BY FRIDAY EVENING of the next week, several things had become perfectly clear. The first was that Stevie had become the adoptive parent of eight very healthy and very active goslings, all of whom had decided that she was their mother. They followed her every movement with rapt attention and gazed at her adoringly every chance they got. If Stevie sat at her desk, the goslings sat at her feet. If Stevie crawled into bed, the goslings cuddled up next to her.
The second thing that had become clear was that an entire week had passed without any sign of a wiggle from the four remaining eggs. The accompanying literature said that it was possible that not all of the eggs would hatch. The book also gave instructions on how to candle the eggs to see if they were healthy or not. Although it was a task that Stevie was dreading, she realized it needed to be done.
“Thanks for helping me out with this, guys,” she said gratefully.
Lisa and Carole had arrived a short time earlier. The three girls were now in Stevie’s bedroom, sitting by the incubator. The eight little goslings were, for once, seated quietly.
“That’s what The Saddle Club is for,” Lisa replied gently.
Stevie closed the window blinds and shut off the light. Once the room was in total darkness, the girls took one egg at a time and held it in front of a flashlight. The literature provided several different diagrams, explaining what a healthy egg should look like. It also gave examples of what they termed “bad eggs,” in which a small dark spot could be seen in the middle of the egg, indicating an expired peep.
After they checked the last egg, Lisa clicked off the flashlight and Stevie turned the bedroom light back on. They’d identified a small dark spot in each of the four eggs, and Stevie knew now there was no hope that the remaining eggs would hatch.
“That’s it, then,” Stevie murmured, surprised that the thought of the last four eggs not hatching bothered her so much. But, she reasoned, she had watched them and loved them, even though they were just eggs. And now the realization that they would never join their siblings saddened her.
Aware that this would likely be the outcome, Stevie had already gotten her father’s permission to bury the eggs in the backyard. Lisa, Carole, and Stevie now made their way out to the backyard with the eggs tucked carefully into a small basket. They were crossing the lawn when a sudden indignant quack from behind halted them in their tracks. The girls turned to see all eight goslings desperately waddling single file and flapping their wings in a not-so-graceful attempt to keep pace with Stevie’s walk.
“Oh, look at that,” whispered Carole. “They must be mourning their siblings.”
Stevie smiled and waited for her feathered family to catch up. One through Seven were moving along quite well. However, Number Eight was slow and kept dawdling. Stevie looped around behind the other goslings, urging him to catch up.
“Come on, Number Eight, move those little legs.” Stevie flapped her arms, demonstrating how it was done. Encouraged, Number Eight made a valiant effort to increase his speed by imitating Stevie, his wings flapping wildly as his little webbed feet scurried along the ground. He only made it a few steps, though, before a weed caught his interest and he began dawdling again.
As if sensing that Stevie and Number Eight needed their support, Numbers One through Seven looped back as well, until there was a small crowd surrounding Number Eight. While Carole and Lisa waited patiently, the little group slowly made its way to the burial site.
Stevie used her father’s shovel to dig a small hole, two feet deep into the earth. The goslings, of course, insisted on helping, playing in the loose dirt as Stevie shoveled it to the side of the hole. Then the girls knelt beside the freshly dug grave and watched solemnly as Stevie gently placed the eggs in the ground, one at a time, far enough apart that they wouldn’t hit against each other and break.
“Take care, little eggs,” whispered Stevie, close to tears, as she carefully replaced the dirt, filling in the hole. She patted it down with her hands, smoothing the soil on top. Suddenly, eight pairs of webbed feet surrounded Stevie’s hands, tapping on the earth as they mimicked Stevie’s movements.
The girls giggled. It was just like Stevie’s goslings to be able to make them laugh when they were sad.
“Hey, they’ve got better rhythm than you do,” Lisa teased Stevie.
Stevie smiled and wiped the perspiration from her brow. “You know, I think a swim would be nice right about now. Anyone up for it?” One of the really good reasons to visit the Lakes during warm weather was the fact that they had a swimming pool.
