I was seven when I first worked up the courage to get on the back of a horse. Not that it needed too much courage to climb aboard a twenty-year-old pony who was not even five feet tall. It was at one of those pony rides at the county fair, nothing special. Me and the little pony, named Cash, walked once around a little paddock, me holding the mane with white knuckles, and the old man who ran it leading the little horse. After the first trip around, I decided I had had enough, and I climbed down. My mom was putting the digital camera back in her purse; she had just snapped a picture of me on top of Cash, and my dad beaming brightly through his beard. My parents then took me to get some cotton candy and ride the merry-go-round. When I climbed onto the deck of the ride, I chose the white horse with a harness of flowers and chipped paint. I had ridden that one since the first summer of coming to the county fair; it had always made me feel magical. But as the horse went up and down, I found that it couldn’t replace the sensation of a living creature below me, my body moving with it, even if I had been terrified. That was probably the most important day of my life. That was the day I decided to ride. The very next summer, I was already cantering. And the summer after that, I got my first horse. I named her Cherish, though while I was riding, I called her Cher. She was sixteen hands tall, and was two when we got her. She had a buckskin coat and was my perfect companion. I told her more than I told my friends. She stayed in our little barn behind our house, and was with us when we moved to Kentucky I still remember my anxiety about leaving her alone in a cramped trailer behind us. But the seven-hour drive was completely worth it. We moved from our little house in the country of Sewickley, Pennsylvania, to the rolling pastures of Greenland, Kentucky Dad was gameskeeper for a property owned by Mr. Wester, the owner of the legendary racing stud, Black Thunder. Black Thunder had sired nearly seven other racing legends. Now, in his old age, the ten-million- dollar horse shared a pasture with Cherish. I always pretended they were boyfriend and girlfriend. As I grew older on the farm in Greenland, I rode more and more As I grew older on the farm in Greenland, I rode more and more. I became a very good rider, and was always winning trophies and such at little shows scattered around the area. The shows were my mom’s idea, I never really cared for dressage or jumping on Cherish. I wasn’t like the girls at school, they claimed that dressage was for proper ladies, or that jumping made them feel like they were flying. I could jump and do dressage just fine. But what really got my heart racing was not dressage or jumping, but racing. I needed to run. I needed to race. At the stable where I rode and was instructed, we had a little thing called Game Sundays. Now, I didn’t have time to ride every day, no matter how much I wanted to. But I did ride on the weekend, so I was there for Game Sunday. On that day, the kids riding could choose a game to play on horseback, like polo, or racing. Of course my vote was always for racing, and sometimes it won. And during those times, I truly knew what was so wonderful about riding. While Cherish ran her hardest, time seemed to slow. I could feel her every movement, every little increase in muscle tension, I could hear her breathing and my breath came in and out to match hers. We won almost always. My thrill of the race only increased as time wore on. Soon, I was pressing my parents to enroll me in county-fair races, instead of wasting time on dressage and jumping. After about a month of nagging (not mentioning the hours of chores I did to make Mom pleased), they finally agreed to enter me in one cross-country race. It wasn’t much of one, only a quarter mile through the pasture owned by Edgar Greenwell, but at least it was something. I remember the day of the race was clear and sunny, perfect for racing. I could see the finish line, an orange sign stretched across the small space between Mr. Greenwell’s house and barn. It read, “Finish.” I apologize for talking about the finish line so obviously I’m not questioning your intelligence of the word. But while Cherish and I were lining up on the starting line, I could only see that one thing. When the pop gun bang rang out, I gave Cherish a nudge. I believe still to this day that Cherish loved to run. She did that day All it took was a nudge, and she was off, running as fast as possible. There was a gelding who was leading, but Cher and I were right behind him. Cher kept her pace the whole half I figured that was all she had, she couldn’t run any faster, but I was wrong. Around halfway there, she began to run faster. I could feel her body aching to move faster and faster, and she did. We slowly began to pace the gelding, whose rider probably couldn’t tell whether we were going faster or if they were going slower. Then Cherish broke free. It was as if she was breaking free of a thin layer of film; now she could really run. We ended up winning the race. My parents, always supportive, were thrilled. I took the little medal that was the prize home. I set it apart from my other winnings. I put it in the barn next
