Everyone took ages to get their ponies ready but eventually we were in the outdoor school, mounted and lined up in front of Annabelle. Bean steered Cherokee up beside me.
“Cherokee feels so different to Tiffany,” said Bean.
“You really suit him,” I told her. “You’re just the right size for him and your brown jodhpurs tone in with his color—and your new brown gloves do, too. You’d easily win a class for rider most like her pony.”
“It’s so funny seeing you on a different pony,” said Bean. “What’s Sprout like?”
“Not sure yet,” I said, “but he’s a lot narrower than Drum. I didn’t realize what a tub Drum is!”
After Annabelle and Sharon had inspected our tack (Harry’s green saddle blanket was all bunched up on the offside, which earned Ellie a black mark), and Annabelle had written some notes on her clipboard, we were ready to head out.
“OK, we’ll all walk round in open order, so you can get used to your ponies, and then we’ll go into closed order and see how you get on. Pia, dear, take leading file on the right rein, please.”
I gave Sprout’s sides a nudge with my legs, just as I would have done if I’d been on Drummer and he leapt into action, almost leaving me behind. Talk about an over-reaction! I’d have to tone down my leg aids—Sprout was obviously quite sensitive. My mount had a short, choppy stride, which made me feel like we were covering the ground at a super-fast rate. He carried his head high in front of my hands and I could see his mane going in all directions. Everything felt strange as we scuttled around the perimeter of the school and I felt very high up. Sprout’s saddle was harder than Drummer’s and his reins were narrow, which gave me a completely different feel on them. It felt so odd riding a different pony, plus—I realized with an apprehensive pang—I hadn’t had a lesson for, like, centuries.
“Pia, my dear, see whether you can slow Sprout down with some half-halts,” Annabelle suggested.
Half-halts, mmmm, I thought. Drum and I were so used to each other, we just sort of muddled along without thinking. Now I was on Sprout, I would have to wake up and remember how to ride. Straightening my back, I asked Sprout to slow down, releasing my aids as he responded. A half-halt. Or so I thought.
“You need to use your seat bones, Pia, dear,” said Annabelle. “Apply your back brake, rather than just using the reins. Sit up. Taller, that’s right. Now push your chest toward your hands—not too much, yes. Now can you feel your seat bones under you,?”
I could. And so could Sprout. He immediately slowed down, which was a relief. I mean, no one likes being towed along by their mount, it’s totally scary. With the brakes working I felt myself relax. Wow, I thought, this riding vacation could really help me brush up on my riding skills. Awesome!
Annabelle turned her attention to the others. Amber was to shorten her reins and sit up more, she was riding like a cowboy, apparently. Ellie was leaning forward and Annabelle told her to put her shoulders back and put more weight into her heels. Zoe, although her position was very good, needed to relax and allow her body to follow Dot’s movement more. Annabelle then suggested that Grace remembered to breathe, instead of holding her breath in anticipation that something dreadful was going to happen—it wasn’t, she assured her—and then she praised Bean’s position and said that if she could remember to look up between Cherokee’s ears, instead of down at the ground, she would be almost perfect. We were all instructed to remember what she’d said so she didn’t have to keep saying it all week, which seemed fair enough. I was having great fun practicing my half-halts. Apparently, I was the only one.
“Here we go,” I heard Sprout complain. “Usual thing—give them an idea that works and they do it to death. I’m going to be half-halting all week, I can see that!”
“At least mine’s light. I don’t fancy Shadow’s job, carting Lumpy around all week!” laughed Harry.
I looked across at Grace on Shadow. She really wasn’t very big, and Shadow didn’t seem bothered. Actually, Shadow seemed to be carrying out all the school movements without the need to stay awake!
As our lesson continued I got more used to Sprout and started to enjoy myself, although I was mortified to learn how sloppy my riding had become without regular lessons. Annabelle kept reminding me about my hands, my legs, my head—they were all doing something wrong. I’d been doing it badly for so long, the wrong things felt right so that when I corrected them, they then felt all wrong. I hoped by the end of the week that the feelings would be reversed and I would be a better rider. Wouldn’t Drum be surprised!
I wasn’t the only one having problems: Amber kept getting told to sit up—she did ride a bit slumped—and Zoe was rather wooden. Bean only needed a couple of tweaks, though, and she looked really tidy on Cherokee. It was odd seeing her on a different pony, I was so used to her on Tiffany. The surprise was Grace, who sat nicely and had Shadow doing everything right. After the criticism from her mother I’d expected her to be all over the place but she was a much better rider than Ellie, who was clearly a real novice. I couldn’t help thinking that her boast about getting a show jumper was wildly optimistic.
We ended the lesson with the tiniest, weeniest jump. Annabelle explained that we’d be tackling small jumps and fallen logs out hacking and Bean and I exchanged glances—it sounded like fun to us! Unfortunately, it didn’t to Grace, who looked like she was going to be sick. After some convincing Grace headed Shadow toward the pole, her eyes tightly shut. But the gray pony simply plodded over with the tiniest bunny hop. As she landed Grace, finding herself still in the saddle and in one piece, could have won the-biggest-grin-in-the-world competition. From that initial jump, poor Bobbin was history, replaced by Shadow as the new love of Grace’s life!
Sprout’s style was nothing like Shadow’s. Launching himself at the jump five strides out like it was a high puissance wall at a show jumping competition, he neatly popped over it with a flick of his heels, leaving me ever-so-slightly behind, which Annabelle noticed. Sorrel copied Sprout’s approach, then stopped dead at the last moment—exactly what Annabelle had told Amber to expect. Despite the warning, Amber slid over the chestnut mare’s shoulder and onto the ground.
