Donkey Sense

by Dean Lombardo

  Timmy gazed back up at his friend. Kelly looked older, wiser. She said, “Victoria didn’t lose her diagonal like I did.” Kelly paused, then added, “I’m in deep manure.”

  Timmy reached out and grasped her lower leg. “You can do it Kelly,” he said with a reassuring squeeze.

  Her worried look turned into a smile. Her emerald eyes rested on him. “Thank you, Timmy” she said. “So can you.”

  ****

  Timmy watched Kelly with concern as she mentally prepared for her second and final ride, this time in the jumping class. A moment ago, Kelly had confided that she thought Victoria had won the walk-trot-canter because she had missed her diagonal and Victoria hadn’t. She’d made it clear to Timmy that she needed to win this next class or she would lose to Victoria yet again.

  The public address announcer introduced Kelly into the ring and Timmy watched, willing his friend to perform the perfect ride she needed.

  Ponce trotted through the open gate into the ring. Posting in the saddle, Kelly guided him to the outside part of the course. She approached the imitation brick wall near the fence where Timmy and Mr. Atkins stood and watched. Because Kelly’s mom hadn’t been able to stay to root on her daughter, Timmy knew that he would need to be the one there for his friend, win or lose.

  He held his breath . . . and Ponce cleared the first jump. Whew. And now pony and rider cantered around the opposite side of the ring. They cut inside, Ponce grunting, and the pony cleared the first of two consecutive jumps, then got his timing and sailed over the second. Timmy’s heart dropped when Ponce’s rear hoof rattled the top rail and sent it to the ground with a thud.

  “Aw, darn it,” Mr. Atkins whispered. “Her timing wasn’t quite right either. Oh well. That’ll be a fault or two.”

  Kelly and Ponce circled back toward the center of the ring. Ponce cleared each jump in the second set of railed jumps and then galloped outside again, the ride nearing its end.

  “She finished strong,” Timmy said.

  “Yep,” Mr. Atkins said.

  Two other riders took their turns before Victoria came out on her white horse. With Kelly back on her own two feet holding Ponce by the bridle, they stood a respectful distance from the ring’s fence and watched the fourteen-year-old ride.

  Kelly whispered, “One of the other riders’ moms complained to the judge about Victoria’s age. I guess the judge decided to let her compete anyway,” she said glumly.

  Victoria’s horse cleared the first jump and then circled around, returning to approach the tricky center jumps. The horse made easy work of the obstacles and headed outside again. Timmy turned to see Kelly’s reaction.

  Her face was grim. “She’s perfect so far,” she muttered.

  The horse crossed near the fence, then started toward the center of the ring again to the final two jumps—the ones where Kelly had made her critical mistakes.

  Clunk.

  “Yes!” Kelly whispered.

  And then she was over the second jump without a hitch. Victoria was done, and probably the winner according to Timmy’s own calculations.

  “It’s okay,” he said, patting Kelly on the back. “You did great. You’ll get a good ribbon for sure.”

  Kelly shook her head and looked down.

  “Aw, don’t you worry none Kelly,” Mr. Atkins broke in with a warm smile. “Maybe the judge will account for Victoria’s . . . uh . . . cheating,” he whispered.

  ****

  The time to award ribbons and announce the class’s champion and reserve champion honors arrived. All of the riders returned to the ring and Timmy’s eyes left Kelly to watch Victoria. What a jerk, he thought. She’s all smiley, excited, and proud of herself for beating up on a bunch of eleven-year-olds.

  The judge stood in the center ring, a woman older than Timmy’s mom, with long black hair streaked with gray in a ponytail. The judge spoke to the riders and they all assembled before her in a line. She said something to Victoria and Timmy felt certain the older girl had won again. From the public address speakers came, “And first place in the walk-trot-canter goes to—”

  Timmy watched Victoria with a strong dislike. She clasped her hands together and opened her mouth in fake surprise and anticipation.

  “Number 314.”

  Victoria rested her chin theatrically on her clasped hands in an expression of gratitude.

  “Victoria Giles, riding Gandalf.”

  Timmy cursed silently. Some applause came from the crowd and then each rider was in turn given a ribbon, with Kelly capturing a yellow third-place ribbon. Things were never fair.

