Donkey Sense

by Dean Lombardo

  Timmy lifted his knee higher.

  “Good. But keep your sole facing the ground. Don’t point it toward the fence just yet.”

  Timmy stood balanced on one leg, his knee raised almost to his belly. He’d had a lot of practice, but he still wasn’t ‘getting it,’ according to Pedro. His kicks came out clumsy, barely connecting with the fence rail, although today Timmy thought his balance had gotten a little better.

  Pedro said, “Now lean forward more as you start to bring your leg back. The rotation will tilt your foot into perfect—” Pedro brayed shrilly and kicked, his hoof nailing the fence, “—striking position.”

  The donkey grunted in satisfaction, then turned his head to Timmy. “Your turn.”

  Timmy started his kick, doing as Pedro had instructed.

  “Good, now snap it out!”

  Timmy kicked. It wasn’t much, but at least this time the sole of his sneaker hit the fence first and not his toe.

  “Better,” Pedro said. “But tuck your elbows in. When you're fighting you don’t want your arms swinging around like . . . like a human.” Pedro snickered at his own humor, and then the donkey brayed so loudly it caused a commotion among the horses in the barn. There came a loud snort, a whinny, another snort, and then finally a loud, gruff holler from Mister Braun who said, “Pedro, you shut your muzzle or I’ll come out there and kick your rotten teeth clean out of your mouth!”

  Pedro pinned his ears back and snorted, but otherwise didn’t reply. To Timmy, he said, “Try again. This time, pretend that big, round bully Eddie is running at you, getting ready to knock YOUR teeth in.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  On the final day of school, Timmy crossed the street and trudged along the sidewalk carrying all his stuff from the school year that had been worth saving. Kelly had some kind of summer drama club meeting to attend so Timmy walked home alone.

  He saw some boys climbing out of the pasture, squeezing through the fence bordering Crabapple Farm. He trembled when he recognized Eddie and his gang. A trap, he realized with dread.

  And they were already closing in on him.

  Timmy spun back toward the street, but oncoming traffic from both directions stopped him from crossing. While turning back toward the bullies, expecting another flying tackle from Joey, he felt an unfriendly slap on his shoulder.

  Eddie said, “School’s out. No stupid teachers to protect you. You’re mine, Shrimpo Underpants.”

  Joey, Stew, and Ralph stepped up, forming a wall around Timmy.

  Timmy braced himself, tucking his elbows in to protect himself, his breath caught in his throat.

  He had to get away. But how? He noticed a gap between Stew and Ralph and threw himself down, his arm slapping the ground, and then he rolled under the fence down the hill. He flipped over, the slope directing him. He bounced and then—ouch—his shins got caught under his full weight and he tumbled forward headfirst the rest of the way. He ‘oofed’ and ‘ouched’ until he crashed into something big and solid; a cushiony mass with a rough, prickly surface. Timmy opened his eyes and saw a wall of hay bales, recently delivered, which had saved him from the tractor or worse.

  “It looks like they’re coming after you this time,” Pedro said in a dopey voice. “What are we going to do?”

  Holding his banged, bloodied elbow, Timmy got to his feet and checked the hill. His first thought as he saw Eddie, Joey, Stew, and Ralph hiking down the slope was what nerve they had trespassing on Mr. Atkins’ farm.

  Pedro stepped out of his stall and clopped over to him. He said, “I can see it in your eyes, Timmy; outrage.”

  Timmy closed his fists tightly.

  “It’s time to fight back,” Pedro said. “If you run home they’ll only get you the next time.” Pedro snorted and dug at the hard mud with his hoof. “Whaddya say you and I make a stand right now?”

  Timmy felt his knees go wobbly. The thought of fighting the likes of Eddie terrified him. How could he possibly win?

  Pedro said, “Now don’t be a chicken Timmy.”

  Panic overtaking him, Timmy swallowed and said, “Hold them off, so I can get away.”

  “Hey Shrimpo Underpants!” Eddie hollered, close now. Timmy checked: the bullies had reached the bottom of the hill. “Your only friend is a donkey!” Eddie shouted and the bullies laughed.

  “Yeah,” Ralph said, “and your only other friend Kelly is a pig.”

  A surge of anger rose from Timmy’s gut. He rushed Ralph and was surprised when no one cut him off. With a burst of speed from his short, little legs, Timmy flew in and drove his fist into Ralph’s jaw.

