Pony Jumpers 5- Five Stride Line

by Kate Lattey

  Most people would’ve ignored it, or told the boys where to get off, or given back as good as they were getting. But Lexi didn’t do any of those things – she wasn’t wired to. She wanted people to be honest and straightforward and not confuse her, and I could sense the anger burning up inside her, preparing for an explosion.

  “You did it again! Stop it!”

  Lexi’s voice was getting more high-pitched and much louder, and several other conversations died out as they started listening to her.

  “Oi, keep it down!” called the bus driver, and I cringed. Yelling at her wasn’t going to help in the slightest, and I knew I couldn’t sit still any longer.

  I squirmed around on my seat until I was kneeling and looking backwards, muttering an apology to the girl next to me as I jabbed her with an accidental elbow.

  “Hey, leave her alone,” I told the boys, but the noise level in the bus had risen again and they didn’t hear me. Neither did Lexi.

  “I’m going to tell on you,” she told them, her voice carrying down the aisle.

  “Tell who?”

  “The teachers.”

  “Tell them what?”

  “That you kicked my seat on purpose.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did!” Her voice was approaching a pitch that only dogs would be able to hear, and I winced. The boys were idiots, and must’ve kicked her seat again, because she hit maximum velocity with the next outcry. “STOP IT!”

  The bus driver had had enough. He jammed the brakes on, making us all jolt in our seats and he glared angrily back at us in the rear-view mirror as he pulled up to the next stop. A couple of kids got off, but the doors didn’t close behind them.

  “You too,” the driver demanded, looking at Lexi. “That’s enough bloody screeching. Off!”

  Lexi hadn’t realised yet that he was talking to her, but the boys sitting behind her made sure of it.

  “He means you, Screamer.”

  “You better get off the bus, quick.”

  The driver repeated himself. “OFF!”

  I stood up at the same time as Lexi did, fuming. I looked down at the girl next to me, and she shifted her bulk towards the aisle so that I had to try and squeeze past her. Lexi was on her feet and looking even angrier.

  “C’mon Lex, let’s get out of here. These people suck.” I walked down the steps and jumped onto the footpath, then looked up at her. She was still standing at the top of the stairwell, glaring around at everyone on the bus.

  “You all suck!” she told them loudly, her temper getting the better of her. “And you’re liars and you can all go to hell!”

  Oh, great. I stood and waited until Lexi had stepped off the bottom step. The bus driver whisked the doors closed and drove off in a cloud of diesel fumes, leaving me and my sister stranded on the side of the road, several kilometres from home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I leaned against the stable door and watched as Rick drove the nail into Robin’s hoof with four swift, sure strokes, then twisted the pointed end off and let it fall onto the concrete pad. I still hadn’t made a decision about Squib’s shoes, much to Katy’s disdain. I’d spent most of Monday evening online trying to research the pros and cons of shoeing horses instead of doing my schoolwork, but all the information I found had been adamant that I would be causing my pony long-term damage by letting a farrier nail big chunks of metal to the bottom of his hooves. The more I thought about it as a concept, the stupider it seemed, and while the rational part of my brain reminded me that horses had been ridden for years in shoes and had survived, there were also a lot of things about horse riding that had been accepted for years as ‘just the way it’s done’, without anyone really thinking about why we still did it.

  Take mounting from the left side, for example. Back in the olden times soldiers had carried their swords on their left hip, so had mounted from the left to avoid bashing their horses with their swords. It made complete sense, but it had become a tradition that continued down the years to modern times, even though that reasoning was completely irrelevant now. And I’d also discovered an increasing number of people whose horses were successfully show jumping without shoes, which meant that it could be done – even right here in New Zealand.

  Rick set Molly’s hoof down and accepted the glass of water that Deb was handing him.

  “Cheers.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead before taking a long drink. “Much better.”

  “So’s Robin, thanks to you,” Katy told him. “He looks sound in the paddock, and the vet’s coming later this week to check him out again and decide whether he can go back into work.”

