Sundancer

WHEN HANNAH AND BIRD arrived at the grounds with Sunny in the horse trailer, the parking lot was almost full. There was always a huge crowd at the Haverford Fair, and this year was no exception. The competition would be stiff, Bird knew. She clutched her stomach to squelch her nerves.

“Nothing to fear but fear itself, Bird. Franklin Roosevelt,” Hannah said.

Bird grimaced. Eat my shorts, Hannah. Bart Simpson.

She tried to take comfort in the cloudless blue sky and the light breeze. The day could not have been more perfectly suited to a horse show; warm enough that the horses were mellow, cool enough that they had energy. The grass was still green but had started to brown in patches. A sure sign that fall was coming.

Together, Bird and Hannah unloaded Sunny and tacked him up. The plan was for Bird to warm him up in the exercise ring, then walk around the fair for a while to acclimatize him. Hannah would sign them up and get Sunny’s show number.

“Take it easy, Bird,” instructed Hannah, as she gave her niece a leg up. “It’s important that you stay relaxed. Sunny feels every emotion you have.”

No kidding.

As they walked to the big warm-up ring, they passed rows of temporary stalls made of sturdy steel rods covered in white canvas. The ring was full of horses and riders in various stages of exercise. Some were trotting; some were cantering; and some were jumping, with help from their coaches, over obstacles set up in the centre of the ring. It was busy and somewhat overwhelming, especially when small ponies darted past, seemingly out of thin air. Bird felt Sunny tense up.

Problem, Sunny?

Fancy Pants. Over by the biggest tree.

Bird looked. There was Leon, astride a handsome silver stallion. The horse was jumping around nervously. Leon held him tight and cursed at him. The horse was frantic and refused to comply. He was lathering up.

Let’s pay them a visit, Bird girl.

Are you crazy?

Probably.

They trotted over to the big tree. Sunny got as close to the stallion as he could. I call your person Fancy Pants. What do you call him?

The silver stallion snorted. I like that. Fancy Pants. It suits. What do you call your person?

Bird girl.

Why?

Because that’s my name. Bird looked at the stallion.

She can talk!

I know.

I didn’t know humans could do that!

They mostly can’t.

You’re lucky.

I know.

Leon felt his horse calm down. The silver horse stopped dancing around and throwing his head.

“Finally!” breathed Leon. He looked up and noticed Bird on Sundancer. “So, you’re here, are you? If you think you’re going to win on that lunatic, you got another thing coming. Hurricane and I have it wrapped up.”

Bird shrugged.

Leon glared at her with a look of pure anger in his eyes. Then, he mimicked her shrug. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why don’t you talk?”

Bird shrugged again, this time with an added smile. It would annoy him, she was sure.

Leon narrowed his eyes. “You creep me out. And your horse is dead meat.” He laughed suddenly, as if he’d just told a joke. “Literally! He’s already buried! Dead meat!”

Bird peered hard at Leon. What did he mean by that?

“You don’t understand? Read my lips, dummy.” He cackled now, an ugly sound that carried over the usual horse show noises. “Prince Redwood. Is. Dead.”

Bird’s eyes widened.

“I shouldna told you. But who cares? It’s not like you’ll tell anybody anyway.” Leon laughed hard. “You can’t talk!”

He’s on the white powder again. The silver horse shook his mane sadly. It makes him unpleasant.

Too bad. Sunny sympathized. I had a rider once like that. Drugs.

Nothing worse. You never know what they’ll do. They get mad fast.

I’m sorry, Hurricane. See you later.

Call me Silver. Everybody does.

Sure. Call me Sunny.

Bye Sunny. Bye Bird girl.

Bird responded: Bye Silver.

Sunny and Bird warmed up for half an hour. They did some trotting, some cantering, some circles and lead changes, then hopped over the jumps a few times after Hannah came in to supervise. Bird knew that Sunny felt good. He took everything as it came, and remained settled and calm.

More and more big-time riders came in to warm up. A kid about her age trotted by on a large brown and white spotted pony. What’s wrong with this picture? thought Bird. I’m competing against these pros? I should be back in the pony ring. Her stomach began to ache.

She heard applause. Leon and Hurricane were impressing the crowd by taking bigger and bigger jumps. Bird admired the way the stallion moved. Perhaps he would be their main competition.

Don’t worry Bird girl. He’s got Leon and I’ve got you.

Leon’s one of Canada’s top riders!

