring a private coach.
“Well,” said Lisa, trying to look on the positive side, “we have something that she doesn’t.”
“What’s that?” asked Carole, confused. She couldn’t think of anything that Veronica didn’t have.
“We have Clara,” said Lisa, smiling.
“You’re absolutely right,” Carole agreed. “Wherever Veronica is taking her lessons, she can’t possibly have as great a horse as Clara.”
As if understanding Carole’s words, Clara nickered and nuzzled the top of her head. The girls laughed, reaching up on tiptoe to hug the mare’s thick neck.
MEANWHILE, BACK AT Stevie’s house, two more goslings had hatched and were impatiently waiting to be fed.
“Five and Six,” said Stevie. “Okay, you guys—or girls …” She paused, realizing she had no idea what sex the goslings were. That would have to wait until she knew a little more about the anatomy of a goose. To be safe, she settled for little goslings so as not to offend any of her new charges. “Into your new house, little goslings.”
As Stevie opened the incubator to remove Five and Six, she noticed that two more eggs were beginning to wiggle. She placed Five and Six in the brooder, doing a quick check on the goslings that had been born the night before. To her surprise, two were missing. As far as Stevie could tell, it was Numbers One and Three—the same two that had escaped the night before to cuddle up to her feet.
“All right, where have they gone now?” Stevie asked the other goslings. They all stared at her blankly as if to say, How would we know?
“A lot of help you guys are,” Stevie grumbled good-naturedly. She glanced around her room, wondering where to start. With the pile of clothes in the corner maybe? It looked like a terrific hiding place for young goslings. Stevie crossed the room and lifted up her sweatshirt, only to find a pile of dirty socks beneath it. “Yeeesh.” She grimaced. “I guess I should wash those.” She quickly replaced the sweatshirt. “After I find the two escapees.”
Stevie got down on her hands and knees and began looking in the most obvious gosling hiding places—underneath things. Because the goslings were still so small, she doubted that they’d hopped up onto anything. Therefore her search was limited to the floor, which, she thought after taking in the mess on the carpet, was bad enough. It occurred to her that now that she had six (soon to be eight) new little charges, it might make her life easier if she cleaned up her room, especially since they seemed to enjoy playing hide-and-seek.
Stevie crawled along the side of her bed and was just about to peek underneath it when her hand landed in something warm and slippery. She froze, her face crunching up into a disgusted frown.
“Eeeww …” Stevie slowly pulled her hand away from the carpet, knowing what she’d find even before she looked. Sure enough, the palm of her hand was stained with the very white, very distinct evidence left behind by either Number One or Number Three. “I see we need to discuss litter training,” she announced loudly.
Stevie quickly wiped her hand off on a tissue, cleaned up the remaining mess on the floor, then got back on her knees to continue her search, this time being much more careful about where she put her hands. The droppings did, however, give her a better indication of which direction the little goslings had gone.
Stevie poked her head under the bed. “Ah-hah!” she squealed triumphantly, disturbing Number One, who was comfortably snoozing next to a dust bunny. He was obviously in need of a nap following the afternoon’s exciting game of Escape-and-Poop. Stevie gently disengaged the gosling from the dust bunny before returning Number One to the brooder with its siblings.
“Okay, Number Three, where are you hiding?” asked Stevie. She noticed that her closet door was open. “Uh-oh. I hope you’re not in there.”
Stevie got down on her hands and knees in front of the closet, cringing at the sight that met her eyes. Lisa liked to refer to it as “Stevie’s natural disaster area.” The inside of the closet resembled more of a going-out-of-business warehouse sale than any kind of repository for clean clothing. The first pile, and the most obvious one for a nap from an escaped gosling’s point of view, was littered with the telltale white droppings—obviously calling cards left behind by Number Three. Unfortunately, the droppings didn’t indicate where he’d gone after encountering the disaster in the closet.
“He probably ran for his life,” chuckled Stevie.
She glanced around and spied the upholstered chair in the corner of her room. The tip of a blue sneaker poked out from behind it. Curious, Stevie crawled across the carpet to the chair, checking underneath her desk as she passed, ensuring that she didn’t miss any possible hiding places. She reached the chair and looked behind it. Sure enough, there was Number Three, nestled in the blue sneaker, taking a power snooze.
“Okay, mister, the gig’s up,” said Stevie, adopting the stern, parental voice that her mom and dad often used when she misbehaved. “Back in the box for you.”
Number Three grumbled a bit when she lifted him out of the sneaker, but he didn’t bother to open his eyes. In fact, the moment he was in Stevie’s hand, he started making himself more comfortable, shifting his feathers around him.
