I really blew it this time. Major, big time, blew it. Mr. Quinn will never let me ride. He’ll tell all the other stable owners. He’ll tell everyone in the whole state not to let me near their horses. He’ll run ads on the Internet. I’ll never ride again.
I’m sunk.
Even though I’d like to run all the way home, I head for the barn. Dr. Mac is examining the hoof of a nervous filly in the barn.
“Back so soon?” she asks. “How was Trickster?”
“Not so good. Mr. Quinn needs your help. He’s with Trickster, up in the woods.”
She puts down the filly’s hoof. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“He got away from me and ran. Hard. He hurt his leg again.”
I can’t say any more, but it doesn’t matter. Dr. Mac grabs an equipment box and blows past me to see her patient.
“There you are,” Zoe calls, her voice echoing down the barn. “Are you OK?”
The last thing I want to do is explain all this to the others. They’re my friends and all, but it’s going to make me look really stupid. I turn to walk out of the barn.
“David!” Zoe calls louder. She runs up to me and grabs my arm. “Brenna told us everything.”
“I’m going to call and see if my mom’s home,” I say. “Maybe she can pick me up. I have to go.”
“You can’t go,” Zoe says.
“I can’t stay. Mr. Quinn won’t let me ride. I’m a danger to horses. I mess up everything.”
Zoe smiles gently. “You don’t mess up everything. You just mess up … a lot. We’ll work on it, don’t worry. Now come on. We need your help grooming the horses.”
Gertie, Claiborne, and Gus are waiting in the stalls, cross-tied and ready for grooming. Each horse stands between two wooden posts, with a rope attached to each side of its halter and a post. This will hold them steady so they can’t walk away.
“Hey,” I say quietly to the girls.
“Hey, yourself,” Brenna says. “How are you? Did Mr. Quinn yell? He looked really angry.”
“Brenna told us what happened,” Sunita explains. “It was brave of you to try and help her.”
“That’s not how Mr. Quinn saw it,” I say.
“He just needs to cool off a bit,” Maggie says confidently. “It’s like that time I fell out of the tree in my backyard. Gran was angry and worried all at the same time. Once she cooled down, she told me she was impressed that I climbed so high. Of course, I was still grounded for a week.”
“That’s not a helpful example,” Zoe tells her cousin.
“Is so,” Maggie replies.
“Let’s not argue,” Sunita suggests. “We’re supposed to be grooming.” She turns to me. “That’s why we need your help. Linda started to show us what to do, but then she had to go help Jared.”
“Something about some hay being delivered,” Maggie says. “She told us to get started. It seemed easy enough watching her, but now we’re not sure what to do.”
“Zoe’s been around horses before,” I say. “At her summer camp.”
“Well … it was a different kind of camp,” Zoe explains. “Parents sent kids to ride, not to clean stables or give them baths.”
“This isn’t a bath, this is grooming,” I correct.
“Whatever,” Zoe says. “I can braid manes, though. My camp counselor showed me how to do that.”
Zoe’s horse, Claiborne, lifts his head. I’m sure he would love a braided mane, but I suspect he’d like all that trail dust off of him first. I might as well help them. That way I’ll have done something right today.
“OK, well, I guess I’m giving a grooming lesson,” I say as I pick up the body brushes on the shelf. “This is a body brush. You use it to brush the dirt off your horse. Start up on the neck and move the brush in the direction the hair grows,” I say, demonstrating on Gertie.
“Then what?” Sunita asks.
“You do that down the whole body, first on the left side, then on the right.”
The girls approach the horses and start brushing. “Use some muscle,” I tell them. “If your arms don’t get tired, then you aren’t brushing hard enough.”
“We have to brush the entire animal?” Zoe asks.
I nod my head. “The whole thing.” It feels kind of cool to be the one giving directions. It’s very nice not being yelled at.
When all four horses have clean, shiny coats, I show the girls how to use a facecloth to gently wipe around the horse’s eyes, ears, and muzzle.
“Aren’t we going to braid their manes?” Zoe asks.
“You don’t really have to do that,” I say.
“Of course we do,” Zoe says firmly. “Claiborne is an elegant horse. He needs to look his best.”
“I like braids,” Maggie says.
I give up. “All right. We’ll braid. Are you sure you know how to do this?” I ask Zoe.
She is scouting the equipment on the shelf. “We’ve got brushes, combs, and rubber bands here. We’re all set. Hey—there’s Trickster.”
Everyone stops to watch as Mr. Quinn and Dr. Mac walk Trickster past us. His hooves clop on the cement floor in an uneven rhythm. He is limping badly, trying not to put his weight on his sore leg.
My chest tightens. Here I’ve been feeling so rotten, so sorry for myself about getting yelled at and not being able to ride, that I didn’t even think about Trickster. Mr. Quinn is right—I don’t think.
“You guys stay here,” I tell my friends. “I have to see how he’s doing.”
I swallow hard and follow Trickster down to his stall. It feels like I’m walking to the principal’s office.
Once Trickster hobbles inside, Dr. Mac and Mr. Quinn notice me standing behind them. Mr. Quinn stares at me for a minute. “I’ll be at the office,” he tells Dr. Mac. He walks off without another word.
“He hates me,” I say when Mr. Quinn is out of sight.
“Don’t worry about Lucas,” she says. “He has a lot of things on his mind right now.”
She’s just saying that to make me feel better. Like anything could right now. “What’s going to happen to Trickster?”
Dr. Mac kneels to check the wrap on Trickster’s leg. It has to be tight enough to support the joint, but not too tight or his blood won’t flow properly.
“I gave him an injection for the pain. That should kick in soon. He’ll be sleepy for the rest of the day, but the leg won’t hurt as much.”
“Is it broken?”
She shakes her head. He may have strained some tendons, though. We’ll take the cold pack off in twenty minutes. He has to rest—total rest—for a few days. If the swelling doesn’t go down, we’ll take him to an equine clinic for an ultrasound exam. There’s a chance he has torn the tendon. That would mean surgery.”
“Will he have to be put down?” I ask quietly.
“Relax, David. It’s not that bad. But it will be a while until we know if he’s going to run again. Now, I have to get back to that sore hoof before we leave. Tell the girls to meet me at the van in half an hour.”
I wait until she walks away before I look at Trickster. He nickers softly, but he doesn’t bob his head or toss his forelock around.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” I say.