Horses

I am an animal. I am a fighter. It is who I am. Each day it is the crack of the whip and the ring of a bell. It is the creed I live by, the carrot or the stick. Each rosy dawn I awaken to greet a new day, a new challenge, and always a new fight. The musty, warm smell of hay will surround me and the rustle and snort of my herd members will always be heard. The round pen we are contained in is only enough to hold me. If it weren’t for that Powder River corral, I would be free, free to run and escape the restraint placed upon me. I am a fighter, one who fights for his right to freedom. I am nothing else. I was born from one of the finest bucking mares for miles, in a small dusty corral, on the eve of June. My early days are now a blur to me, nothing but feelings and short memories. I do remember the man. Burly, rough, smelling of sweat and woodsmoke, he would bring the hay, loaded in his arms. “You are my winner, little firebrand,” he would mumble to me under his breath. “Soon you will be a bucking legend among the best of the best.” He would sigh and scuff his boot against the dusty, hard ground, then, whistling a slow sad song, he would trudge back to the house. Little mind I paid him then. It is interesting that after so long he would remain in my memory and not fade away like most of my other memories from my youth. I scarcely recall my own mother, so why, above all, should a man remain in my memory instead? A mystery, to me, it remains. I do remember, however, the weaning. Harshly separated from my mother, and all I knew disappeared in the bat of an eye. No more were the quiet peaceful days with my mother in the sun. Introduced were the long lonely nights and the endless nickering of the frightened colts around me, a never-ending cry of bleak misery. I began to rely only on myself for comfort, never anyone else. I became the fighter I am today. I became “the animal.” I live to fight, and I fight to live I don’t remember the first time I bucked. I remember my first rodeo, however. The noise, the smells, the fear. Never before and never again will I feel such fear. I trembled with adrenaline and terror, wide eyes engulfing my surroundings, as the fear engulfed me. I was driven from the pen in the back to the long queue of bucking chutes, forced in, and entrapped. Then came the saddle, the heap of leather and cloth, heaved on your back for the first time and strapped on under your belly. I despised it. However, even more than that, I despised the rider that followed it, plopping down on my back like he owned it and taking an infuriating tight grip on the lead rope attached to my halter and around my sides with his legs. The fires of hate boiled a frothing stew inside me, raging and foaming within me, fueling my desire to break free and show the infuriating human on my back who was boss. I remember wriggling and shuffling in the chute, tossing my head and stamping my feet in furious impatience. Then, the bell rang and the gate opened. There is something about the bell, the buzzer, or the opening of the gate that sends a fighter, a bucking horse, into a mad rage. I see the gap and I release all of my fury, all of the hate that boiled within me while inside the chute. I shot out of the chute like I was shot from a cannon, kicking up my heels and leaping like a madman. My rider, I could feel, was flopping around, gouging me with his spurs and hanging on to the rigging for dear life. I leapt and spun, bucked and kicked, dodged and reared, whirling and tossing my rider about furiously. In a matter of moments, I catapulted my rider from my back, sending him in a wonderful arch to land with a thump on the ground nearby. I recall clearly the roar of the immense crowd and the shrill ring of the buzzer seconds later, and in a rush, I was herded from the arena. Still mad with fear, I circled inside my pen nervously, snorting and plunging about. Little did I know, that for the years following, I would have many days like this, fighting days. For the years following, I would grow fiercer, increasingly wiser, and forever more determined. I would learn to trick, learn to fight harder, learn to deceive. I would acquire the titles The Nightmare and The Animal, which I maintain to this day, taking them with pride, knowing they mean I can fight and win. I would become known for the ferocity in my fight, the success at the end, and the sheer determination I fight with. I live to fight, and I fight to live. It’s as simple as that. As I have said before, each morning I awaken to greet the new challenge ahead of me. I will feel the adrenaline, the hate, the fear. They will drive me into the chute, where I will be trapped, saddled, and mounted. I will feel the frothing madness and the overwhelming desire to throw my rider. I will fight. Like a caged animal, I will fight to be free, fight to show who is boss. I am an animal, a fierce fighting animal. It’s who I am, always will be. It is drilled into me, planted inside me, by instinct, by breeding, by influence from man. I am the fighter, and that will never change. Jenna Fields, 12Coyote, California Christine Troll, 11Somerset, Pennsylvania

