Posting

The youth hated getting up at four A.M. because mucking stalls is a disgusting business and because the old farmhouse was so cold in the mornings. But when his alarm went off on the first Saturday of June, 2025, he threw off the covers and hopped out of bed for today he would teach his best friend Vince to ride.

He turned off his alarm, slipped into his cold slippers, and tiptoed across the hall where he rapped softly on a door plastered top to bottom in hundreds of unicorn stickers. He held his ear to the door and, hearing nothing but the chime of a phone’s alarm, opened it, went in, and turned on the light. He sat on the edge of a twin bed where an adolescent girl slept under a thick, Legend-themed duvet. He gently shook her shoulder.

“No!” Jenny cried into her pillow as she pulled the duvet over her head. But the youth shook her shoulder until she eventually said, “All right! All right! I’m up!”

He waited until she sat upright and turned off her alarm, then he returned to his room where he donned his jeans and a sweater knitted by some Mennonites twenty klicks south. The sweater was thick and brown and course, and it itched wherever it touched his skin. It was also incredibly warm, never retained smells, and only had to be handwashed every few months and laid out to dry. The Mennonites sold it at a local flea market hosted in Old Dover’s barn every first and third weekend along with smoked meats and wicker furniture.

Once he was dressed, he returned to Jenny’s half-open door where he averted his eyes, rapped twice, and whispered, “Come on!”

They tiptoed down the carpeted hall and down the hardwood stairs to no avail: that house creaked any chance it got. It creaked when the sun went down and creaked again when the sun came up. When it didn’t creak, it popped like an ember.

From the darkness below the rapping of claws on hardwood joined in the chorus of creaks; Muffit, Jenny’s Doberman Pinscher, waited for them behind the expanding wooden gate. Even in pitch darkness the youth could see Muffit wagging her ass to compensate for her bobbed tail.

When they reached the bottom, the youth turned on the light as Jenny opened the gate and closed it behind them and a series of low to high squeaks emerged from a blanket-covered box sitting on a pine table in the far corner of the room. As Jenny crouched to fondle Muffit the youth walked over to the table and lifted one corner of the blanket to reveal a large cage. A fat and brown short-haired guinea pig waddled over to the youth and squeaked greetings. Or was it a demand for food? In the opposite corner, a black and white bunny was balled up in sleep with it ears tucked tight over its head and neck.

The youth opened the cage and scratched the white and hair-licked center of the guinea pig’s forehead and then reached farther in to pet the bunny. The bunny startled, sniffed his fingers, and then huddled back into its corner.

“You’re right,” said the youth as he withdrew his hand, wrinkled his nose, and closed the door. “I’ll clean your cage after we clean the barn.”

One month earlier, the cage had been home to a second guinea pig who was beige all over. Debbie, Jenny’s mother had put them all outside to munch on the lawn on a sunny spring day before she left for Costco. But then it rained, and while guinea pigs are from rain forests central Alberta’s rain in the spring might as well be snow for the cold. When Debbie returned the beige one was dead. She waited for the kids to get home to bury it together and then she took them for pizza in Spruce Grove.

“Come on,” the youth said to Jenny as he went into the kitchen. He poured two glasses of orange juice, rummaged through a box of granola bars, and nicked two links off a chain of juicy landjaegers made by the same Mennonites who had knit his sweater.

They ate at the table in silence and ignored the moth flitting around the humming fluorescent overhead as the sugars in the juice and the granola bars quickened them.

After they ate, they put on their boots and their jackets and put Muffit’s jacket on her, too. Then they followed her to the barn.

Crickets sang in the crisp morning air fertilized with the scents of moist earth and the corn from neighbouring fields as stars shimmered, even in the lightening eastern sky, and in the glare of their flashlights the lawn’s frosted grass twinkled Earth’s answer to the stars. Gravel crunched under their boots as they followed Muffit up the lane to the barn.

Jenny unlatched the doors and there was a nicker from inside. When she pulled them open and Muffit ran in and there was a whinny. Jenny switched on the lights as the youth walked straight to the third stall on the right. No sooner had he swung the top half of the Dutch door open when a horse’s massive head poked out. Its profile was chiseled like a Thoroughbred’s but it was white-balded like a Clydesdale. The youth reached out a hand and scratched the short and sparse whiskers on the horse’s chin.