Stevie placed the little gosling in the brooder and checked the others. She seemed to have their undivided attention. All six of them were quietly staring up at her, their eyes filled with adoration.
For a moment Stevie felt herself go weak in the knees, then decided that as their only parental figure she couldn’t let something like adorable faces and large dark eyes keep her from making her point.
Stevie sat down cross-legged beside the brooder. “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, doing her best to sound stern and parental. “No more day passes from the box. Understood?” Number One blinked, tilting his head slightly at her words. He was so cute that Stevie almost lost her train of thought.
Gathering her wits, Stevie said, “And don’t think that’s going to work on me. That. What you’re doing with your head, Number One. Or you, Number Five. Don’t think that innocent, adoring little look that you’re giving me is going to work.”
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Number Five quacked happily and ruffled his feathers, watching her with big doting eyes.
“Playtime will be restricted to home base, which in your case is Exhibit A.” Stevie pointed to the brooder. “See? Plenty of room. You’ve got your water dish over there, your food dish right there, nice warm snuggly heat coming off the bulbs. There’s absolutely no need to leave the box.
“This is your space. And that”—Stevie indicated the bedroom—“is my space. And contrary to what you may believe, my space is not your space. Are we clear on this?”
Stevie was answered with six pairs of eyes gazing at her lovingly. “Is that a yes?” she asked after a moment.
“Quack!” Number One seemed to answer for the group. Either that or he was just hungry.
“Good,” said Stevie. “I’m glad we’ve settled that.”
Stevie checked on the two wiggling eggs in the incubator, then grabbed her pillow off the bed and snuggled down next to the brooder. The lack of sleep from the night before was beginning to catch up with her, and watching Seven and Eight wiggle in the incubator was beginning to have a hypnotic effect. Pretty soon, she could barely keep her eyes open.
She blinked sleepily. It wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes for just a few moments, she thought. Especially since she knew it would still be a few hours before Seven and Eight hatched. Plus that way, she reasoned, she’d be able to stay up later in case any of the other goslings decided to hatch that night. With that thought, Stevie’s eyelids closed and she was instantly sound asleep.
Stevie thought she was dreaming. Something was tickling her face. It was soft and feathery and reminded her of when Alex teased her with a buttercup or a feather under her chin while she was sleeping. But these feathers were soft and warm against her cheek. Slowly, Stevie became aware of another sensation, a tickling of feathers against her hand where it rested on her stomach.
Stevie’s mind slowly cleared from the foggy haze of sleep. She opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment. Then she saw the brooder and it all came back to her. But as she tried to move, her ear encountered a warm fuzzy mass of gosling fluff sharing the pillow next to her head. She very cautiously raised her head and glanced down her body. Sure enough, all six little goslings had somehow managed to escape the brooder and were now snuggled up next to her. One by her ear, one next to her cheek, one by her hand, and three in her arms.
Stevie laughed. It was the cutest sight she’d ever seen. “Okay, so much for the staying-in-the-box rule.”
She sat up, careful not to squash any of her little charges. But the moment Stevie moved, the goslings awoke and began honking at her for disturbing their warm bed. “Sorry, guys, but one of us still has homework to do.” She paused. “And, let me remind you, homework from the night before as well. So, everybody up.”
As she placed the six quacking little goslings back in their nursery, she realized that she was going to have to make the brooder larger and taller, since the goslings could escape so easily as it was. Plus, she’d read that goslings grew quite quickly and would likely outgrow the box completely in a few weeks. The goslings quacked indignantly at being returned to their box. It seemed that they much preferred Stevie’s space to theirs.
“Much as I’d like to stay and chat,” Stevie told them, “if I plan to get to bed early tonight, I need to get my homework done.” She turned toward her desk. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “And stay put.”
Surprisingly enough, the goslings immediately nestled down, their innocent little faces staring up at her, their eyes wide with curiosity.
Stevie moved to her desk, opening her history book as she sneaked a quick peek toward the incubator. Seven and Eight were wiggling madly now, and Stevie knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they hatched. Maybe it would be enough time to get her reading done. She quickly flipped to the correct page to pick up where she’d left off the other night, before any of the eggs had started hatching.
When Stevie looked up from the Napoleonic Wars a short while later, she was quite surprised to find all six goslings shuffling around on her biology book, which was on the floor near her feet. Number One was circling the group like a herder, trying to keep them in order. And Number Three kept trying to escape the herd, only to be rounded up by Number One and shuffled back to the group.
It was clear to Stevie that the goslings wouldn’t be contained. It would be much simpler, she decided, to let them wander around her room for the time being. She’d just clean up their little calling cards until she was able to build a bigger box.