A chorus of nods and quacks indicated that the idea was a good one. The girls quickly changed into their bathing suits and made their way to the pool, eight little goslings following on their heels.
Stevie walked out onto the diving board, but as she prepared to jump off the end, there was a panicked shout from behind.
“Stevie, wait!” hollered Lisa. “You’re not alone up there!”
Sure enough, a procession of eight had followed Stevie up onto the diving board and were prepared (or so it looked from the flapping wings) to follow Stevie off the end into the water.
“I really don’t think we should be working on your diving skills just yet, little ones. Back you go.”
Stevie herded the goslings off the diving board and walked around the pool to the shallow end. The goslings followed, waddling as fast as their little webbed feet would allow. Stevie took a seat at the edge of the pool, then gently slipped into the water.
“Okay, one at a time, please,” began Stevie, adopting her best parental tone. “In a nice orderly fashion—” Before she could even finish her sentence there was a flurry of feathers, followed by all eight goslings jumping excitedly into the water after her, quacking delightedly as they splashed in the pool.
“You guys are worse than Michael!” sputtered Stevie, trying to spit out the large amounts of pool water that she was now swallowing in her attempt to evade the thrilled goslings. But no matter how quickly Stevie swam—backward, forward, or sideways—the goslings were quicker, having instantaneously developed their sea legs.
Lisa and Carole joined the party in the pool, laughing as they played with the goslings. As an experiment, Stevie dived beneath the water, splashing to the surface a few yards away. In an attempt to imitate her, all eight little goslings started dunking their bodies, headfirst, into the water, then popping up for air with a splash.
“What in the world is going on out here?” asked Mrs. Lake, coming out of the house. “I can hear you girls laughing clear to the front lawn.”
“Mrs. Lake, look at the goslings!” Lisa shouted excitedly. “They think Stevie’s their mother!”
Sure enough, Stevie was swimming end to end in the pool, accompanied by her eight little friends, who swam merrily beside her, quacking their hearts out.
Enchanted by the sight, Mrs. Lake quickly ran back into the house and appeared a few moments later with a camera.
Mr. Lake, who had also been curious about the noise, joined them as well. He didn’t, however, find the sight quite as endearing as Mrs. Lake had, especially as he noticed a couple of small white calling cards floating on the water.
“Stevie—” started Mr. Lake sternly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll clean them up!” Stevie said before her father could go any further. “I promise.”
Alex and Michael appeared from around the side of the house, dressed in their bathing trunks and ready for a swim. They stopped short at the sight of the goslings in the pool.
“Hey, they’re swimming!” squealed Michael as he ran to join the girls and goslings in the water.
A moment later everyone except Mr. and Mrs. Lake was swimming around in the pool, playing with the goslings. Alex laughed as Number Three jumped onto his head and flapped its wings. Number Six had become fascinated with Lisa’s braids and grabbed on to one, getting tugged about as Lisa swam in circles around Stevie. Carole kept coming to the rescue of Number Eight, who dawdled almost as much in the water as he did on l
and, and as a result kept getting separated from the group.
After a short while Stevie led the goslings out of the pool, drying each one off carefully with a soft towel to make sure they didn’t catch a cold.
Even after Lisa and Carole had left for their own homes, the Lakes were laughing about the swimming goslings. The goslings circled Stevie’s chair while she ate, quacking for attention.
“I can’t wait to see the pictures you took,” Stevie told her mom.
“Let’s go swimming again tomorrow,” Michael suggested excitedly.
“Um … Stevie …” Mr. Lake hesitated.
Stevie already knew that look. It meant that her father was going to say something she didn’t want to hear.
“We need to be realistic about the goslings,” Mr. Lake began gently. “They’re essentially wild creatures, and after a certain point it’s not fair to keep them in the house.”