  The momentum of the punch drove Ralph back and brought Timmy to his knees, but Eddie and the other two boys were too stunned by what they’d just witnessed to go after Timmy.

  Ralph Bacchio lay on his back, moaning. Timmy couldn’t even see Ralph’s face, but he knew he’d hit him good in the jawbone. He’d felt Ralph flying away from the force of his punch. It had felt . . . good.

  Pedro brayed shrilly, causing all of the boys to cringe, and then to Timmy he said, “I didn’t teach you that. What was that?”

  “That was ‘like a human',” Timmy said proudly.

  Another Pedro snort. “Well, you’ve evened the odds a little. I’ll take Joey and Stew. You’ve got Eddie.”

  Eddie squared toward Timmy. “Oh, you’re dead for that Shrimpo! You don’t hit my friend!” The big bully rushed and Timmy turned, planting his feet, getting into position. He glanced over his shoulder, lifted his right foot, cocked and then thrust his upper body forward while kicking behind him like a mule.

  His foot connected with Eddie’s kneecap, halting the bully’s charge and sending Eddie hopping off course.

  Timmy heard a separate striking sound followed by a thud. He turned to see Stew Pressner lying on the ground, his breath knocked out of him—the victim of a probable Pedro kick.

  “Why you stupid donkey!” Joey hollered. He scooted forward and punched Pedro in the face.

  Pedro brayed, and then straightened his shoulders to face Joey. When Joey hesitated, Pedro scampered in low and lifted his head up under Joey’s chin. A hard clucking sound and then Joey landed on his back and didn’t move.

  Timmy turned just in time to see Eddie rushing him. He lifted his arms, his feet stuck to the ground in fear, preparing to be tackled just as Joey had done to him twice before.

  Suddenly, a blur of a brownish mass cut across Timmy’s vision. As he moved his hands away from his face, he saw that Pedro had clamped his teeth down on Eddie’s shirt and yanked the heavy boy away from him.

  With a mighty swing of his head, Pedro flung Eddie into the manure pile.

  Having recovered from Timmy’s punch, Ralph sat up. In a squeaky, sniffling voice he said, “Oh, now you need a donkey to fight your battles for you?”

  A laugh escaped from Timmy’s mouth. “Why not?” he said. “You wouldn’t be so tough yourself without Eddie around.”

  At this, Ralph climbed to his feet, made a pair of fists, and faced Timmy. With a yell he rushed forward. Timmy wheeled, leaned forward, and drove his leg back in a mule kick, lower this time, catching Ralph’s knee. Ralph hobbled around, howling in pain.

  “Well done,” Pedro said, cloaking his words in a whispered snort.

  “Hey, what is you boys doing?” came a harsh holler.

  All but the unconscious Joey turned in the direction of the adult voice. Mr. Atkins stood outside his house, his fingers in his belt straps, glaring at the intruders. The fight was over.

  “You bigger boys . . . is that you Eddie Batts?” Mr. Atkins strode forward confidently, protecting his property. “Get off my farm and get on home!” He stabbed his finger in the direction of the hill.

  Heads down in shame, Stew and Ralph walked over to Joey and slapped him on his cheek, beckoning him to wake up.

  Mr. Atkins was so angry he didn’t offer to help. “I said git! Now!”

  “We’re gonna sue you for what your donkey did to Joey!” Stew
shouted back at Mr. Atkins.

  Mr. Atkins scoffed and said, “Not after what I just seen you boys do to my donkey. Pedro is just protecting himself. Now get off my property!”

  Stew and Ralph hoisted Joey up and started up the hill, grunting from Joey’s weight as the unconscious boy’s knees dragged along the ground. Timmy glanced at Pedro. The donkey winked.

  “Hey, Underpants!”

  Timmy spun and saw Eddie standing there about ten feet away, smeared in manure. Eddie seemed a bit hesitant now, maybe because of Pedro. And maybe a little because of me and my mule kick, Timmy thought.

  “You’re gonna pay for this,” Eddie spat before turning and limping up the hill.

  ****

  Timmy and Mr. Atkins were on the porch drinking lemonade when they heard the sound of running footsteps. As they turned toward the entrance, they saw Kelly stride up the steps. “Hey you guys,” she said out of breath. “Oh, hey Mr. Atkins, can I have a glass of that lemonade?”