“You win,” said Stevie. “Just don’t make too much of a mess. And Number One, as the oldest member of the group, it’s your job to keep everyone together.” Number One quacked responsibly, and, Stevie thought, with a new air of authority.
It also occurred to Stevie that she really should name the little tykes. She looked at Number One. He was bossy—just like an older brother, she mused. He was always trying to make his siblings do what he was doing. And Two always seemed to be getting into trouble. For instance, he’d somehow managed to get his beak stuck under the front cover of the biology book. Number Four (who seemed to come to Two’s rescue often) got him unstuck by pushing him slightly to one side and backward. Number Three got turned around easily and was the one that Stevie ended up looking for the most. Even now he was headed away from the group as if striking out on an adventure. But before he made it two feet, Number One brought him under control and returned him to the group.
How was Stevie ever going to come up with suitable names for all of them? The more she thought about it, the odder it seemed to call them anything but Numbers One through Six. She watched the goslings for a moment, then made up her mind.
“You guys are officially dubbed Numbers One through Six,” she announced. The goslings quacked in response, which Stevie took to be a type of acceptance.
That settled, Stevie selected a pencil from among the few lying on the floor and began answering her homework questions relating to the Napoleonic Wars. She was only partway through the first question when she was interrupted by a chorus of excited quacks. She looked down to see all six goslings chewing on the rest of the pencils.
“I think I’ll take those,” said Stevie, quickly gathering up the pencils. Pencils certainly couldn’t be good for newborns.
However, as she reached for the last of the pencils, she realized it was attached to Number Six, who had the eraser held firmly in his beak. “Hey, you, let go.”
The gosling took a step backward, tugging on the pencil. He seemed quite unprepared to give it up until Number One honked angrily at him. Number Six released the pencil, madly fluffing up his feathers in what Stevie could only describe as a goose fit.
“Thank you, Number One,” said Stevie. She placed the pencils on her desk, then thought better of it and moved them to a drawer, closing it firmly. “At the rate you guys are growing, you’ll be up here in no time at all.” The goslings responded with a harmony of quacks.
Stevie pushed her history book away and checked the incubator. “Well, hello,” she said to Numbers Seven and Eight, who had now completed the hatching process and were strutting around the warm incubator in a wobbly, unbalanced way, ruffling their damp feathers as they waited impatiently for Stevie to notice them.
Very gently, Stevie removed the goslings from the incubator and placed them in the brooder beneath the warm lightbulbs. Then she replenished the food and water, which immediately became the main attraction for Numbers Seven and Eight.
“As soon as you two are strong enough,” Stevie told them, “you can come out and play with the rest of your brothers and sisters.”
Numbers One through Six gathered on Stevie’s biology book, watching her attend to the newborns.
Stevie crossed back to her desk, noticing that as she did, the goslings all shuffled slightly to the left to keep her in view, their big dark eyes fixed on her every movement. As she took a seat in the chair, the goslings settled down into a ruffled mass of feathe
rs, their necks craned upward to keep an eye on Stevie.
Stevie glanced at her watch. It was already eight o’clock. She really needed to get her homework done and get to bed or she’d end up just as tired the next day as she’d been that day. With that thought in mind, she pulled her history book toward her and began rereading the first question at the end of the chapter. Once she settled into the work, it only took her another half hour to complete the questions.
Relieved that she’d finally made it through her history homework, Stevie closed the book with a thud. She stood up and stretched, reaching toward the ceiling with her fingertips as she straightened out her back. She figured she’d earned a five-minute break, enough to take a short trip to the bathroom, before moving on to her English homework. All she had to do was make it through two chapters of Animal Farm and then she could call it a night.
Stevie walked across the room, pausing at the sudden commotion behind her. She turned to see what the goslings were up to. Numbers Seven and Eight had politely remained in the box, being much too interested in sleeping to care what the rest of their siblings were up to. Numbers Two through Six, however, were at the mercy of Number One, who seemed to be quacking orders at them. Stevie laughed. It reminded her of her and her brothers.
“I think I might nickname you Chad,” she said to Number One. Number Three tried to make a run for it, but One quickly intercepted, quacking ferociously. Three meekly returned to the group.
Stevie opened the door and stepped out into the hall. As she turned to close the door, she noticed that the goslings had fallen into single file, with Number One leading the group toward the door. “That’s far enough, guys,” said Stevie.
The little band of goslings continued their forward march, quacking at Stevie.
Knowing that her mother was unlikely to be amused by gosling droppings in the hallway, Stevie carefully shut the door before the goslings could reach her. There was a moment of silence on the other side, immediately followed by the loud, indignant quacks of six offended goslings.
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