“Good morning, Starshadow,” the youth said to the horse. “Wanna go outside?”

Starshadow blew on his hand and stomped an assentive hoof, so the youth took Starshadow’s halter from the tack rack and led him out to pasture. Jenny followed them with Emma, her bay Westphalian.

They took four more horses out of the barn before the stalls were empty and they could got down to the real work: today was a Saturday and on Saturdays they mucked and scraped out each stall before they laid down new lime and bedded and banked each with fresh straw. Then they filled the horses’ buckets with sweet feed and their feed nets with fresh hay. They were sweeping the floor when the sound of tires on gravel announced Vince’s arrival. Jenny leaned on her broom by the left door as the youth ran out to greet Vince and his mother. Judging by the sun, it was mid-morning.

Vince exited the car and tipped his beige cowboy hat towards the youth and then towards Jenny. “Mornin’,” he said, as he opened the back door and retrieved a gym bag. Jenny shook her head and went back to sweeping as Vince’s mom leaned over the passenger seat and shot the youth a concerned look.

“He’ll be fine,” the youth said to her. “Word of honour.”

“He better be,” she said as she shut the door. She waved and then drove back down the lane.

The youth and Vince grew up together in Edmonton and they were best friends because their mothers were best friends. They had known one another since before their first memories. Today was Vince’s third time on the ranch and today would be his first time on a horse. He was excited at the prospect because he had already ridden dirtbikes, driven a dune buggy, and his mother’s boyfriend, Paul, a pilot whom he publicly admired and secretly hated, had even let him take over the yoke of a single-engine Cessna twice.

“Next to flying, riding a horse’ll be easy,” Vince had boasted over the phone, but Jenny and the youth had conspired to put him on Grey, the laziest and most easy-going gelding they had. Grey never obeyed the commands of a rider he didn’t know and he always followed the lead horse. This made him a great trail horse and a safe ride for novices, like Vince.

Vince knew nothing about tack either and when Jenny caught him sitting on her saddle that was resting on its wooden saddle rack she threw a fistful of feed at his face.

“Get off!” she said. “That saddle cost more than my horse!”

Vince ducked and said, “So?”

“It’s probably worth more than your mom’s car!”

When Vince didn’t dismount Jenny pushed him again and again and again as she repeated, “Get off! Get off! Get Off!”

Vince got off the saddle and he looked to the youth for support.

The youth said, “You can break a saddle’s back if you sit on it anywhere but on a horse.”

“Oh,” said Vince to the youth. To Jenny, who stared at him menacingly, he said, “How was I s’posed to know?”

“Idiot . . .”

Vince brushed the oats off his hat and when he felt the sticky residue, he took it off and examined it. He said, “What’s this brown stuff?”

“Molasses,” Jenny said with a hint of satisfaction. Then she turned on her heel and went back to sweeping.

“Oh, no . . . ” Vince said, when he discovered brown skids on the felt.

“That a Stetson?” offered the youth.

“Paul bought it for me when he heard I was going riding.”

“It’s nice,” said the youth.

“It’s ruined!” said Vince.

“It’s stupid,” called Jenny from the stall. “We do real riding here. English riding. Dressage. Jumping. We wear helmets so we don’t end up braindead hicks.”

Vince staired at his hat.

“It’ll come out,” said the youth.

“Maybe Paul will pay for steam-cleaning,” Jenny offered.

“Never mind her,” said the youth. “I’ma sweep up and then I’ll take you to meet Star and Grey. Grey’s the one you’re riding. He’s great.”

“Stay away from Emma though,” Jenny said. “She bites.”

“No, she doesn’t,” said the youth under his breath but just loud enough for Vince to hear.

After they swept, Jenny and the youth took Vince to the field gate where they called the horses by name. Starshadow was the first to lift his head, followed by Emma, and they both walked toward the trio. Grey’s body language suggested he’d rather graze, but he eventually followed Starshadow and Emma.

“That one’s Starshadow, isn’t it?” Vince said. “He’s big!”

“Seventeen-and-a-half hands,” the youth said with pride.

“A hand taller than Emma,” Jenny said.

“He’s a Clydesdale Thoroughbred cross,” the youth continued. “He gets his white nose and feet from the Clydesdale side but the thoroughbred side stole his feathers.”

“He practically walks over the jumps,” said Jenny. “It’s cheating, really.”

“Whatever,” said the youth.

