Sunday, June 13

Visit the Funny Farm

We followed Doc through a wooded trail and then climbed what the brochure mistakenly called a “gently rolling hill.” It was clearly a mountain.

“Welcome to the farm!” Doc swept his arm toward the bottom of the hill.

My jaw dropped. I’d assumed there’d be a couple dogs, maybe a pony or two, the typical barn cat, and possibly a cow. One look at the view proved I’d completely underestimated Camp Minnehaha. An enormous, red barn with fenced-in yards at each stall stood in an open field. Wooden fences enclosed pastures where horses, cows, a few sheep, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a llama grazed. Running in and out of the enclosures were three sheep dogs. A cat sat on a wooden post, licking a front paw, while several chickens pecked at invisible objects in the dirt.

We made our way down the hill and stopped in front of the barn. I peeked around Pogo and counted twenty stalls—some were empty; others weren’t. Doc turned to face us, and we circled around to listen.

“Remember: this first week, y’all will get a chance to try all the electives. When you’re here as veterinarians-in-training, there’ll be lots to do. You’ll learn the proper care of each animal, including feeding, cleaning, and even playing.”

“What”—bounce—“do you mean”—bounce—“by playing?”—triple bounce—asked Pogo.

“Well, for one thing, each day, all ten of our horses will need to be exercised. One of the ways we do that is to take them out on the trails. We’ll take turns, so each camper will get a chance to ride.”

Pogo was practically shaking. I could tell it was taking all her self-control not to run over and jump on a horse and ride off into the sunset. I couldn’t blame her though. The trail rides would definitely be the best part of being at the barnyard.

“I’ve shown horses for years,” a voice behind me said.

I turned to see who spoke. It was Rude Girl.

She adjusted a bracelet on her wrist, and I saw a silver heart charm stamped with the word diva. I nudged Pogo in the ribs and pointed out the charm. It looked as though Rude Girl and our cabin diva were one and the same. Pogo rolled her eyes.

“Will we be riding English or Western?” Rude Diva Girl batted her eyelashes at Doc. “I prefer English—it’s more refined.”

Doc smiled. “It’s nice to know you have experience, young lady—”

“Victoria,” she said. She combed her fingers through her already-perfect hair. She had the kind of hair that would have looked awesome on her show horse’s tail. Long and straight and glossy enough to see a reflection in—I’m sure if Victoria knew she could see her own reflection in her hair, she’d stare at it all the time.

“Well, Victoria, to answer your question, we’ll be riding Western. I’ve found over the years it’s easier for those who are new to riding horses.”

She pursed her lips and glowered at us. I got the feeling she wanted us to drop to our knees and beg her forgiveness since she wouldn’t be as refined as she’d hoped.

Doc continued. “Now, during the second week, those of you who choose this as your elective will be assigned one animal that’ll be yours to take care of for the entire week.” He raised his hand for silence as a chorus of questions flew at him regarding who’d get the horses. “Everyone’ll still get to ride them, even if you aren’t assigned to one. Of course, I’ll be here to help y’all with whatever you need. Any other questions?”

“How do we know which animal we’ll get?” Nathan asked.

“We’ll have a horseshoe tournament,” said Doc.

“¿Qué?” Sebastian asked.

“I’ve got this,” said Pogo. She faced Sebastian. “Nos lavamos los cerdos con los zapatos.”

Sebastian turned to Doc. “We will wash pigs with shoes?”

“Drat,” Pogo said. “Really thought I had that one.”

Doc chuckled. “Thankfully, no. You take an iron horseshoe and try to toss it onto a stake from about twenty feet away. The winner gets first pick of the animals, second place picks next, and so on.”

“I think you might want a quick refresher course on your Spanish,” I whispered to Pogo.

“No kidding,” she said.

I could manage a basketball okay, but I’d never thrown a horseshoe before. I’d probably have better luck trying to slingshot a buffalo through a flaming Hula-Hoop. Good thing I wasn’t planning on being at the barn the second week.

“Let’s meet the animals,” Doc said. He led the way through the giant barn door and stopped in front of a stall. “Our two goats are named King Arthur and Queen Guinevere.”