“But they’re mine,” protested Stevie. “Okay, sure, they’ve been a little messy, but they’re babies. And I’ve been solely responsible for cleaning up after them and taking care of them, just like I said I would.”
Mr. Lake stopped eating and gently set down his fork. “Stevie, it’s not a matter of responsibility. You’ve been wonderful with them. But we need to face the fact that they’re not exactly house pets.”
“But I can train them,” Stevie argued determinedly. “I’m sure I can.” She glanced at Number One, who was gazing up at her imploringly. She bent down and scooped him up, holding him against her face. “We’ll be neater, won’t we, Number One?”
Number One quacked in response and gently head butted Stevie’s cheek in a show of affection.
“Dad, pleaassseee?” Stevie pleaded.
Mr. Lake had to admit that the goslings were pretty cute. And it was quite obvious from the various looks around the table, including one from Mrs. Lake, that everyone shared the same sentiment.
“All right,” Mr. Lake conceded.
“Yes!” squealed Stevie, kissing the top of Number One’s head. The gosling quacked delightedly, watching Stevie lovingly with its large dark eyes.
“But,” Mr. Lake said, holding up a hand for quiet, “sooner or later, they’re going to have to go. And you should start thinking of a proper home for them.”
“This is their home,” insisted Stevie. “I can’t just give them away. They need me.” She caught Numbers Two through Eight gazing up at her from their position on the floor beside her chair. “And I need them,” she added softly.
After dinner Stevie gathered up her flock and led them back to her bedroom. She placed their dinner in the brooder, watching as they excitedly circled the meal. They greedily filled their beaks with food, dropping more on the floor of the brooder than they actually managed to swallow.
Stevie lowered herself down beside the brooder, staring at them thoughtfully as they ate. Her dad was wrong. There was no reason in the world that goslings couldn’t make good house pets. And, thought Stevie, she could provide them with everything they needed to be happy, including their very own swimming pool. Now all she had to do was prove to her parents that the goslings belonged with her, in the house.
STEVIE WOKE UP Saturday morning to find all eight goslings snuggled in bed with her. They grumbled as she sat up and moved them gently out of the way. “Just exactly what are you guys doing out of the brooder?” she scolded them.
As much as Stevie loved having her goslings next to her, she didn’t necessarily love the mess they left behind. For instance, they didn’t yet understand that the comforter was no place to leave calling cards. Stevie looked around the room, realizing that the comforter wasn’t the only place her goslings had been during the night. And as the goslings continued to grow, so did their calling cards.
“Not to mention the food bill,” Stevie mumbled, noticing that the bag of chick starter had disappeared quite rapidly that week. She made a mental note to stop off at the pet store on the way home, although she was almost out of money from her last gosling-related shopping spree (materials for the revised brooder).
She thought about asking her father for a raise in her allowance, then shook her head. It was highly unlikely that he would agree, especially since it was to feed her growing herd that he didn’t think belonged in the house in the first place. I’ll figure something out, thought Stevie, but it’s going to have to be later.
“Come on, guys, breakfast time,” Stevie announced, leading the gang back to the brooder. She quickly refilled the food dish, wrinkling her nose at the odor coming from within the box. “Eeeww. Guess this needs cleaning.”
Stevie glanced at her alarm clock. Her Horse Wise class started in an hour, which didn’t leave her much time to take care of the goslings and get to Pine Hollow. But she couldn’t leave the goslings in a dirty brooder all day. Making up her mind, she quickly started cleaning out the brooder, removing the soiled towels and placing them in a garbage bag. She’d find time to wash them later. She reached for her pile of refill towels only to realize that the basket she kept them in was empty. That reminded her that she was supposed to do a load of wash the day before and hadn’t gotten around to it.
Stevie hurried down the hall to the bathroom closet and flipped through the towels, searching for one to put at the bottom of the brooder. Unfortunately, the only towels in the closet were her mom’s good ones. Running out of time, she grabbed one of those and raced back down the hall to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. I’ll buy another one tomorrow and Mom won’t even notice it’s missing, thought Stevie.