Cali Marlin smiled in anticipation as she held her mare, Artemis, or Arty, as Cali liked to call her. Today was the day. Every year Cali, her brother, Finn, and their parents rode all over the ranch in search of Secret, an elusive mare, and her band. Secret’s band had been loose on the ranch for years, but a human being had yet to catch a glimpse of their lead mare. The only reason they knew she existed was by finding white tail hairs caught in bushes. There was no other albino in the band. By collecting her urine and running it through multiple tests they knew she was female. And the places where she chose to relieve herself showed that she was lead mare, or at least a very high-ranking mare in the herd. This year, Cali wanted more than anything to see Secret. “Ready to go, Carolina?” A deep voice drawled behind her. Cali turned and frowned. “Stop it, Finn. I’ve told you a million times to call me Cali!” “And I’ve told you a million times to call me Grand Master and Great King of the World!” Cali huffed and turned away. Finn ruffled her hair and then jumped into his horse, Pepper’s, saddle. Although the belittling gesture annoyed Cali, nothing could spoil her day now. She sprang into the saddle just as her parents came riding up. “Everyone ready?” their dad asked. “Ready!” Finn and Cali chorused. They set off over rolling pastures and moved gradually into rockier country with steep outcroppings and buffeting winds. The trail they were on followed a fast flowing river upstream, higher and higher, until they were in the rocky foothills of the mountains. Cali and Finn exclaimed every time they saw something that looked like a footprint, but none of them turned out to be legitimate. Around noon Cali’s mom pointed upwards at a massive gray storm cloud gathering on the horizon. “Looks like rain.” Cali’s heart sank. They would have to head back—the mountains could be treacherous in bad weather. Her dream of finding Secret would have to wait until next year. In a few minutes it started to drizzle. Cali was just beginning to hope that they would be able to keep looking after all when a bolt of lightning struck a giant twisted pine tree directly in front of them. The tree crashed to the ground with a resounding echo that shook the bones of the mountain. “We’ll have to pick a path around it!” Finn shouted over the roaring rain. Cali’s father pushed his horse into the woods around the tree, and her mother and Finn followed. Cali squeezed Artemis, but the mare didn’t move. Cali kicked her gently. Artemis stood like a statue. Cali was starting to panic. The river was already swelling over Artemis’s hooves. She gently pulled the mare’s head away from the river, but it was no use. Artemis jigged backwards, eyes rolling in panic. “Calm down, Arty. It’s going to be OK.” Cali glanced into the woods. Her family was gone. And Artemis was beyond reason. She danced further and further into the river. Suddenly, a wild current swept them both into the middle of the river. Cali felt as if an icy hand was grabbing her, forcing her under the freezing water. She spluttered as finally they were pushed momentarily to the surface. The driving rain was blurring Cali’s vision, but she could have sworn she saw a flash of white in the trees on the other side of the river. But before she could confirm it a foaming wave crashed over her head, pulling her and Artemis down into the turbulent waters. Cali clung to the mare, holding on for dear life. Artemis battled hard, thrusting her forelegs into the infinitely stronger current, but it was to no avail. Just as Cali felt certain that this was the end, a mass of solid bodies pushed them to the surface. Cali looked around and gasped. Bays, pintos, palominos, blacks, duns, and one lone albino horse were striking out for shore, pulling Artemis along with them. Upon reaching land they shook themselves like dogs. Artemis did the same, nearly throwing Cali. With a joyous bound, they moved as one across the prairie Then, carefully, they began to pick their way down the mountainside. The precision with which they moved was flawless, and even in the pouring rain they looked ethereal. Beside them Cali felt like an ugly troll in the company of swan maidens. Finally, they reached the rolling plains beneath the foothills. With a joyous bound, they moved as one across the prairie. Their hooves tapped out a speedy staccato, and all around her Cali could see a myriad of different horses all running to the same rhythm. She raised her face to the sky and laughed from pure exhilaration. With her wet hair streaming out behind her, Cali gripped  Artemis’s mane and let herself be pulled into a secret freedom. Aiwen L. Desai, 12Madison, Wisconsin Christine Troll, 12Somerset, Pennsylvania