“Feathers?” Vince asked as he walked closer to the gate post. He stepped onto a runner and was about to grab the top of the fence when the youth grabbed his arm.

“Don’t touch that.”

Jenny elbowed the youth in the ribs and said, under her breath, “Stupid.”

“Don’t what?” said Vince.

“Wanna see something cool?” said Jenny.

“Sure. I guess.”

“Do this,” said Jenny as she stepped onto the middle runner and grasped the top runner from underneath. After the youth shrugged his shoulders and did the same Vince followed suit and they were all on the fence.

“See that?” she said as she nodded at an orange wire, secured with staples, that wound its way around the sun-bleached wood all the way down the fence. “I dare you to touch it.”

“Why?”

“It’s electrified,” said the youth.

“That could kill me!”

“It won’t kill you.”

“We’re not taking you out if you don’t,” said Jenny.

“No touchy, no ridey,” said the youth.

“Jeez!” said Vince. “If these are for horses, it might kill me!”

Jenny turned her head to the youth, and said, “He thinks we’re trying to kill him.”

“You won’t die,” said the youth.

Vince removed a hand from the fence and held it a few centimetres above the wire. He slowly lowered it as if its charge could be felt in the surrounding air.

“Do it!” said Jenny.

Vince slapped the wire and immediately pulled his hand back up.

“There! I did it,” he said. “I didn’t feel nothin’.”

“That’s because you didn’t touch it for long enough,” said the youth.

“Nope,” he said. “I touched it. I win. Hurray for me.”

“No,” said Jenny. “You have to really touch it. Like this . . . ”

Jenny laid her palm on the wire and then so did the youth. They smiled at Vince, but their smiles were contrived, and from their shaking he could tell it was a struggle to keep their hands on the fence.

“Scaredy-cat,” said Jenny.

Vince looked from the wire to the approaching horses to his best friend. Then he slammed his hand down upon the wood and instantly felt a low and deep shock bite into his hand and then recede. As it bit again and receded again he imagined the pain was accompanied by a hum as though his hand could hear each wave as it passed, like when he had tasted the power of nine-volt battery terminals on his tongue. Vum, vum, vum, vum.

As Vince’s instinct to raise his hand increased the harder he pushed his hand onto the wire. He smiled at his friends even as his arm shook, and he said, “Vum, vum, vum, vum.”

“Well, that’s enough for me,” said the youth, who jumped down from the fence. He flexed his hand.

“What’s the longest you guys have held on?” Vince said, still pushing down on the wire.

“I’m up to twenty-seven pulses,” said the youth. “Jenny did forty-three.”

“I bet I can do sixty,” said Vince as he hopped down.

“Betcha can’t,” said Jenny who was the last to let go.

“Betcha can,” said Vince.

“Whatever you do,” said the youth, “don’t ever do it alone. And don’t do it with a wire that’s not flat against a fence. Matt Buckley did it with a free wire and his hand clenched up so bad he couldn’t get it unclenched.”

“His dad beat him so hard that time,” Jenny said.

By this time the horses had approached and Vince said, “Man, that’s a big horse.”

“Starshadow? He’s only dangerous to people who are afraid of him,” Jenny said, as she swung the gate open.

“She’s lying,” said the youth, as Jenny swung the gate closed behind them. “Star’s got nothing to prove. The biggest horses never do. Ain’t that right, Star?”

Starshadow walked up to the youth and the youth offered Star the top of his hand to sniff. When Jenny wrapped her arms around Emma’s neck and kissed her cheek the youth flashed her a disapproving look as he said to Vince, “Always do this when you meet a horse. Palm down, almost like a fist. This way, if the horse is a dick, you won’t lose any fingers.

“Starshadow, meet Vince.”

Vince offered Starshadow his hand and Starshadow snorted out of his nose. Vince backed away.

“That’s called a ‘blow’,” the youth said. “It means ‘Hello’.”

“Oh,” said Vince.

The youth pointed at Grey, who grazed behind Starshadow. He was smaller than Starshadow, or even Emma, and he had one ear back and one ear forward. The horse’s head rose when the boys approached.

The youth said, “And this here’s Grey. Same thing, hand out . . .”

“Hey Vince, wanna see something funny?” Jenny said.

“Sure,” Vince said as Grey sniffed his hand.

“Do the fight thing!” she said to the youth, who beamed.