Horses
First Horse Show, Ever
I was nine years old and it was my first horse show ever. Pacino, my steady ride, was the picture of blue-ribbon pride with his black coat shimmering and his mane in neat braids. There I stood, next to him with my peach show shirt, newly pressed navy-blue blazer, and my hair in long silky braids with matching peach ribbons. Everything was perfect… on the outside! Inside I was trembling with fear. I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life. My body was quivering and my mom noticed. I blamed it on the chill of late fall and refused a warm jacket because that would cover my show dress glory. I searched for distraction to steady my nerves and began to focus on the task ahead. The familiar smell of leather and the rhythmic sounds of the clip-clop of horses’ hooves soothed my anxiety as I entered the tack room to grab my pony’s saddle. Calmer now but still shaking, I began to tack up Pacino. Pad, saddle, girth, rein, bridle, stirrups… I slowly mounted Pacino and softly pressed my heels into his soft belly, letting him know it was time. We entered the ring, both of us counting on each other for the teamwork that lay ahead. I held his reins tightly and he walked forward with a nice pace. I took deep breaths of the crisp November air, and the chill intensified my focus. We began a brisk, even trot as we passed the judge in the center of the ring. She had ten riders to keep watch on. Would she notice me? I felt like I had been competing all my life We trotted for what seemed an eternity, and then the judge said the words I dreaded and longed for all at once, “Canter, please.” I felt apprehensive, but I knew this was no time to be timid. With a kick of my heels and cluck of my tongue, I asked Pacino to go faster into a canter. He hesitated and I felt the panic set in. One more kick, one more cluck… and we were off, whizzing past the other horses arid kicking up moist dirt. It felt like we were flying. We were a blurred flash of shadow-colored fur, racing through the ring. I felt in command, in control of my horse. I felt like I had been competing all my life. I felt totally shocked that I was still on my horse! The judge spoke again, “Walk and line up, please.” I slowed Pacino’s pace and we lined up in the middle. Here it was, the moment of truth. The judge studied us, and scribbled away on her sheets of paper. My stomach turned somersaults but I tried to keep my composure. They announced the placing order from above over the speakers: “First place, number 223.” Oh well, not me. That’s OK. “Second place, number 220.” Oh well, still not… wait, that is me! I placed second! My first competition and I took second place! My heart beat so fast as I nudged Pacino forward to receive our prize. It was a red ribbon and the color red had never looked so beautiful to me! A grin from ear to ear was plastered across my face and stayed with me, thrilling me until I lay in bed that night, remembering the day and sweetly drifting off to sleep. Emily Saso,12Brooklyn, New York Abigail Stephens, 11Amman, Jordan
Isabelle
“Truly a form of art,” Isabelle Wilcox imagined a sophisticated British voice saying. “And now down the long wall at the extended trot!” (Here Isabelle pressed her spur into Kaptein’s side.) “Oh and such beauty! Never before has the world seen such an extended trot. Never before has the world seen such a …” But Isabelle never quite decided what the world had never seen because at that moment, Kaptein snorted and shied at something up on the hill. “What is it Kaptein?” Isabelle asked her horse. Kaptein shook his long chestnut mane and pranced with his head high in the air. “Kaptein!” Isabelle gathered up her reins with annoyance. She knew daydreaming on a horse, especially one that could get spooky and silly like Kaptein, was a guaranteed, tested-over-thousands- of-years formula for disaster. “Don’t you try those dumb saddlebred stunts on me, mister.” Kaptein finally responded to her squeezes on the reins and put his head down a bit. “That’s better.” Isabelle relaxed her fingers. Then she saw what her Arabian