Satisfied with her plan, Stevie quickly lined the clean brooder with the towel and replaced the water and food. The goslings immediately hopped into the brooder, slopping breakfast messily in their haste to down the morning meal.
“Guys!” exclaimed Stevie. “I just cleaned that!”
They paused to glance up at her adoringly before quickly returning to the food.
Stevie rolled her eyes. It was no use. She grabbed a washcloth and went about the room cleaning up the mementos left behind by the goslings. It took longer than she expected. She glanced at the clock and hastily pulled on her barn clothes, knowing that the only way she’d be on time now was if she ran all the way.
As it was, Stevie arrived ten minutes late for class. Luckily for her, they were working on their vaulting skills, which meant that she didn’t have to groom and tack up Belle, which would have made her even later.
Max gave Stevie a stern look as she slipped into the arena. Tardiness was not a valued quality in his book.
Lisa was up on Clara, working on some of the easier moves at the canter.
“Did I miss anything?” Stevie whispered to Carole, noticing that Lisa had really improved over the past week. She kept her balance in the Stand as Clara cantered in a circle around Red.
“I managed to do the Stand at the canter, too,” said Carole.
“Wow!” Stevie was impressed.
“Not very well.” Carole grimaced. “But at least I stayed on, which was better than last time. Lisa’s doing really well.”
Stevie knew that Carole and Lisa had been working very hard on their vaulting skills and deserved to do well in the competition at the end of the month. She felt bad about not putting as much effort into it, but her goslings required around-the-clock care, and she felt even worse about neglecting them.
From the corner of her eye Stevie noticed that Veronica (in a very un-Veronica-like manner) was standing slightly away from the class, patiently working on various stretches while she waited for her turn.
“What’s with that?” Stevie asked Carole, pointing at Veronica.
Carole shrugged. “No idea. The only thing I do know is that she asked Max for warm-up time before taking her turn.”
“Warm-up time?” Stevie watched Veronica bend at the side and stretch, her arm curved above her head. She had never seen the other girl warm up in her life. What was even odder was that Veronica seemed in no hurry to take her turn, which was even more out of
character than the stretching.
“Maybe she’s so terrible she’s hoping that Max will forget about her,” Carole suggested hopefully.
Before Stevie could think further about it, she heard Max calling her name. “You’re up, Stevie!”
Lisa jogged over to them, ecstatic. “Did you see that? I held the Stand at the canter!”
“I’ll be lucky if I can hold the Basic Seat,” Stevie laughed as she raced off to join Max.
Stevie accepted Max’s leg up as Clara walked past, then quickly got into the Basic Seat position. She tried a few moves at the walk before signaling to Red that she was ready to canter. Stevie relaxed, enjoying the smooth feel of Clara’s canter. After a moment she swung her legs up and moved into the Flag position. It was the first time she’d tried it at the canter and noticed immediately that she needed to balance herself differently than at the walk.
“Stevie, remember to keep your back straight and your head up,” Max offered as Stevie momentarily lost her balance and had to pull her knees back underneath her. “Just get the feel of Clara’s stride,” he continued.
Stevie closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the gentle rise and fall of the canter. It was as natural to her as her own walking. She shifted her knees slightly, relaxing her body. Then she opened her eyes and slowly tried the position again. Releasing one handle, she raised her left hand and right leg, holding the position for one full circle around Red.
“Very good, Stevie,” praised Max. He indicated for her to hop down as he turned to Veronica. “Your turn, Veronica.”
Stevie slipped gracefully off Clara’s back. As she rejoined Carole and Lisa, Max offered Veronica a leg up.
“I think I’d like to try the Flank,” Veronica informed Max. “I’ve been working on it all week with my coach.”
Max nodded as the girls shared a surprised look. “The Flank?” mouthed Lisa. Carole and Stevie shrugged.
Horse Feathers Page 8