So? I’m Canada’s top horse.

Bird smiled and patted his neck. He’d need that confidence today.

They walked around the fair and enjoyed the hubbub. Little ponies and their kid riders, families out for the day, stressed riders and their nagging mothers. People were bathing horses, mucking tent stalls, carrying water, feeding carrots, throwing hay. Golf carts and motor scooters buzzed around as riders signed up for classes or hurried to the far ring. Everyone was energized, intent on their next class, hopeful that this time, the first-place ribbon would be theirs.

The Grand Classic Event was due to start in twenty minutes. Bird and Sunny came back to the trailer for last-minute preparations.

This class was open to all comers. There would be twelve jumps — maximum four feet three inches high and six feet wide, with a twelve-foot water jump. There would be a time limit. The purse was thirty thousand dollars, with the winning rider taking all. It was no wonder that so many of the professionals came out.

Today, however, there was an unusual twist to the rules. In the final stage of the judging, the top four contestants would switch and ride a different horse over the course. It was called the Switcheroo. They would draw numbers to decide which of the other three winning horses they’d ride, and their ability to take a horse over a difficult course without having ridden it before would be the deciding factor. The Grand Classic Event was billed as the highlight of the Fair for very good reason. Anything could happen.

Hannah tied Bird’s number around Bird’s waist and adjusted the collar of her jacket. “You’ll be just fine. Just go out there and pretend you’re practising at home. Remember to breathe. And count your strides out loud. It will help Sunny relax when he hears your voice.”

Bird poked her aunt in the arm and grinned.

“Right. Sorry. I’m babbling out the stuff I tell all the kids. I guess I’m a little nervous.”

That makes two of us, thought Bird.

Three. Sundancer piped in. I want to win for you.

Bird patted Sunny’s neck and kissed Hannah on the cheek.

“I’ll be up in the stands with your fan club, Bird,” said Hannah smiling. “Everyone’s here — your mom, Julia, Stuart, Abby, and the Piersons. Paul’s the vet on duty, but if there are no emergencies, he’ll sit with us. Your grandfather’ll be watching, too, but he’s with Lavinia and she still won’t talk to me. You’ll be fabulous.” She paused for a moment, laughing at herself. “I’m babbling again. I won’t say another word.”

Bird walked with Sunny over to the big ring, then she sat down, quietly waiting her turn. She’d drawn the tenth ride out of thirty contestants. Other riders were in the warm-up ring, popping their horses over four-foot jumps or practising leg yields to get their full attention.

She looked up into the stands, and tried to see where her family and friends were sitting. Amid the packed crowd, a pure-white object caught her eye. It was Kimberly, with her arm and shoulder in a shiny new white cast. Bird smiled to herself. Kimberly was sitting beside Julia and the whole group, halfway up the bleachers. It was a comforting sight.

Hold on. Who was that sitting on the other side of Kimberly? Bird suddenly felt a shiver of nerves. Alec Daniels. She took a deep breath. She must not let anything distract her, especially not a boy who probably thought she was an idiot.

The first horse was called. “Number 238, Razor’s Edge, owned by Tamblyn Farms, ridden by Hal Childs.”

Bird watched the jet-black gelding trot confidently through the entrance and canter past the starting gate. He was lovely to watch. He loped along, covering ground easily and soaring over the jumps without a care in the world.

He’s too slow. They’ll start making up time now.

Think so? His stride is long. It might be deceiving.

It doesn’t deceive me. He’s slow.

Just then, as Sunny predicted, the rider sped the black horse up. Razor’s Edge didn’t like the faster speed — it was harder for him to get his strides right. He plowed right into the water, cleared the first jump of the triple combination, then crashed through the second and third. Bird felt sorry for him; he’d been doing so well.

Don’t cry too hard, Bird girl. Better for us.

The second and third riders had eight faults each. The fourth had twelve. The fifth had eight with two time faults, making ten.

Everyone has trouble with the water, Sunny. Why?

It’s not paced out right. Don’t worry. I’ve figured out what to do.

The sixth rider was Leon. “Number 276, Hurricane, owned by Owens Enterprises, ridden by Leon Parish.”

Leon and Hurricane passed them on the way into the ring.

Don’t let him scare you, Silver, cautioned Sunny.

Thanks, Sunny. I’ve been here before. You have a good round, yourself.

Sunny and Bird watched with full attention as Leon expertly guided Hurricane over every hurdle. They sailed over the dreaded water hazard and easily cleared the triple. He was a talented animal. Their time was under the limit, and the crowd was on its feet.