  From the overhead speakers, “And now for the results of today’s junior division, jumping class.”

  Once again, Victoria went through her routine, smiling graciously, hands clasped together as she awaited the judge’s decision. It came: “Number 381—”

  Instead of handing the blue ribbon to Victoria, the judge turned and gave it to another rider.

  Kelly.

  “Kelly Monahan, riding Ponce.”

  “Yes!” Timmy let out too loudly as he watched Victoria’s happy face sink. Some of the other spectators turned to glare at him for shouting out so.

  Mr. Atkins didn’t care. He let it out, “Yes! In your face, teenager.”

  Once so tall on her horse, Victoria sagged, and Timmy watched with growing sympathy as the teenager shook in the saddle while the other riders were given their ribbons, none of which were for her.

  “And today’s champion,” from the speakers.

  Timmy held his breath.

  “Kelly Monahan, riding Ponce.”

  “Yee-ha!” Mr. Atkins cried. He glanced at Timmy and winked. “The judge done the right thing,” he said.

  Timmy smiled, and then turned once again to follow Victoria’s reaction. The teen remained stunned, trembling. He watched for another moment, and then sure enough, she started to cry.

  He looked back to Kelly. She beamed with joy as the judge handed her the large, multi-colored champion ribbon. “Yes!” he said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mr. Atkins bought himself and Timmy a barbecue pork sandwich, fries, and a cola each and for Kelly a hot dog, coleslaw, and soda from one of the food stands. They carried their lunches to a nearby picnic table where they sat under a yellow canopy that blocked the brutal, summer sun.

  Mr. Atkins raised his cup and said, “A toast to Kelly, today’s Shepherdstown County Junior Champion.”

  Kelly smiled proudly and they each lifted their sodas and gently tapped them together over the table.

  “Yeah, I told you you could beat Victoria,” Timmy said before biting a french fry. “The judge didn’t even give her the Reserve Champion ribbon.”

  Just then someone appeared at their table. Timmy looked up and was immediately embarrassed. It was the judge from Kelly’s event and she’d obviously overheard what he’d just said. The black-and-silver haired lady slid her sunglasses up on top of her head, revealing stern, gray-blue eyes. She said, “That’s right young man. And you want to know why I awarded the event to your friend?”

  Timmy swallowed.

  The judge looked at Kelly who sat blinking and no longer eating.

  “I awarded you the event because you were the best ‘legal’ rider today,” she said, her fists going to her hips. “In past shows I’ve made announcements asking anyone who is not between the ages of eleven and twelve to kindly leave the ring.” The judge glanced nervously over her shoulder at the stream of people passing in both directions. “Victoria never got the hint so she suffered for it today,” she said. “I was going to let her slide again but then I changed my mind because . . . well, quite frankly I’m sick of it.” And with that, the judge winked at Kelly and turned to leave.

  “Thanks,” Kelly said just before the judge vanished into the crowd.

  “Well, I’ll be darned.” Mr. Atkins said. “It’s been inspirational and an honor spending time with you kids today.” He turned to Timmy and gestured with his pork sandwich.
“Now it’s your turn Timmy,” he said with his mouth full. “You and Pedro are gonna win the donkey steeplechase event next.”

  Timmy nodded, but something was bothering him. Something he couldn’t yet put his finger on.

  Mr. Atkins said, “Well, you two best finish up your lunches. Especially you, Timmy. You want time to digest before you get on ol' Pedro.”

  They ate in silence for the remainder of the meal, with Timmy’s thoughts on the afternoon’s race, the other riders, the crowd that would be watching, and the obstacle course that Mr. Atkins had described. It would start over an open stretch of land, lead over a tall dirt mound, over a short wall, continue along a narrow, winding path into the woods, then over a downed tree and a brook . . .

  Although Mr. Atkins probably hadn’t meant for the course to sound so scary, Timmy was terrified by Mr. Atkins’ description of it.

  He gulped.

  It sounded treacherous.