  “Good to know.” Rick handed the empty glass back to Deb, who headed back towards the house. “Almost done, then I’ll get your grey trimmed up,” he said, nodding towards me.

  Katy was giving me a pointed look, so I spoke up. “Do you think I should put shoes on my pony?”

  Rick looked at me, then shrugged. “Why the change?”

  “He’s been slipping a bit,” I said. “I don’t want him to get hurt, but…” My voice trailed off as I wondered how smart it would be to start asking a farrier if he was doing long-term damage to horses’ joints, because even if he knew he was, he would be unlikely to admit it.

  “A bit?” Katy interjected. “He fell over in the jump off last weekend,” she told Rick on my behalf. “Lost his whole back end on the turn, strained himself pretty bad. AJ’s just moved him up to metre-fifteens, but she won’t admit that he needs studs for traction at the bigger heights, so you’ll have to talk her into it.”

  Rick frowned as he moved to Robin’s back hoof and lifted it, resting it on his knee. “It’s not my job to talk you into anything,” he told me. “You’re the rider, you know what’s best for your pony.”

  “But she doesn’t,” Katy insisted, following him to Robin’s hind end. “He can’t move up to metre-twenties and Grand Prix next year if he can’t even keep his footing on the corners.”

  Rick looked up at me. “If he’s slipping a lot, studs will help,” he said. “That’s why we use them.”

  “What about the strain on their legs?” I asked tentatively, thinking again of Aidan’s knee injury after his stud had caught on the grass. He’d made a full recovery, according to the physio, but he wasn’t as fast as he’d been before, and probably never would be again. It hadn’t bothered him overly much because he wasn’t planning on a rugby career anyway, but if Squib suffered an injury like that I’d never forgive myself.

  “I won’t lie to you and say it can’t happen,” Rick admitted. “But it’s a calculated risk, just like riding tight turns on slippery ground without studs would be.”

  He set the shoe against Robin’s hind foot and looked at it from all angles, trying to judge the fit. Satisfied, he pulled out his hoof knife and started gouging semi-circular chunks out of the sides of the pony’s hoof for the quarter clips to sit in.

  “What would you recommend?” I asked him, but he just shrugged.

  “Like I said. Entirely up to you.”

  “If he was yours?” Katy pressed, wanting him to be on her side. But he wouldn’t be baited.

  “If he was mine, I’d be too bloody chicken to jump a metre-twenty in the first place,” Rick said with a smile. Robin shifted his weight uneasily, and Rick set his hoof down for a moment. “If you really don’t want shoes on him, I’m not going to tell you that he has to have them. He has good feet, your pony, nice and solid. He’ll be just fine barefoot for most things, but if he’s struggling with slippery ground then studs will help. It’s up to you to make that decision.”

  He picked up a couple of nails and held them between his lips, then clicked his tongue to Robin, who lifted his hoof obediently.

  “Just try it,” Katy said. “Give it a go, and see if you find a difference. If you don’t, then you can take the shoes off again. They’re not permanent, you know.”

  I shrugged, supposing that was true. Rick drove the nails into Robin’s sh
oe, then glanced up at me.

  “You better decide quick though, because if I’m going to be shoeing your boy today then I’ll need to drag my boy out of the ute and get him to give us a hand.”

  I blinked at him, then glanced over at his dirty grey ute. For the first time, I noticed that there was someone in there, half-sitting, half-lying across the back seat.

  “Um…I think just a trim today. Since I haven’t given you any warning,” I decided, ignoring Katy’s exasperated eye-roll.

  Rick nodded, driving the remaining nails home in Robin’s hoof and setting it down. “Okay. I appreciate that. If you do change your mind, give us a call and I’ll try and fit you in.”

  As he spoke, the back door of the ute swung open, and we all looked up as a teenage boy climbed out feet first. He was tall, close to six foot, with wavy brown hair that glinted red in the afternoon sun.

  “Aren’t you done yet, old man?” he asked. “Mum’s just called to say dinner’s on the table.”