The youth walked a dozen feet away from the group and then faced Starshadow who was busy sniffing the gum in Vince’s pocket. The youth growled.

Starshadow’s head popped up with both ears forward, and he snorted.

The youth crouched like a bear and growled again.

Starshadow splayed his legs and snorted again.

Then the youth sprinted towards Starshadow who trotted away, but the horse turned suddenly, splayed his legs again, and cantered after the youth. When Starshadow was almost upon the youth he swerved and whinnied and tossed his main and became the prey again.

“Roll in the dirt!” Jenny cried, laughing.

The youth stopped and fell onto the ground, laid upon his back and, with his hands and feet in the air, wriggled back and forth into the ground.

Starshadow trotted over and knelt next to him. Then he plopped over onto his back and wriggled back and forth like the youth. Soon horse and boy were obscured by dust and all that could be seen of them were flailing hands and feet and hooves.

Jenny and Vince were nearly out of breath from laughing when they heard the field door clang open. They turned to find Jenny’s mother standing with hands on hips in front of the gate. She shook her head but wore a thinly-disguised smile.

“I’m starting brunch,” she called with an Irish accent. “You must be Vince.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he called back.

“Dust yourselves off before you come in. Vince, wash your hands. You two need showers.”

After brunch, Jenny and the youth emerged from the house in beige breeches. Stainless spurs were wrapped around the ankles of their tall black riding boots and upon their heads they wore show helmets covered in black velvet. Vince followed them to the pasture in his molasses-stained Stetson and white runners and he carried a bag of apples for the horses. After they led Starshadow, Emma, and Grey from the pasture into the barn Vince fed each horse an apple as Jenny and the youth picked their hooves.

“Emma, you’re gonna need to be re-shod soon,” Jenny said as she picked Emma’s hooves. Later, as Jenny brushed Emma down, she tsked as she grabbed a fistful of mane and pulled out a handful of hairs. She said, “We need a girl’s night. Away from the boys. Just you and me.”

Vince volunteered to brush Grey down, but as he approached his rump the youth said, “Never stand behind a horse and never approach from behind. Always come in from the left side. Make sure he can see you. Always the left, like this . . . One kick can shatter your leg or your ribs.”

“Or your skull,” offered Jenny.

“And always let them know where you are,” continued the youth, “by sliding your hand along their side, or down their leg. Like this . . . ”

Once the horses’ were brushed down the youth threw the saddle blanket over Grey’s back, pulled it up his withers, and smoothed it down. Then Jenny laid Grey’s saddle upon the blanket as the youth removed Grey’s halter, put the reigns over his head, and guided the bit into his mouth with his thumb.

Jenny reached under Grey’s belly, grabbed the girth, pulled it across, and attached it to the left billets. When it was cinched up she stood back for a moment before she tried to tighten it again. But the teeth would not meet the girth’s well-worn holes. When Jenny found she could cinch it no further she kneed Grey in the stomach. When she heard him exhale, she cinched again and the teeth met the usual holes.

“That was so mean!” Vince said.

“Please.”

“Why did you kick Grey?”

“I didn’t kick him,” she said. “I kneed him. He was holding his breath to keep the saddle loose. It’s more comfortable for him.”

“So?”

“A loose saddle can slip sideways, taking you with it,” said the youth.

“That could kill a rider,” said Jenny. “Especially one who wears a stupid cowboy hat instead of a proper helmet.”

Once Grey was saddled and bridled, Jenny tacked up Emma as the youth tacked up Starshadow. Then the boys led their horses outside as Jenny trotted by on Emma.

“Jenny!” the youth said. “Are you effing kidding me?”

“It’s fine . . .” she said as she ducked under a wooden beam and rode out into the sunshine.

“What’s wrong?” said Vance.

“You never mount or dismount a horse in a barn,” the youth called out.

“Why not?”

“If Emma rears, Jenny’s head might hit a beam and break her neck.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t believe she did that.”

“I can,” said Vince as they exited the barn. “Can I get on Grey now?”

“Yeah,” said the youth. “Remember, everything happens from the left. Left foot in the stirrup . . . Here, like this. Now grab the saddle with both hands—here, and here. Then up! And swing your right leg over . . . Good.”

As Jenny and Emma trotted crazy eights on the drive the youth pulled Vince’s foot back a few centimetres in the stirrup: “The ball of your foot should be here, on the stirrup,” he said.