  ****

  With Kelly encouraging him, Timmy got on Pedro. “Come on Timmy, I can feel it,” she said, still glowing from her amazing victory over Victoria. She glanced around at the other riders. Some were on mules, others on smaller, standard-size donkeys like Pedro. “Look at the fear in the other riders’—” She stopped in mid-sentence.

  Timmy turned and saw Eddie Batts on a big, black mule heading toward him. Part of Timmy wanted to laugh at the sight of the overweight kid who, like Timmy, was fully equipped for the event, the strap of his riding helmet fastened tightly under his chubby chin. But the angry smirk that Eddie gave him as he sat a whole two feet taller than Timmy made Timmy lose his breath.

  “Good luck in the steeplechase, Shrimpo,” Eddie said mockingly. “You’re gonna need it.”

  “Timmy?” came a whisper.

  Timmy glanced down at Pedro, stunned that Pedro had risked talking in front of the others. “What?” he whispered back.

  “Muh-my suh-saddle.”

  Eddie was looking over; Kelly and Mr. Atkins too. “Not now, Pedro,” Timmy said casually.

  Eddie said, “Are you talking to your donkey now? What an idiot you are, Shrimpo Underpants.” With a snort, Eddie led his mule away, bouncing awkwardly in the saddle.

  “Now, don’t let that brat Eddie Batts bother you none,” Mr. Atkins said coming over. “You go on out there on ol' Pedro and give it your best.”

  Kelly continued to watch the bully Eddie leave on the mule. She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. He’s gonna fall off for sure. I wonder what he’s trying to prove.”

  “I reckon I know.”

  Both Timmy and Kelly turned at the sound of Mr. Atkins’ voice. They saw him gesturing toward the bleachers. “That fella with the muscles in the red tank-top is Eddie’s father,” he said. “Sam Batts is a mean son of a—uh, never mind. Eddie is gonna try and show off in front of his pops. Prove that he is as tough as his father is.” Mr. Atkins said all of this with an expression of obvious dislike in his tone and on his face. Timmy was surprised the old man didn’t spit on the ground.

  Mr. Atkins continued, “Well, anyway Timmy, you just go and focus on what you gotta do and that’s getting through that donkey steeplechase course as fast and best you can.”

  They waited in silence until the announcer said, “Riders for the donkey steeplechase please report to the starting gate.”

  “That’s your cue,” Mr. Atkins said, slapping Pedro on the butt. Pedro jumped, but didn’t move forward which wasn’t like him. Timmy again glanced down at the top of Pedro’s head. He stroked the donkey’s mane. “You ready to go?” he said to Pedro.

  Kelly said, “The question is, are you ready to go?” She came up to stand beside Pedro’s shaking head. “I wonder what’s the matter with him,” Timmy said. “He doesn’t seem right.”

  Kelly grasped Pedro’s bridle and looked into the donkey’s big eyes. “What’s the matter with you, Pedro?”

  Pedro shook his head more vigorously this time. “Burrrr,” he said with a snort.

  Timmy’s mouth opened. He checked Kelly’s reaction. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  “Hear what?” she asked.

  “Wuh-what Pedro said?” he stammered.

  “Don’t be silly, Timmy Unterkanz. He’s just a donkey. I just hear donkey sounds.”

  “Burrs,” Pedro said, shaking uncomfortably.

  “You better get on—” Mr. Atkins started to say until the voice over the speakers interrupted. “Once again, riders in the donkey steeplechase please report to the starting gate.”

  ****

  The starting gate was actually more of a starting area; a grassy section lined with tall, orange, rubber cones. A bearded man with an official Shepherdstown County Fair shirt that stretched over his rotund belly directed Timmy and Pedro to the outside lane, while additional workers led the other riders to their places. There were five contestants in all, with Eddie in the first lane farthest from Timmy, followed by a girl about Timmy’s age, and two other boys, both older than Timmy. Eddie rode one of the two mules, a sweaty kid in a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey atop the other. When the bearded man left, Timmy said, “Pedro, what’s wrong?”

  Pedro moaned and said, “Burrs under my saddle.”

  “What?”

  “Eddie snuck into my stall and placed burrs under my saddle.”

  “On your marks!” the announcer said.