  They just stared at her.

  Kelly crossed her arms and studied Mr. Atkins and then Timmy. “Why are there cuts all over you?” she asked Timmy, a look of horror spreading across her face.

  “Ihh,” Mr. Atkins put his glass down, and then pinched his lip. “Ihh, there was a fight and Timmy and Pedro drove Eddie Batts and his gang out of here.” Then suddenly the Texan laughed and slapped his knee. “They made a good show of it too from what I saw.”

  “Really?” Kelly nudged Timmy’s shoulder. “Did you get some good shots in?”

  Timmy smiled. Yes he had.

  “Aw, I’m proud of you Timmy,” she said and leaned her head close and kissed him on the forehead.

  Timmy’s face grew hot. He closed his eyes and smiled, basking in the warm, wet sensation left by Kelly’s lips.

  Kelly turned to Mr. Atkins. “Now, where’s that lemonade? We’ve gotta talk.”

  Mr. Atkins looked surprised. “Oh?” he said. But after staring at the demanding girl a moment longer, his expression changed to one of amusement. He grinned. “What about?”

  “About Timmy riding Pedro in the Shepherdstown County Fair,” she said with a smirk.

  Timmy shivered. Ride Pedro? With people watching? “No!” he cried.

  “Yes!” Kelly answered with a giggle. “Pedro wants to. I just know he does.”

  Mr. Atkins leaned over in his chair and patted Timmy on the shoulder. “The little lady is right there. We just need to go and get you a saddle and a riding helmet.” He grinned back at Kelly. “Besides, Pedro sure could use the exercise.” The Texan gazed out toward the pasture where Pedro was grazing. “The lazy little son-of-a-gun.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mr. Atkins sipped at his coffee and said, “Ah, that’s better.”

  He was behind the wheel of his pickup truck with Timmy in the passenger seat and the horse trailer carrying Pedro in tow. They were close to the site of the Shepherdstown County Fair, the gates of the fairgrounds looming just ahead. It was mid-July now, the summer in full swing.

  “Sorry I was crabby back there,” Mr. Atkins said as he steered the truck carefully through the gateway. They continued through the grassy parking area, both of them bouncing in the front seat. Mr. Atkins checked the side-view mirror to see how the trailer was handling the bumpy terrain. “You see, I ain’t used to getting up this early.”

  Neither am I, Timmy thought. In comparison, Mr. Atkins was an early riser, having to run a farm as he did. Timmy usually got up at eight or nine during the summer, but for today’s show he’d had to set his alarm for four-thirty in the morning. “It’s okay Mr. Atkins,” he said finally, trying to be polite. “Say, Mr. Atkins?” he said, remembering something he’d wanted to ask for some time. “I was wondering about Pedro back there.” Timmy gestured toward the trailer behind them. “Where did you get him?”

  Mr. Atkins took a deep breath and stared misty-eyed through the windshield as he drove on. The lines on his sun-tanned, leathery face showed a bit of discomfort as he started his story. “Pedro, uh, yeah . . . I got him about twelve years back from this family down in Mexico. They had a boy, about your age, and this boy he start acting funny—you know, kind of talking to himself and whatnot. The boy’s pa blamed poor ol' Pedro of all things for his boy’s odd behavior, and then he done went and sent Pedro to a donkey rescue farm where the next step for Pedro was the glue factory. I was in need of donkey myself, so when I heard about Pedro’s plight I crossed the border and brought him back as my own. I turned him into a priiiiize-winning donkey.”

  Despite the heat inside the truck’s cabin, Timmy shivered as he mentally digested the story. Particularly chilling was the part about the Mexican boy’s strange behavior and how the boy’s father blamed Pedro.

  “What happened to the boy?” Timmy asked. “You know, after Pedro left.”

  Mr. Atkins puckered his lips as if in thought. Then without looking from the road ahead he said, “Now, you don’t need to know all that unpleasant stuff, Timmy. You is gonna meet Kelly at the horse stalls, right?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes sir,” Timmy said dazedly.

  Mr. Atkins drove up to another gateway where a uniformed county fair attendant stopped him and asked for his registration.

