Let me tell you, that little princess is really a monster:

Let me tell you, that little princess is really a monster:

It’s the summer of 2007, I’m fifteen, and my sister Lorraine and her husband Hume have leased a property next to the confluence of the West Humber and  Humber Rivers. The Metropolitan Toronto and Region Conservation Authority (MTRCA) had the area declared a flood plain, which meant no one could redevelop the land. The place has the distinction of being the last working farm within city limits. However the place is still in rough shape due to the flooding a couple of years ago and several of the out buildings had been swept away. The property owners are operating greenhouses and they welcome the extra income from the lease as they rebuild.

The barn is in decent shape and can stable a dozen horses. Lorraine and Hume set up a couple of trailers for their office and some living space. It’s a way to make Horseback Riding accessible within the city and hopefully draw business over to the family farm near Blackstock.

I’m working part time in a shop that does small engine repairs and helping Hume and Lorraine with their in-city equestrian endeavours during my off hours. Mainly mucking stalls, grooming and maintaining the tack while they give riding lessons to curious neophytes.

It’s a mid-August Sunday afternoon and it’s stupid hot mixed with high humidity. Hume is in Blackstock tending to the farm there,while Lorraine has her hands full with a small group of city students. I’m working on keeping the rest of the horses watered and cool when I hear a heavy vehicle chewing the gravel driveway. I step out of the barn to see a big black mansion on wheels pull up. Five excited ‘tween girls erupt from the back of the shiny SUV. All but one are dressed in shorts, sparkly crop tops and open toe shoes, the fifth one is in full equestrian attire; helmet, hunt coat, boots and worst of all, a crop. A very large man chewing on a ridiculously large cigar heaves himself out of the driver’s seat. His round red leathery tanned face holds small squinted blue eyes and he strokes his thinning blonde hair back as he catches his breath from the exertion.

“Who’s in charge?” he rasps. I can tell he holds himself in high esteem as I mockingly rasp “Ms. Smythe.” back to him. He didn’t appear to notice as he continued, “Where’s she at, then?” “This way.” I motion for him to follow as I stride to the paddock where Lorraine is instructing her registered students. The gaggle of glitter girls rush to the paddock and start to coo over the horses they see there. All except for the aloof girl in the riding habit who chides the others to not be such babies. I gave a whistle and motioned for Lorraine to come over as the big man caught up to me, now bathed in sweat and panting.

“It’s Prissy’s birthday and she’s getting a pony. Give ‘er an' ‘er friends a lesson or two.” he rasps at Lorraine as he jacked his thumb at the girl in the habit. “None of our horses are for sale right now, sir.” She replied. He snorted, “She’s got a real pony comin’ from Kin-tucky. Jus’ show ‘er how t’ drive one. She got the outfit today and wants to take a test drive.”

“Alright. Joe, take this gentleman to the office and get the particulars and then run the girls through an introduction.”

I cringe. Aside from Prissy, these girls are not the least bit appropriately dressed. Bare legs and open toe shoes are a liability. The glitter girls continued to ogle the horses in the paddock with Lorraine and her students while Prissy stands, tapping a toe and fondling her crop.

I led the man to the office trailer and pulled out the various forms required by law and the insurance underwriters. The big man grumbles at all the paperwork. "How am I supposed t' know next of kin fer all those brats? Or their OHIP numbers? Is this all really necessary?" He asks as he pushes his platinum card across the counter. "Hundred per head fer two hours worth?" 

“Two hours? Our usual lessons are seventy-five dollars an hour, plus tax. That’ll be just shy of seven-fifty.” The reek of the cigars and stale beer on the man is almost overwhelming in the hot confined space of the office. I can see an angle and I work it. I flip the card over in my hand and quickly memorized the name and numbers without swiping it through the machine. "We also take cash..."

He reaches for the card with one hand while opening his wallet with the other. He tucks the card into it's slot and fingered out some brown and red bills. “I’m sure this’ll cover the fee plus somethin’ fer waiving the paperwork.”

“Alright,” I say as I accept the bills, “You go ahead and find a comfortable spot in the shade to wait. I’ll be right out.” When he steps out the door, I quickly write down the details of his credit card as well as the make, model and plate number on his vehicle to cover my own assets. I tuck the note and the cash under a binder on the shelf behind me and stride out to where the girls are waiting.

The heat and the prospect of giving a crash course in horsemanship to a gaggle of debutants isn't my idea of fun but the wad of cash makes the task a bit less onerous. 