His Royal Highness, King Arthur, was the same goat that had head-butted me earlier (literally, his head to my butt). Now that I wasn’t stuck in a tree, I got a better look at him. He was all white (kind of grimy, really) except for a black crown-shaped mark on his head between his two small horns. Probably the reason they called him King Arthur. He stood looking innocent in his stall, mindlessly chewing at a pile of loose hay. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. He obviously thought nothing of his previous rough treatment of me. Actually, it would have surprised me if he had any thoughts at all. His pale, beady eyes were completely blank…like a ruthless predator.

“Now King Arthur suffers from a couple of things.” Doc gave a gentle laugh. “The first being delusions of grandeur. He thinks he runs things around here, and he’s a bit of a rascal. Most people don’t know this, but goats are extremely intelligent animals and master escape artists. If he watches you work the lock a couple times, he’ll practice and try to open it. The key is to lock the gate and check it twice—because if you leave it unlocked, His Highness will wander off.” Doc patted the gate lock. “His second issue is that he faints.”

I smacked a fly off my arm. “Wait. He does what?”

“He’s a fainting, or myotonic, goat. These goats faint because of an inherited genetic disorder called myotonia. If they get frightened or overly excited, their muscles tense up and they fall over—sometimes with their legs sticking straight up in the air.”

“Awesome,” Nathan said.

“It only lasts for about ten seconds or so, and then they get up and keep going,” Doc said.

The visual image of King Arthur lying flat on his back with all four knobby legs pointing toward the sky made me snort. It was almost as satisfying as the thought of his head mounted on a wall.

A wooden fort-looking thing stood in the center of King Arthur’s paddock.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the structure.

Doc turned. “That’s his climbing platform. Goats are excellent climbers and that’s kind of like his playground.”

Pogo nudged me in the ribs. “He really is adorable. Just look at those floppy ears!”

“Well, whoever gets to be his caretaker during the second week better keep him away from me.”

We followed Doc through the barn, and every once in a while, he’d stop. If an animal was in its stall, he’d make introductions. Each animal’s name hung on a plaque outside its sliding stall door, and all the stalls had a small, fenced-in yard attached to them.

I strolled past the names on the horse stalls.

Sunset.

Footloose.

Princess.

Road Rage.

Road Rage? I hoped I wouldn’t get stuck with that horse for any trail rides. We came out the other end of the barn, and I scanned the pasture and tried to guess which horse was Road Rage. All twelve of them looked harmless—obviously, one of them was faking.

Sunday, June 13

9:32 p.m.

Guess what?!?! Nathn and Sebastian are here! I was soooooo happy to see Nathn.

The instructors seem nice. Ms. Jacqueline (the cake instructor) is French. She has a neat accent—I guess Sebastian does too. If I had to speak another language, I would be SO worried about my accent—I doubt it would sound cool like theirs do.

Director Mudwimple told us there’s a ravine on the other side of Mess Hall Hill that fills up crazy fast with water when it rains—something about a flash flood. No campers are allowed over there. I guess she thinks we’ll die…or something worse.

Every night during dessert, the instructors choose one camper who has “demonstrated true compassion” (those were Director Mudwimple’s exact words), and they give the person the Distinction of Recognized Kindness award. Some of the kids who’ve been here before say it’s a big tradition and a HUGE deal to be picked.

A mean girl named Victoria is also in our cabin. She is SUPER picky about her stuff. A spider the size of a small island nation crawled up the wall near the bathroom door while I was brushing my teeth. (I’m pretty sure it was the same one I tried to kill earlier.)

The only thing in the bathroom to spray it with was hairspray—how was I supposed to know it was Victoria’s “custom-made” hairspray? How can you custom make hairspray anyway?

I was like some half-crazed graffiti artist with that can. Victoria sure picked a bad time to open the bathroom door. After the nurse had her wash her eyes out for ten minutes, she was fine. I think she’s making a PRIMA DONNA DIVA deal out of the fact I used up her whole can of hairspray on a spider—which, by the way, STILL didn’t die. It crawled off to its secret lair somewhere—probably to admire its new hairdo.

Mindy, our counselor, was all “Spiders are an important and necessary part of our world—they kill bad bugs. Blah, blah, blah.” She’s never going to convince me spiders are necessary to my world!

A goat named King Arthur ran me over and then cornered me in a tree. Luckily, only Pogo saw. This place is bizarre.

Oh, and Doc Mulholland (the vet) has a crush on Ms. Jacqueline.

Good night.