  “I said I wouldn’t be done until six,” Rick replied, then introduced us. “Harry, this is Katy and AJ. Girls, my son Harry.”

  We nodded and smiled at each other, and I couldn’t help noticing Harry’s green eyes and broad shoulders. His eyes seemed to linger on my face for a moment, making me blush, then he returned his attention to his father. “It’s ten past six, Dad.”

  Rick clearly didn’t believe him until he glanced at his watch, then swore. “She’s not going to be happy with me.”

  “Nope.”

  “Give us a hand to finish up then,” he told his son, who groaned but shut the ute door behind him and headed in our direction. “Get your pony out for him AJ, he’ll do the basic trim and I’ll tidy it up afterwards.”

  Squib was fully engaged in a game of Bite Your Face with Lucas, but he pricked his ears at me as I stepped into his loosebox, his leadrope swinging from my hand. I was pretty sure that none of the online natural hoof care forums recommended letting your farrier’s teenage son file your horse’s hooves, no matter how good-looking he was, but I wasn’t sure I could say that to his face, so I led Squib out onto the concrete and stood nervously by his head.

  “Cute pony,” Harry said, reaching up to rub Squib between the eyes. My pony butted his head against Harry’s arm, and he chuckled. “Smart arse. Okay then, let’s see what we’ve got.”

  He ran his hand down Squib’s foreleg and lifted it easily, then brushed the loose shavings off with his other hand. “Nice hooves.”

  “It’s got fantastic feet, that pony,” his father commented as he clenched Robin’s nails.

  “Yeah, really good.” Harry picked up the hoof nippers at his feet and started clipping off the overgrown edges of Squib’s hoof.

  My pony turned his head around and nuzzled Harry’s rear end in his usual friendly way. Harry jumped, dropping Squib’s hoof to the concrete and spinning around to look at me with one eyebrow raised.

  “Did you just touch my butt?” he asked, sounding taken aback.

  “Me?” My face flushed bright red. “No! It was Squib.”

  Harry looked at Squib, who was regarding him with equal scepticism, then back to me. “Then how come he’s not the one who’s blushing?”

  “Quit flirting and get on with the job,” Rick told him from the other side of Robin. “We’re on a schedule here.”

  Harry shot me a wicked grin. “You heard him. So behave yourself, all right?”

  He turned around again and picked Squib’s foreleg up once more. This time when my pony tried to turn his head around to nuzzle him, I kept the lead rope firm and made him continue facing forwards, anxious to avoid any further embarrassment.

  I carefully observed Squib’s hoof trimmings as they fell to the concrete, hoping that Harry wouldn’t do anything stupid like take too much off and leave my pony lame. He didn’t seem to be removing very much at all, which I supposed was good, although it bothered me a little that I would be paying full price for him to do what looked like a minimum effort job. He set the nippers down and picked up the rasp, and I shifted around to the side of my pony to get a better look at what he was doing. Taking full advantage of my decreased concentration level, Squib swung his head to the left and immediately started snuffling Harry’s butt again, much to my horror.

  Harry turned his head and looked at me. “Do that again and you’ll have to buy me dinner.”

  When Rick was done with Robin, he tidied up his tools while Harry finished up with Squib. He lowered his last hoof, clapped my pony’s shoulder, and turned to his father.

  “All done.”

  “Let’s have a look.” Rick went around each hoof in turn, but other than a quick rasp on one back hoof to bring the inside heel a little lower, he didn’t make many alterations.

  “Good work,” he said approvingly. “Nice tidy job.”

  Harry grinned and turned towards me and Katy, holding up his hand for a high five. Katy slapped it willingly, making Squib jump, but when he turned towards me I avoided his gaze, staring instead down at my pony’s hooves and trying to decide whether I thought they looked a little differently-shaped in front.

  “Planning on going into the family business?” Katy asked Harry, who shook his head.

  “This is a mug’s game,” he said with a glance at his father. “I’d like to still be able to walk when I’m sixty, thanks very much.”