After he helped Vince’s foot into the other stirrup, the youth swung up into Starshadow’s saddle and showed Vince how to hold the reins.

“Hold them with both hands – under your top two fingers but over the bottom two – good. But tighter, like this.

“Pull the left rein to go left, pull the right rein to go right, and pull them both back to stop. Kick both sides at the same time to get moving.

“Let’s go!” cried Jenny.

Vince kicked both sides as instructed but Grey did not move. He shot a questioning look at the youth.

“Grey is a trail horse,” the youth said. “He follows the leader. Whatever the lead horse does, Grey does.”

“Like driving a train. Boring . . .” Vince said.

“Exactly. I’ll show you more as we go. You ready?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Vince.

“Alright,” the youth said and with a cluck out of the side of his cheek and a barely perceptible kick Starshadow began to walk. Grey plodded behind them.

“When do we run?” said Vince.

“Ha, ha!” said Jenny. “He wants to run . . .” Jenny turned Emma to face the highway, stood slightly above the saddle and crouched over Emma’s withers.

“Don’t you dare,” said the youth. “Your mom’s still home! She’ll ground us again.”

“Fine,” Jenny said.

Jenny sat back down, straightened her back, and then she and Emma led them to the open gate that led to the highway. Above the gate was a white and rusted sign where the words SABERHAGEN STABLES were cut-welded in uncial calligraphy. She halted on the other side of the gate where Highway 22 ran north-south and looked south.

“Let’s go to Saxon’s,” she said. “Lots of field for Vince and Grey to run.”

“You just wanna stare at Christian,” the youth said.

“No, I don’t!”

“Who’s Christian?” singsonged Vince.

“Some dude,” said the youth. He motioned north: “Let’s do the Popovich’s trail. They’ve got lots of trees and hills. And we can water the horses at the stream.”

“I like that,” said Vince. “Can we do that?”

“Fine,” Jenny said and with a barely perceptible tap of her left heel on Emma’s flank girl and horse turned north onto the highway’s grassy shoulder.

Starshadow and the youth followed Emma and Grey and Vince followed Starshadow and the youth. One of Grey’s ears turned back when with a hushed tone Vince asked the youth, “Why were you guys grounded?”

One of Starshadow’s ears turned back when the youth responded, “On our way back to the farm we cut through Joe’s fields—they open onto ours—and Emma was prancing; she really wanted to run. Jenny opened her up. Then I Star wanted to run, and so did I.

“So, we’re galloping home and Joe sees us from his truck. And he’s okay with us galloping through his fields, but he saw us gallop to Saberhagen. Right up to the stable. And then he called Jenny’s mom.”

“He told on you?” said Vince.

“ ‘Horses are creatures of habit,’ ” Jenny called over her shoulder, imitating her mother’s Irish accent. “Blah blah blah.”

“Horses are like big kids that can’t wait to get home from school,” the youth said. “There’s food in the barn; their friends are there . . .”

“So what?” Vince shouted over the roar of a passing semi.

“If they gallop home a few times they may decide to gallop home every time – ignoring their riders.”

“They have minds of their own,” Jenny said as she patted Emma on the neck. “You’re no dirtbike. Are you, Emma?”

“But you just stopped Jenny from galloping Emma away from the barn,” said Vince.

“Same idea, I guess,” said the youth. “Horses are like massive kids that’ll run out of the house to go play – if you let them.”

“I think I get it,” Vince said.

“They can also get colicky if they’re not cooled down after a run. Which is why we walk . . .”

“Can we trot now?” said Jenny. Without waiting for an answer, she clucked twice and Emma began trotting. Jenny’s straight figure rose and sat gracefully in the saddle with every bounce of Emma’s gait and her ponytail bobbed in time.

The youth clucked and Starshadow began to trot. He said to Vince, “This is called ‘posting’,” as he rose and sat and rose and sat above the saddle like Jenny. And then he looked back to find Grey trotting and Vince bouncing in the saddle.

“Your goodies are gonna get squished if you don’t post. Do it like this . . .”

“I’m fine,” Vince said.

“Fritz says, ‘Cowboys don’t have tiny sacks because they get Scrotox™,’ ” Jenny called back, this time in an Austrian accent. “ ‘They have them because they don’t post.’ ”

“Who’s Fritz?” Vince asked.