I gather up the girls and lead them to the tack room. "Firstly, who's been on a horse?" None of them had, but Prissy knew everything about them and freely regaled the rest of us on her extensive knowledge of breed and pedigree.. "Alright, Prissy, that’s very impressive.”

With the fear of god and lawyers, “I need to take care of some boring safety stuff before we go any further.” I hand out registration forms to the girls, “Please fill these out: Your First and Last Name, Date of Birth, Name of Parent or Guardian and their contact information. Thank you, Ladies.”

Prissy’s eyes rolled back, “So boring! I thought Dad took care of all this.”

“No, I think he wants to teach you to take some responsibility.” I lied. 

A quick assessment of the group gave me the impression that of her entourage only one, Tiffany, appears to be a friend. The other three are hangers-on.

“Now, before we meet the horses we also need to make sure you're all set. Other than Prissy, none of you are dressed for riding. Those sandals won't protect your toes. Your bare legs will get cut and chaffed. Luckily we've got some rubber boots so you won’t have to worry about stepping in any meadow muffins and chaps to protect your legs. And… You are all required to wear helmets." They all sneered at the fashion choices. “You won’t think about what you’re wearing once you’re up and riding.” I tell them as I get them into the boots and show them how to buckle on the chaps.

“After today, do any of you think you are going to ride again?” One of the glitter girls, Tiffany,  said yes and the rest had dubious looks. “I need to know which horse and what style of riding is best for each of you. English is a little more technical and you need to be a little bit stronger” I slap my thighs “in the legs to be able to stay on the horse and learn how to post. Western is slightly easier. Although, it's a good idea to post when riding Western as well.”

It’s unusual, but the horses are all cross trained and have both types of saddle and tack but they do have their own preferences and right now I’m more concerned with keeping them happy which will keep everyone safer. It's expensive to keep two sets of tack for each horse, English and Western, but it's cheaper than having twice as many horses.

“Let’s start by meeting the horses and doing some matchmaking.” I say as I lead the girls into the stable area of the barn.

Prissy dialed up her horse knowledge and turned her nose even further up. "These runts and misfits are an embarrassment. My Thoroughbred will put these halfbreeds to shame."

Through gritted teeth and a forced smile I respond, "It takes a special breed with a very gentle and patient temperament to allow clumsy children and strangers to ride them day after day." I touch the soft snouts of the horses and introduce them to the girls. I let the girls gravitate towards their mounts and of course Prissy bossed her way towards the 'prettiest of the bunch', a ‘Black Beauty' named Maude. 

"Before we ride, we'll get to know our mounts with a little grooming and get them saddled. So, back to the tack room and we'll haul what we need out to the paddock and then bring out the horses; give them a bit of a brushing and go from there."

Prissy snootily, “Isn’t that the Stable Boy’s job?”

Losing a bit more of my cool. “No, Prissy. A horse isn’t just a toy that you can pull out of a box and play with, then expect a servant to put away for you. It’s extremely hot and I’d be happy to save the horses from heat stroke by giving your chauffeur his money back if you're not interested in learning how to properly care for the horses.”

The other girls were a little stunned that I had reprimanded Prissy and pleaded with her to play by the rules so that they could have a chance to ride.

Back in the Tack Room, Prissy finally started to wilt from the heat and took off her hunt coat and rolled up her sleeves. We all carried saddles, bridles, blankets and a bucket filled with combs and brushes out to the paddock.

Then we went back into the barn to pull the horses out of their stalls and into the sunshine. “In these narrow stalls, you are now approaching the horses from behind. Which means that you can’t sneak up on them and surprise them or you can get kicked. Talk softly and let them know you are coming. Move up their left side and rub them with your hands. Approaching from the right, you can softly put your hand on their rumps to let them know you are there and you can move around their backsides. Never stay directly behind a horse for longer than you absolutely have to. Especially Surprise." The silver mare, "If she lifts her tail, you'll be sorry."

"Once you unhitch the horse, hang on to their lead and tell ‘em to back up. Give them a little push if you need to. When you are in the lane, lead them with your right hand and stay on their left side. Be careful not to get stepped on.” I demonstrate with my mount Oscar, a very large mule, and supervise as each of the girls get their horses out of their stalls and lined up in the lane.

Out in the paddock I get the girls to brush and comb their mounts and demonstrate how to pick the horse’s hooves. Prissy is sullen and just wants to ride but the rest of the girls appear to be enjoying the bonding experience they are having with the horses. One by one I assist each girl to saddle their selected horse and make sure that all the straps are secure.“The tricky part can be when you remove the halter and put on the bridle. You need to be relaxed and not rush or force anything.”