  “Watch it,” his father warned him. “I’m still a long way off sixty.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, we’ll keep humouring you,” Harry shot back as a dark green sedan drove into the yard, stopping in a small cloud of dust. Katy immediately stood up straighter and started fussing with her hair, and I rolled my eyes and walked Squib out to the paddock, calling over my shoulder to Anders.

  “I’ll be there in a sec!”

  I led Squib through the gate and unbuckled his halter, letting him go free. He stood with me for a moment, snuffling my pockets for treats, so I gave him a peppermint and a rub between the ears.

  “I hope that wasn’t a big mistake,” I whispered to him, looking again at his newly trimmed hooves, but Squib seemed unfazed by my concern, checking me once more for treats before wandering off in search of tasty grass, and I walked back to the yard.

  Anders was leaning against his car, one elbow resting on its roof as he chatted animatedly to Harry as though they were old friends. I walked around to the passenger door and opened it, throwing my school bag onto the floor and looked over at my brother.

  “I’m ready when you are.”

  Anders tilted his head and looked back at me, still half-listening to whatever Harry was saying to him. “Do I look ready?”

  I looked from him to Harry and back again, then nodded. “Yeah.”

  Harry winced, clutching at his chest. “Ouch.” He looked at Anders and shook his head. “Your sister’s a bit deficient in the charm department. Did you take the entire family’s allocation?”

  “Nah, not quite,” Anders replied, glancing at me with a gleam in his eye. “Lexi’s positively overflowing with personability.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Don’t even start,” I warned him. “You definitely got her share.”

  “Yeah, but I evened it out by letting her have all the brains,” Anders grinned, making me laugh.

  “Well that’s true.”

  Harry was following our conversation with interest. “Hey, I know Lexi,” he said. “She’s in my History class. She’s a strange one, eh?”

  Our heads both snapped towards him, and I could feel the tension rising under my skin. Even Anders tensed up slightly, though he did his best to hide it.

  “She can be,” my brother said, trying to keep his voice casual.

  Harry grinned. “Funny, though. She corrects the teacher constantly, but the best part is that she’s always right. She should be teaching that class,” he continued. “Knows more about it than Mr Gibson ever will, the old dinosaur. Reckon he might as well retire and let her take over full-time. We’d all learn a
helluva lot more.”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, filled with a palpable sense of relief that he hadn’t made fun of Lexi. Anders and I were allowed to do that, because she was our sister and we had to live with her day in and day out, which wasn’t always easy. But nobody outside of the family was allowed to mock or complain about her – it was an unspoken rule of siblinghood. That was something that Katy was still learning, but judging by his response, I doubted that Harry was an only child like her.

  “Got any sisters yourself?” Anders asked, reading my mind.

  “Sadly yes,” he said. “None quite as touchy-feely as yours though,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows at me suggestively and making me blush yet again.

  Anders gave both of us a suspicious look. “Not sure I want to know about that.”

  “Probably best not to, mate,” Harry said agreeably, and before I had a chance to explain, Rick interrupted.

  “Right boy, enough,” he said, pulling the door of his ute open with a creak and climbing in. “We’ve got dinner on the table, remember?”

  Harry saluted his father, clicking his heels together and making Anders chuckle as he got back into his car. I began to follow suit as Harry strolled around to the passenger door of the ute and pulled it open, then looked over his shoulder at me.

  “Hey, AJ.”

  I paused, half in and half out of Anders’ car. “What?”

  He grinned at me, his eyes squinting slightly into the evening sun. “I’ll be waiting for your call about dinner.”

  “Then you’ll be waiting a long time,” I replied, slipping into the car and slamming the door behind me.

  Anders started the engine, giving me a strange sideways look as he waited for Rick to drive out first, but he didn’t say anything until we’d reached the end of Katy’s road and turned in the opposite direction.

  “So. Scud, eh?”

  I looked at Anders blankly. “What?”

  He flicked his head in the direction that Rick had driven. “Scud. Or whatever his real name is. Harry?”