“Ouch!” she said.
“I’m so not into jumping,” declared Sorrel, sticking her nose in the air in disdain.
“Ha, ha, ha, I can see Sorrel is helping you master the finer points of horsemanship already!” laughed Zoe.
Unhurt, Amber was up and in the saddle again in no time, a determined look on her face. Sorrel didn’t get a chance to stop a second time—Amber kicked on and they sailed over the pole with room to spare.
“Well done, Amber!” said Annabelle. “You need to ride Sorrel like that when we’re out, don’t let her even think of stopping!”
“I’ll think what I like, thank you!” said Sorrel, shaking her head in disgust.
By the end of the lesson the personalities of the ponies were becoming clearer. Harry was a loud joker, but kindly, taking care of Ellie. Short-tempered Sorrel huffed and puffed and complained all the time in her clipped tones. She wasn’t taking any prisoners and it was clear Amber couldn’t just sit there, she had to ride. Dot-2-Dot appeared to be in her own little bubble and didn’t get what the others were saying most of the time, and the only thing I heard from Shadow was snoring. Cherokee was the whiner. If he wasn’t complaining that his bridle pinched his ears he was telling everyone that his girth was too tight and that his legs weren’t too good today. Sprout, I was still getting to know. Apart from going everywhere in a hurry he seemed fine, and once I got used to his stride I was sure I was going to enjoy riding him. My initial fears about not being able to cope melted away. Phew!
“That was really good!” enthused Annabelle, beaming at us as we lined up and dismounted. “Now we’ll go in, feed and groom the ponies, and turn them out before cleaning tack.”
Bean looked at me and rolled her eyes.
After untacking Sprout, I fetched his feed.
“Ah, at last!” he exclaimed, thrusting his nose into his manger and shoveling down his feed.
“Steady on,” I said, patting his dappled neck and retreating. This was familiar ground—Drum loves food, too. As I bolted the door behind me, I noticed Grace hovering outside Shadow’s door with the bucket as Shadow leaned over the door with an expectant look on his face. I had wondered what it would take to wake him up—a feed bucket seemed to do the trick.
“Help!” implored Grace.
“Just undo the door and tip the feed in his stall,” I said.
“I can’t,” she whispered, “he looks wild!”
Wild? Jeez, she should see Drummer when he’s kept waiting for his feed, I thought. Compared to dear old Shadow, he looked demented!
“Come on,” I said, sliding the bolt open, “I’ll come with you.”
Pulling Grace in behind me, I showed her how to quickly upend the bucket in Shadow’s stall and stand back. “Ponies are obsessed with food, Grace. The longer you keep them waiting, the worse they get. But look, Shadow won’t hurt you, he’s just greedy.”
Grace stroked Shadow’s snowy mane and bit her lip.
“I don’t think I’ll ever cope with a pony of my own,” she said.
“Don’t you want a pony?” I asked. I mean, who wouldn’t?
“Oh, I’d love a pony like Shadow, but not one like my mom would want me to have.”
I thought of the type of pony Grace’s mom would buy—one like Tiffany, or Dolly, or a younger Sorrel. A pony that would satisfy Grace’s mom would terrify Grace. She was a classic sufferer of OAP syndrome—over-ambitious-parent.
Tack cleaning was eventful: Bean did her usual hasty wipe over with a soapy cloth. Zoe took Dot’s bridle apart and spent ages poking saddle soap out of the holes with a stalk of straw and Amber copied Bean, telling jokes the whole time. Grace cleaned Shadow’s tack carefully and thoroughly but Ellie used a sopping wet sponge, so Harry’s bridle went all hard and dull. I hoped I’d done a decent job on Sprout’s tack and it looked pretty good when I’d finished. But what I thought of it didn’t count. Annabelle carried out an inspection—awarding points and scribbling notes on her clipboard.
We brushed the ponies over before turning them out. I sponged feed dust from Sprout’s muzzle and picked out his hooves before brushing out his saddle mark.
“Oooo, that feels much better,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” I said. He gave me a funny look. “I’ve got a pony called Drummer at home,” I told him, wondering what Drum was doing. Was he out in the field with Bluey? Or finishing his feed and neighing for Katy to let him out?
Sprout was silent.
“Why do you call Dot-2-Dot ‘Empty’?” I asked him.
“Because she is—totally empty, nothing going on in her head,” he said. Then he turned his head very slowly, and stared at me. I could almost hear his brain working, wondering how I could possibly know Dot’s nickname.
I nodded my head. “Yup, I can hear you,” I said. “You, and Harry, and Sorrel. All of you. I’m totally fluent in pony-speak.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course you are,” Sprout muttered, to himself.
“Harry’s very New York, Sorrel’s full of herself and Cherokee has every complaint under the sun, it seems,” I told him.
Sprout just stared at me, saying nothing.
“Go on,” I challenged him, “tell me something I would never know.”
“My mother’s name was Spice,” he said slowly.
“Spice,” I said, “is a very nice name for a pony.”
Sprout did a double-take. Then he stepped back and looked me up and down before shaking his head. “I don’t think so. No, no, no, no, so not happening…”
“It so is,” I said, nodding.
“Are you ready, Pia?” asked Annabelle, sticking her head over Sprout’s half-door and bestowing a smile on me.
“Absolutely,” I said and led my bemused pony out into the sunshine.