“Our dressage instructor.”

“Is she serious?” Vince said, but twenty minutes later, when they trotted through the gate of Popovich Estates, Vince was almost posting.

“The Popovich’s have one of the best trails,” the youth said to Vince as two German Shepherds ran barking to the gate to greet them. The dogs zigzagged around the horses and under their legs and then escorted them down the gravel lane.

To their left a small herd of cattle fed on the wild grasses of a wide and unkempt field hedged with poplars that ended in two rust-coloured barns trimmed in white. On their right was a long and recently-mowed lawn arrayed with three picnic tables shaded by birch trees and lodgepole pines decorated with an array of candy-coloured patio lanterns. Behind the lawn and the trees, a long and single-storied wood house with a black-shingled roof came into view. The house was fringed by a garden of flowers that a pudgy woman wearing an Oilers baseball cap and a yellow apron was working in. She waved a small trowel as they passed.

“Hi, Mrs. Popovich!” called Jenny and the youth in unison.

Vince waved with a rein.

“Hi, Jenny!” called Mrs. Popovich. “Who’s this?”

“Vince,” Jenny said. “He’s from Edmonton.”

“People are gonna think he’s from Calgary with that hat.”

Vince’s face reddened a shade.

“Tell your mom Tom’s smoking more brisket next Friday!” she said to Jenny.

“I will!” Jenny called back as they followed the lane around the house where the gravel ended, the trees thickened, and the wide farm lane narrowed into a forest trail.

The youth pulled back slightly on the reigns and Starshadow fell in beside Grey. “I’ll take the rear,” he said to Vince. “That way, you can watch Jenny while I tell you what to do.”

“What makes you think I wanna watch her?”

“To post, dummy.”

“But I thought I had it!” Vince said as Starshadow and the youth fell back.

“ ‘Do better’,” Jenny said, imitating Fritz again as Emma fell into a trot.

Grey trotted after Emma without a kick from Vince but Starshadow, who was still walking, flicked an ear back. The youth tapped Starshadow’s flanks and then they were trotting, too.

“Up down, up down,” said the youth. “You’ve almost got it.”

Jenny called behind her, “Maybe you should get your mom to get Paul to buy you some riding lessons with Fritz,” said Jenny.

Vince fell out of rhythm.

“Jenny!” The youth said, “What is up with you today?”

“Nothin’,” said Jenny. When the trail bent right, she slowed Emma to a walk. “We’re coming up to the hill.”

At a clearing in the trees the trio began their descent out of the green piney hills into a shallow valley. A swift-flowing stream cut its way into the northwest through patches of long golden grasses that gleamed in the high noon sun. The trail wasn’t steep, but while no intermediate rider would call any part of this trail difficult the youth told Vince to lean back.

“What?”

“Grey isn’t a BMX,” said Jenny.

“I know that,” said Vince.

“Think of yourself as Grey’s backpack,” the youth said. “A backpack that can redistribute its weight to make it easier on the horse.”

When Vince leaned too far back in the saddle the youth said, “Too far. Just try to keep your back straight with the sky and the ground . . . Better.”

As they neared the bottom Jenny kicked Emma into a canter and Grey and Vince immediately cantered after them. Vince tried to post even though Grey’s increased gait made posting impossible. The youth broke out in laughter behind him.

When Jenny looked over her shoulder and laughed Vince’s face turned redder than it had been at the Popovitches.

“Whaddo I do?” Vince said.

“Just sit down and fall into the rhythm,” said Jenny.

The youth, still laughing, said, “A canter isn’t as hard on our goodies as a trot.”

Vince lowered his bottom into the saddle and surrendered himself to the canter’s smoother undulations.

When they reached the valley floor, they turned south into grasses that came up to their knees. Grasshoppers jumped left and right in their wake as Jenny pointed high into the western sky where a golden eagle soared on a warm updraft.

Then Vince laughed and said, “This is incredible!”

The youth smiled and said, “Beats the heck outta Capilano, eh?” To Jenny he said, “I thought we were going north.”

“Let’s take him south. Then we can swing east and cut through Saxon’s.”

“Christian?” said the youth, but Jenny didn’t respond..

“Christian and Jenny sittin’ in a tree . . . ” sang Vince.

“Watch your mouth,” said Jenny.

“Oh yeah?” said Vince. “Whadderya gonna do?”