  “Here ya go,” Mr. Atkins said, passing the paperwork through the rolled down window. He turned to face Timmy as they waited. “Timmy, life is only gonna give you so many chances to be happy. Today I wanna see you ride Pedro to victory. You know what I mean?” He gave a gap-toothed smile.

  Sucking in a breath Timmy nodded. He was nervous. There were going to be people watching . . . watching him race against other riders.

  “And you know you won’t be alone out there,” Mr. Atkins said.

  “Here you go,” the attendant interrupted, returning the registration form.

  Mr. Atkins folded the piece of paper and tucked it under the sun visor. As they drove on he said, “Pedro is gonna carry you across the finish line. He’s a priiiiize-winning donkey,” he added with a wink. Then he backed the trailer into an open spot next to the donkey stable.

  Timmy climbed down from the truck and his senses were immediately bombarded: the hot, blinding July sun, the loud grumbling of truck and tractor engines, the clop of hooves. He could smell meats grilling, the sweet scent of sugar and fried pastries, all overwhelming the odor of the livestock surrounding them.

  They put Pedro in his assigned stall and Timmy remained behind a moment to pat Pedro’s nose and then scratch his dirty mane. Unlike Kelly’s pony, Pedro had not been prettied up for the day’s event. Timmy wondered if this might hurt his chances of getting a ribbon during the donkey and mule race.

  “I’ll see you in a bit Pedro,” he said and then left the stable. He found Mr. Atkins standing by the truck. “Come on,” the Texan said, “let’s go find Kelly.”

  They walked through the growing crowd. People were showing up in groups: families, friends, boy-and-girl couples. Timmy thought of Kelly. Her teasing smile . . .

  And then suddenly—Eddie! He came into Timmy’s line of vision, glaring at him as he marched past, his fists clutched tightly around something.

  Timmy released a heavy breath after Eddie had disappeared. “What’s he doing here?” he uttered.

  “Who?” Mr. Atkins said. “Eddie Batts? I reckon he’s like most folks around here. He come to the fair because he likes good eats.”

  Still, Timmy couldn’t stop wondering what the heck Eddie was up to. He was sure the bully was planning something, hoping to somehow use the fair as an opportunity to hurt him.

  ****

  They’d missed Kelly at the horse stable. The place was nearly deserted of horses and people by the time they arrived. They got to the ring just in time to give Kelly a hug before she got on her pony for the walk-trot-canter event. Timmy held her and whispered, “I know you can do it. You’re a better rider than Victoria, even if she is three years older than you.”

  Kelly took a deep breath—and then exhaled jus
t as she kissed Timmy on the forehead. Timmy felt dizzy, his stomach fluttery. There was a strange stirring in his heart.

  She strode away toward her pony, all dressed up like an English-style rider: black, felt-covered helmet, matching jacket, tan leather gloves, tan riding pants, and black boots. Her mother had driven her and the pony to the fairgrounds and then helped Kelly prepare for the show before having to leave for her weekend catering duties. But not before she’d braided the pony’s mane and someone—probably Kelly—had tied an emerald-green ribbon through it. Timmy followed her.

  “Ponce is looking sharp,” he said. “Here, let me give you a leg-up.” He dropped into a crouching position, interlocked his fingers, and Kelly stepped into his palms.

  “Thanks,” she said climbing up into the saddle.

  And then from the public address speakers: “Riders for the junior walk-trot-canter class please enter the ring now.”

  Kelly glanced back before entering the ring. Timmy winked at her, surprising himself. It was something he’d watched Mr. Atkins do several times in an almost mystical way.

  She gave a quick nod, then nudged Ponce into the ring.

  ****

  With the exception of that brief moment when Kelly had missed that “diagonal” thing, her first ride was a good one. After she exited the ring, Timmy went to stand next to her, offering congratulations for her ride and support for the next round.

  From atop Ponce, Kelly swung her chin in the direction of one of the other riders who’d just finished. Standing a head taller than everybody else on her horse, Victoria noticed Kelly looking at her and smirked. Unfortunately for Kelly, Victoria had had a mistake-free round. Timmy stared at the huge, older girl on an actual horse. “I still don’t understand how—”

  “Shh!” Kelly hushed him.

  In a whisper, Timmy continued, “—understand how a fourteen-year-old gets to compete against eleven-year-olds.”

  “Because she’s scared to ride against other teenagers,” Kelly said, looking down in frustration. “And her mom encourages her to win at all costs.”