The announcer boomed, “We have a new leader folks. Leon Parish and Hurricane will be hard to beat.”

I told you, Bird girl. Fancy Pants is a good rider.

Hurricane is no slouch, either.

Is that a challenge? Bird felt her mount tense.

Never. We all know you’re the top horse.

Right answer.

The next three riders crashed into poles and generally made a mess of the course. Bird speculated that Leon’s ride had demoralized them. Now it was their turn.

“Number 297, Sundancer. Owned by Owens Enterprises, ridden by Alberta Simms.”

Bird knew that her little fan club would be stamping and applauding. She thought of Alec Daniels and felt a tightening in her chest. What if she screwed up? What if she looked like an idiot again, like every other time he’d seen her? She pushed the thought away.

No one else in the stands would have heard her name before. They were all probably wondering how she had the nerve to compete with this quality of rider. Bird swallowed hard. She wondered the same thing.

They’ll know your name after today, Bird girl.

In a good way, I hope.

Sunny shook his whole body so violently that Bird had trouble staying on. Then he stretched his back, almost collapsing in front then sinking in rear.

What’s going on, Sunny? It’s our turn!

Cool it, Bird girl. I’m doing my stretches.

Now?

I’m limbering up. Okay, I’m ready.

You’re making me crazy!

Relax, Bird girl. Let me do this, and just go along for the ride.

As they entered the enormous grass ring, Bird knew that all eyes were on her magnificent mount. Sunny’s muscled body with its glistening chestnut coat shone in the sunlight as he saucily threw his legs forward in a bouncy, rounded canter and played. He arched his neck down to his knees and lifted his hind end high with each stride.

Sundancer reared up, then sped through the starting gate.

Sunny, slow down.

It’s just a crowd-pleaser. Don’t worry so much.

With that, he gave a buck. There was a collective cheer from the crowd. See, Bird girl? They love me.

With his theatrics out of the way, Sunny got down to business. The first jump was a four-foot white vertical with an ominous plastic owl sitting on the left standard.

Oooo, scary. Sunny lifted over it and landed softly. After two strides they made a sharp right turn and headed toward a multicoloured in-and-out with two strides between jumps. Bird made sure she kept light in the saddle with little contact on his mouth.

Very good, Bird girl. That’s the way I like you to ride.

I’m trying, Sunny.

As they landed each jump, she pushed her hands up his mane to allow him to stretch out his neck. Everything was going smoothly.

The fourth hurdle was coming up, and Bird could feel Sundancer’s confidence growing with every stride. It was a huge brown oxer with no ground lines to help judge distance. The wings of the standards were festooned with pots of pink geraniums.

Then, just as Sunny was preparing to jump, the unthinkable happened: a small brown-and-white dog scooted onto the course, and directly into their path. To avoid the animal, Sundancer stepped sideways, forcing an awkward takeoff. He sprang with all his might to clear the top rail. He didn’t touch a single geranium leaf, but his landing was bad. He tripped and stumbled.

Bird was thrown forward as Sunny fell to his knees. With great effort, the powerful animal pushed up and tossed Bird back into the saddle. He cantered on with minimal time lost.

Well done, Sunny, but I can’t see and I’ve lost a stirrup.

Stupid dog.

With the back of her hand Bird pushed her riding cap off her nose as her left foot found the stirrup. The optical illusion jump was three strides away. Again the dog came running. It nipped at Sunny’s heels then attached himself to Sunny’s tail with his teeth.

You’re asking for it, stupid.

The announcer called, “Would the owner of this Jack Russell Terrier get him out of the ring? Pronto.”

Sunny couldn’t wait. He flicked at the dog with a rear hoof and never missed a beat. The Jack Russell rolled away like a rugby ball, then scrambled to his feet. He yapped and snarled and charged at Sunny again as they turned into the line of difficult jumps.

Bird glanced down at the angry terrier. Go away! Go!

It’s my job!

I’ll give you a bone if you stop.

Promise?

Yes. Find me after.

The little dog turned and ran out of the ring. Bird would have to get her hands on a bone somehow, but she couldn’t worry about that now.

The line of four jumps curved diagonally across the ring, from one corner to the other. They were all different, and spaced differently as well. The first was made of wooden blocks painted like a red brick wall. There were three strides to a curved white plank fence, then five strides to large bicycle tires lined up between two steel standards. The last jump was four strides after that, and the oddest of the line. It appeared as if three black-and-white cows were looking at them, face forward.