“It’s hot,” said the youth. “Star’s sweating. Let’s water the horses.”

Jenny and Emma veered west towards the stream.

They slowed to a walk and as they approached the water the dry grasses thinned and were soon replaced by moist dirt and pebbles. They dismounted and led the horses around the larger pebbles to the water’s edge. There the horses drank with their bits still in their mouths.

Jenny reached into Emma’s saddle bag and pulled out a small package of tissues, which she put in her back pocket, and a large Thermos, which she handed to the youth. “I have to pee,” she said as she walked north into a patch of taller grasses. “Don’t look.”

Vince and the youth faced south. Once Jenny was out of earshot the youth said, “You like her, eh?”

“No way,” Vince said.

“You tease her. Reminds me of when I used to throw rocks at Sarah on the playground.”

“Hah! You got detention!”

“If it didn’t work in elementary it sure as heck won’t work now.”

“Jenny’s hot, but she’s not my style.”

“Sure, she isn’t . . .” said the youth. “Don’t goad her.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious. You have no clue what she’s capable of.”

“She shit-talks me, I shit-talk her.”

“Have it your way.”

When Jenny returned, she took hold of Emma’s reins and led her away from the stream. “That’s enough water, girl,” she said.

As Jenny mounted Emma, the youth put the Thermos back in her saddlebag. As Vince mounted Grey, the youth buckled Jenny’s saddlebag closed. As the youth led Starshadow away from the stream when Jenny said, “What were you guys whispering about back there?”

The youth said, “Whether McDavid’s gonna take us all the way through the playoffs.”

“Not true,” Vince said as loop a rein and stuck two fingers through it. “We were wondering if Christian fingerblasted you behind the barn.”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed as the youth’s face fell. He blurted out, “We weren’t!”

“I know you weren’t,” said Jenny.

The youth looked from Jenny to Vince. Vince grinned at her challengingly.

“He’s joking, Jenny.”

“Ha. Ha,” she said.

The way she gazed at Vince reminded the youth of the eagle they saw earlier.

“Wanna see something really funny?” she said as she stood up in her stirrups.

“Oh, no . . . ” said the youth.

Jenny wheeled Emma around to the south and kicked her heels into Emma’s sides. Emma burst into a gallop and grasshoppers erupted from the grasses.

With a joyful neigh Grey bolted after them carrying Vince with him.

For the first time in his life Vince felt the unrestrained and uncontrollable power of a runaway trail horse. He pulled and pulled on the reins to no avail for Grey’s mouth was callused after a lifetime of the yanks and jerks of uninitiated trail riders. When he realized there was no stopping Grey, he dropped the reins and grabbed both sides of the saddle’s English horn. When he began sliding to the left and was about to fall he let go of the horn and hugged Grey’s neck.

“Jenny!” Vince screamed, as the dry June air whipped the tears from his face, “Stop this fucking horse!”

The youth put his left foot in the stirrup and Starshadow began to run. He landed on Starshadow’s back, just behind the saddle. Whether to help the youth into the saddle, or due to the pain of landing on his kidneys, Starshadow bucked and suddenly the youth was in the air.

The youth landed on his back in a soft patch of earth and grass. Though winded, he managed to whisper, “Starshadow, stop!”

Now, Starshadow’s ears had turned back the moment he felt the youth’s weight gone from his back, so he heard him. And he halted so suddenly that his hooves sent clumps of dirt flying. Then he stood motionless, with one ear focused on Emma and Grey’s gallop and the other ear back, waiting for the youth to rise.

Starshadow nickered an Are-you-all-right? at the youth leaned on his elbows and forced himself to breathe. The horse knew the youth loved him as much as he loved the youth but he suspected he would still be punished for throwing his rider. And so he stood motionless and waited for the youth to catch his breath.

The youth stood slowly and then approached Starshadow from the left. What a good horse! he thought. He stayed! Even when he really wants to run! But the youth knew that after a throw a horse must be walked all the way home. No gallop. No canter. Not even a trot. Starshadow must never buck anyone again. As he patted Starshadow on the neck Starshadow laid his head upon the youth’s shoulder and nickered again.

“No worries, Star,” said the youth, still catching his breath. “All’s forgiven. You stayed. Good horse. Best horse!”

As the youth walked Starshadow back to the barn he hoped he and Jenny would not be grounded again. He also wondered how far she had gone with Christian.