Age:
High School
Reading Level: 3.0
Chapter 1
After lunch, Nick stood outside the mess hall and looked toward the stable. The afternoon ride was out. Mack was shoveling sand into the puddles in the horse stalls.
Nick strolled down to give him a hand. “Hey, Mack, I want to learn to ride Western,” he said, thinking of Bobby Petzer, Frank O’Donnell, and the cowboy on Mackinac Island.
“It’s your butt, you can rub it raw if you want. You’re on just about every trail ride as it is. How much more do you need?”
“Yeah, but I mean, would you teach me? Can I workout with Prince?”
Mack threw two more shovels of sand, stopped, stood the shovel on its blade, propped his chin on the top of the handle, and fixed Nick with his dark black eyes. “You’re really serious about riding, aren’t you? Well, let me tell you, I’m no expert but I can sit a trot, all right, and I’ll show you what I know. As for riding Prince, these horses work hard doing five rides a day. They’ve got to last all summer.”
He threw in two more shovelfuls. “Okay, here’s the deal. You can work Prince twice a week, after supper, when it’s cooler. Say, Monday and Friday. No more than half an hour. Make sure you cool him down and rub him down. Stay in the corral. No open riding. And then a couple nights a week work on some of the other horses. They can all stand a good workout with a firm hand. They tend to get bossy when little kids ride them all day.”
They both shoveled while Mack talked Western riding theory. He described good posture. “When you’re in the saddle, pretend there’s a string tied to the top of your head that pulls your back and shoulders into a straight line.” He demonstrated how feet should rest in the stirrups, heels down. “See, your heels should act like shock absorbers.” He explained that cowboys had to ride this way to keep hands free for other tasks like roping.
Mack chatted with Nick for twenty minutes. Then the trail ride returned. Horses filed in. Campers trooped out. Nick could hardly wait for evening.
Chapter 2
He worked Prince that night. Or, rather, Prince worked him. They trotted and jogged, fast and slow, around to the right, around to the left. Nick bounced and slapped and banged. For variety, he tried figure eights at a trot, and sometimes at a canter. He was sore. The hair on his calves twisted into tight little knots and broke off.
The insides of his knees felt like they had been rug burned. His backside bled from rubbing on the cantle, the curved part at the back of the saddle. They worked together for a half hour. Then Nick walked the gelding until the sweat had dried and the horse was breathing normally.
Nick was sore at first, but by mid-summer his glutes toughened up, and his leg grip increased as he exercised each of the horses in turn. He learned to work with Prince: to keep him at a steady trot, to turn at high speed, to stop with a four-legged check.
Nick talked to him all the time, “C’mon, big boy. Nice and steady. Whoa. Trot again. Slower, slower. That’s it. C’mon, Prince, we’re gonna show ‘em you’re special. You and me. That’s it, nice and even.”
As much as he worked out, however, Nick still couldn’t sit a fast trot without bouncing. He could walk fine. Canter and gallop, no problem. But at a fast trot he continued to spank the saddle.
One evening, while Nick was weaving figure eights with Cutter, Bobby Petzer appeared at the corral. Nick was more conscious than ever of slapping leather. Finally, he walked the camper’s favorite horse over to see him. Bobby rubbed her nose.
“Hey girl,” he asked, “getting a little aerobic workout tonight?”
That’s right, Bobby, Nick thought as he adjusted his helmet. Talk to horses, not to people.
“I’m the one getting worked out,” Nick said, “I can’t seem to sit the trot, no matter how hard I try.”
Petzer continued stroking Cutter. “Turn your toes in. Sit straighter,” he offered, without looking up.
Nick nudged Cutter into a fast trot, sat tall, angled his toes inward and experienced an immediate improvement. He was starting to feel like the Mackinac Island cowboy. He was finally getting it. He wanted to thank Bobby, but he was gone, winding his way up the hill.
Chapter 3
When Jerry proposed a horse show for campfire night, Frank O’Donnell and Bobby Petzer responded with enthusiasm. They joined Nick in the corral every evening for two weeks. Frank rode Tara. Bobby practiced with Cutter. The senior campers worked on barrel riding, figure eights, and cloverleafs. Nick worked with them, learning, practicing, improving.
The night before the campfire, Jerry called a meeting in the counselor cabin. “I want campers at the fire circle earlier than usual, say 7:30. That’ll give us an hour before dark for the riding demonstration. Dayton had a good suggestion. We’re going to give out special awards for most improved and such, like he does for the swimming program. If you have someone who could use a little recognition, let me know. We’ll fit it in. I want Rob and Nick to get the firewood.”
The next evening, Rob and Nick hauled deadfalls out of the woods. “Yuck!” Rob complained as he dropped his load in a heap near the center of the fire circle.
“Dirty job. Mosquitoes.” Rob said as he waved his hands around his head to drive off the bugs that had followed him out of the woods. “I hate it. Why did he pick me?”
“Where’re you going?” Nick asked, as Rob started up the hill.
“I’m going to get some insect repellent before I get eaten alive.”
Nick was prepared for this problem and had a small squeeze bottle of OFF in his back pocket. “Hold on,” he shouted, “I’ve got some right here.” He didn’t add that he was sure Rob wouldn’t come back and that he would be left to finish the job alone.
“Give it here,” Rob demanded.
Nick was helping Mack set out barrels for the cloverleaf when Jerry’s voice blared over the loudspeakers, “Campfire starts in 15 minutes. We’ve got a special surprise tonight. So hurry down and get good seats.”
“This should be fun,” Nick said.
“Yeah, I guess. Shows the younger kids what they can learn to do over the years.”
“Mack, how do you rate Frank and Bobby as riders?” Nick asked.
“Frank has learned a lot. But Bobby can teach him things. That Petzer kid has a natural seat. And he’s got a touch with horses – what a gift.”
“But he’s always messing up,” Nick objected.
“Not like some folks we know,” Mack replied. Before Nick could defend himself, Mack added, “Besides, we can’t all be great at everything. He’s young. He’ll learn.”