was spooking at. A small rider was trotting up on a fat pinto pony. Truly a form of art,” Isabelle Wilcox imagined a sophisticated British voice saying “Ugh.” It was Abbey and her pony, Rainbow Daughter. Named after some dumb horse in some lame TV show. In Isabelle’s opinion, horses should not have names that sounded like a kindergartner named it. But in this case, it was true; Abbey had named her pony when she was in senior kindergarten. “Hey Isabelle!!!” Abbey waved enthusiastically from atop her small mount. “Hi Abbey,” Isabelle said wearily Abbey didn’t seem to notice. “Guess what!” Abbey didn’t wait for an answer. “Ava said that since I have been doing so well on the trail, I can go with an older rider.” Isabelle knew what was coming next but she crossed her fingers in the pocket of her new vest anyway. “Do you want to go on a trail ride, Isabelle?” “Um, OK.” Isabelle bit her lip. She liked trail rides fine, but Abbey was so annoying. She was what her friend Will would have called uber-annoying. Uber. It was such an elastic word. “Isabelle, did you know I’m going to Sacramento for Thanksgiving? It’s true. Will you miss me? Cause I know you go on trail rides with Sammy but she isn’t a very good rider. I think anyway” “Sammy shows three in the pony jumper division, remember?” Isabelle said through clenched teeth. “Oh I know but she takes from Claire, you know. I don’t think she is a very good instructor at all, well you should know, Isabelle, she hated you when you used to ride Thomas…” “Abbey—shush up! She could be out here.” Isabelle was regretting her decision to ride with Abbey “Let’s long trot a serpentine when we get to the field, ‘K?” “All right,” Abbey said cheerfully “I just love long trotting—especially outside. It’s so fun! I can’t canter without Ava so we shouldn’t go too fast; I know Kaptein can get excitable…” And so the trail ride dragged on with Abbey chattering and Isabelle getting more fed up with her. Finally, it began to get dark and Isabelle suggested they go back to the barn. As they rode back, Isabelle did what she had been doing for the past couple of weeks. She thought about the long process and eventually final decision that had led her parents to move to Wisconsin. Her father had been offered a high-powered job in Wisconsin, one with more pay and respect. Her father didn’t always get along with his employers, but as a sought after medical research doctor, it was usually the hospital that was scrambling to meet his needs, not the other way around. However, if there was a way to stay fairly local, Edward Wilcox would move to a different hospital. Now, the whole Wilcox family would be moving to Wisconsin so Edward could be a research surgeon heading up cloning in the Midwest. Pretty amazing once she thought about it. “Isabelle!” Abbey’s annoying voice cut through her thoughts. Isabelle glanced at her. The little girl was pointing at something. “What?” Isabelle asked with as much patience as she could muster. “There’s an enormous log blocking the path.” Abbey sounded genuinely scared. “And I can’t really jump, especially not out of the ring!” “Well…” Isabelle frowned. “Looks like you are going to have to try. Because the way we came is about a half-hour ride from here. And we can’t go back, it’s already pretty dark. Unless you plan on camping out here.” Abbey really did look for a second like she was ready to go galloping recklessly back to the barn. But then she shook her head. “I’ll try, OK?” Abbey even managed a small smile. “But don’t expect it to look like something out of Young Rider!” Isabelle grinned. “That’s the spirit!” Normally, Abbey wasn’t her favorite person, but she did want her jump to be a success, not only for safety reasons, but Isabelle didn’t want the younger girl’s confidence to be damaged. “OK, go for it, Kim Severson!” Isabelle shouted to Abbey, naming an Olympic cross-country rider. Abbey cued her pony into a canter and gamely looked ahead of the log. “Nice, Abbey, keep looking ahead, give her little squeezes if she feels hesitant…” Rainbow popped easily over the three-foot log and Abbey landed laughing on the other side. “Yes!” From where Isabelle sat on Kaptein, she saw a tiny fist pumped in the air. She could also hear Abbey praising and patting her pony as though she had just won an Olympic medal. In a way, she had. Isabelle circled Kaptein as large as she could allow and pushed him into a canter. “Heads up, Abbey!” Isabelle shouted to clear the way for her and her gelding. Kaptein galloped strongly up to the obstacle and then stopped and rolled his eyes. “Kaptein!” Isabelle whispered fiercely into his mane. Isabelle couldn’t believe Abbey had