  Timmy sat dumbfounded on Pedro. Several moments passed and then he glanced over at Eddie, who was staring at him with an evil smirk on his face.

  “Get set!”

  Timmy said to Pedro, “Should we quit? Or at least let me get off and get the burrs out of there first.”

  “No,” Pedro said with a groan. “We don’t quit.”

  The sharp crack of the starting gun and Pedro trotted ahead, across a field toward the woods where a single path awaited all participants. Already the other riders were ahead of him, with Eddie and the girl jockeying for position in the lead.

  “Oh Pedro, I’m so sorry,” Timmy said. “Does it hurt?”

  Pedro brayed and then quickened his stride, trying hard to catch the others as he climbed the muddy bank. “Of course it hurts. You ever had burrs in your underwear?”

  Timmy didn’t answer. He leaned forward and tightened his legs around Pedro’s midsection. He focused on riding, just like Mr. Atkins and Kelly had taught him.

  Pedro followed a path that had been worn into the field from previous races and trail rides. The real nasty part of the course would be when all riders reached the forest trail where there’d be room for just one mule or donkey at a time. Ahead, he saw Eddie and his mule reach the wooded trail first and then disappear.

  “Come on, Pedro,” Timmy cried, prodding the donkey with his foot. “You can do it. Remember how fast you went after that wasp stung you.”

  Pedro brayed as if to urge himself into a full gallop, and then he leapt over the short rock wall that all of the riders had had to jump. He reached the forest path and they entered a shaded area, a welcome relief from the hot sun. Pedro continued, more cautiously now. Up ahead another rider—the other boy who was competing on a donkey—moved slowly through the forest. Pedro closed the distance, and as they reached the other rider Timmy called out, “Make way!”

  The other boy turned his head just as Timmy and Pedro squeezed past, Pedro’s right hooves swishing through the undergrowth.

  “Hey!” cried the other rider, now behind them.

  “Hay is for horses,” Timmy shouted back, bringing an appreciative snort from Pedro who then galloped up the path, looking for the next racer.

  Something was indeed looming ahead, but it wasn’t another donkey and rider.

  “Shoot,” Timmy murmured.

  A fallen tree, massive and steep, blocked the path. Somehow the other riders had gotten over it so Timmy knew there had to be a way.

  “Can you make it?” he said.

  Pedro snorted as he approached the tree. “Ow, my back hurts,” he said.

  And then he leapt and T
immy tightened his grip on the reins and Pedro’s mane as they sailed. Pedro shook in midair, tripped by something—a jutting branch—and then righted himself and landed on the other side of the jump.

  Timmy patted Pedro’s neck. “Good boy,” he said as they continued to fly through the forest.

  “You too,” Pedro said. “You’re not bad for a human.”

  “Thanks,” Timmy replied. “Where’s the next rider we have to pass?”

  Pedro snorted, sniffing the trail. “About sixty feet ahead, around the turn.” He galloped around the bend and Timmy’s eyes locked onto the next rider whose mule had stopped, too terrified to continue. A brook cut across the trail and, despite the boy in the Steelers jersey kicking the mule and whipping it with a riding crop, the animal refused to continue.

  “No brook is going to stop me,” Pedro grunted, “and certainly no burrs some brat placed under my saddle.”

  Pedro launched himself over the brook and Timmy held on for dear life.

  They skidded when Pedro landed on the opposite bank, but the determined donkey kept his balance and kept running.

  “You’re awesome Pedro,” Timmy said, smiling.

  “So are you kid,” Pedro said. “So are you.”

  Farther ahead was the girl on the donkey. Pedro ran furiously and swerved around her, surprising her, causing her to gasp.

  Just one more rider to pass.

  Eddie.

  But where was he? Timmy could see daylight ahead, the end of the looping trail through the forest and the return to the field and the eventual finish line. The rest of the course was straight. Eddie should be just ahead…

  “Yee-hah!” came the surprise shout to Timmy’s right. He turned just as Eddie and his mule emerged from the woods, racing directly toward them. An ambush!

  Pedro slammed on the brakes and the mule continued past, going too fast, headed for a tree. The mule veered from the tree trunk and then stopped abruptly, sending Eddie flying out of the saddle.