One at a time, Sunny.

How else do you expect me to do this? Look over them, Bird girl, not at them.

Sunny didn’t glance at any of them. He took one after the other without a care in the world. Now, there was the water jump followed by the triple combination, and the course would be complete.

Leave this to me, Bird girl. I’ve figured it out. Just sit tight, heels down. Give me lots of rein, and, again, look over the jumps.

Sunny gathered himself on his haunches and sprang over the water. The triple combination loomed up in front of them. Sunny’s ears went up and he lifted off. They landed the first. Two strides to the second. Take off. And over.

The dog was back. Right on the landing spot.

Sunny was surprised. He avoided the dog but crashed through the last jump of the triple combination.

No bone for you!

I don’t care. The brown-and-white spotted dog disappeared into the crowd.

Bird and Sunny walked out of the ring. His head drooped.

It wasn’t your fault, Sunny. You know that.

I should have landed on him and killed him.

You did the right thing. We’re still in second place.

Yes. For now. There are twenty more horses in this class, and they smell blood.

The announcer’s voice rang over the sound system. “The judge has been asked to review the last round. Interference has been called, due to an unrestrained animal on the course.” There was a murmur in the stands as everyone discussed this unexpected turn of events. “We will continue with the show, and announce the judge’s decision in due time.”

Bird was pleased. Someone had objected.

“Number 316, Genesee Valley. Owned by Prescott Stud, ridden by Holly Fergus.”

The young bay gelding spooked at the plastic owl on the first fence and had a difficult time regaining his confidence. By the time he faced the row of cows, he was finished. He spun on his haunches and raced for the exit. The harassed rider excused herself as her mount pushed past the waiting horses. “Sorry!” she called. “Excuse us! Sorry.”

Bird felt bad for horse and rider, but her mind was elsewhere. Now that she thought about it, that little brown-and-white dog looked familiar.

Sunny, that dog. Did you recognize him?

Sure. That’s Buzz.

Buzz?

The Tall Man’s dog.

Now I remember. At the Rockhill Show. You don’t think …

Yes, I do.

Why didn’t you say something?

You didn’t ask.

Hmmm. Let’s go for a walk.

Bird and Sunny walked around the tent stalls until they found the ones belonging to Owens Enterprises. Navy-blue curtains with gold lettering. Nobody was there. Presumably, they were all out watching the show. A whining noise came from a curtained stall decorated with red-and-blue ribbons.

Bird asked, Is that you, Buzz?

Yes. He locked me up.

Tsk, tsk. And after you did such a good job of upsetting us.

He told me to go get ’em! I do what I’m told or else.

You could’ve been hurt.

I’m quick! I never get hurt.

I hope not. Bird meant it. She was about to tell him not to do it again, but she knew he wouldn’t listen. Terriers never do. Jack Russels especially.

They walked back to the ring, coming around a different way. The tiny judge’s booth was crowded with people. Bird saw Kenneth Bradley, Elvin Wainright, Pete Pierson, and two other men. One was the judge, Bird guessed. She didn’t know the other.

She watched as Mr. Pierson painfully descended the steps, looking quite angry. So he was the one who had cried foul. Good old Mr. Pierson. Bird felt a stab of gratitude in her chest.

Elvin followed. His wide-brimmed hat obscured his expression, but Bird sensed a smug energy. Her grandfather and the stranger came last, leaving the judge alone in the booth. He spoke quietly into a phone.

Thirty seconds later, the loudspeaker crackled. “May I have your attention, please. The judge has made his decision regarding the interference call. No concessions will be made due to natural causes. The round will stand as it is. Number 297, Sundancer, ridden by Alberta Simms, has four faults. They are currently in second place, before the jump-off round, with sixteen rides completed and fourteen more to come.”

Bird was resigned. They’d done their best.

Sunny was upset. It’s not fair! I would have gone clear!

We’ll have another chance at it. If not today, another time.

That’s not the point! They cheated.

Bird observed her grandfather with his arm around the stranger’s shoulder, walking toward the tent stalls.

The show went on. “Number 238. Whiskey Road. Owned by Seabright Stables and ridden by Alicia Cawthron.”

Bird and Sunny casually followed the men, staying out of their line of vision. The two men disappeared into the curtained room at the Owens Enterprises stalls.