Prissy was way ahead in removing Maude's halter and Maude takes advantage of the situation by turning and sauntering away. I can see that Prissy is on the verge of a tantrum and I have to stifle myself from laughing. It's difficult to whistle when you are trying not to grin. I call Maude but she's found some clover and is having a snack on the other side of the paddock. So I manage to straighten my face and finally give a sharp whistle. Maude comes trotting back to the group as all the horses' ears prick up at the shrill sound. I reassure Prissy and help her put the bridle on Maude. "Trust and training are extremely important. Without them we could have spent the rest of the afternoon chasing a loose horse. That's why we take time and get to know our mounts instead of treating them like machines."

"Now for the moment of truth. We'll take a few minutes to practice mounting and dismounting. Adjusting the stirrups and straps so everything is secure. A little walk around the paddock and when we're all set, we'll head out on the trail."

We all mount up and do a conga line of figure eights in the paddock. One lap, two laps, three, and I reach down and open the gate, leading the line across the gravel road and South through a meadow towards the river.

Crossing the meadow, “We’ll try a little speed here. A Trot is a bumpy ride. Don’t just bounce on your bums. Support yourselves with your feet in the stirrups and use your legs like shock absorbers. Learning to Post properly might be the hardest part of riding. Like this: Bump Up! Bump Down! Up! Down! You’ll get the hang of it, or get a sore bum...” I nudge Oscar into a trot and the other horses follow his lead without much urging from their riders.

Some of the girls are going “Ooof, Ooof, Ooof…” as they ride.

We slow back down when we get to the West Humber River, which is ten to twenty meters across and only about a meter deep with a sand and gravel bed and no real current for a few hundred meters to where it joins the Humber proper. Sploosh, sploosh, sploosh; we enter the river and head downstream. This gives the horses a chance to cool themselves in the water. The confluence is the same depth but broader and the far bank is slightly steeper which takes us into the bush on the East side of the river where we turn South keeping the river on our right.

"Lean forward and hang on tight as we come out of the water here. Squeeze tight with your legs so you don't slide back."

The shade of the bush is a relief after nearly an hour in the sun. The narrow trail keeps us single file and I can keep the line at a safe and steady walking pace. Since Oscar knows his way I can turn in my saddle and keep an eye on the girls as we go.

We pass by a large fire pit in the Vee of a pair of gigantic fallen but still living Elm trees. Deeply carved into one of the trees are eight inch tall block letters spelling 'THE PLATFORM'. It's the site of frequent bush parties attended by the local teens.

A couple of 'tween boys sit next to the dead firepit smoking cigarettes. They catcall the girls who snub them.

Following the well trodden path through the bush as it turns left, away from the river and up another short steep hill. The trail opens at the top to meet a broader path leading to the left and right which curves through a savanna of bushes and smaller trees skirting Crang's Pond.

We turn right with the river to our right, down a sheer embankment and the pond to our left, down a gentle slope. Our path is now a rutted dirt service road that runs the length of the pond.

Seeing her opening Prissy pulls the riding crop out of her boot, where she had partially hidden it, and swats Maude's rump with it. Maude takes the bit in her teeth and lunges into a gallop down the road with Prissy hanging on for dear life and shrieking.

My mount, Oscar the mule, is strong and smart; built for everything but speed. “I need a faster horse.” As I pull around beside the gelded quarter horse Charlie and grab his mount and pull her onto Oscar. I shove Oscar's reins into the girl's hands and fling myself over onto Charlie.

"I've got to catch up to them. Just follow this path and don't do anything stupid." I shout as I kick Charlie into a gallop after Maude and Prissy.

The rest of the girls follow at a trot while I chase Prissy at a gallop. Near the creek that drains the pond into the river Maude turns right into a small meadow and stops. Maude gives a whinny and shakes herself. This loosens Prissy’s grip and Prissy slips over Maude’s side. Prissy lands on her feet and then collapses on the ground. Her eyes are wild and she’s wearing a maniacal grin. “That was awesome!”

Catching up, I jump off of Charlie and yank the crop out of Prissy’s hand. Waving the crop in her face I hiss “Be thankful Maude didn’t buck you off and kick you in the head.” Prissy’s grin disappeared and her eyes started to well up with tears. “That stupid stunt could’ve gotten you killed...” I finished.

I take the reins of Charlie and Maude and walk them both back to the trail where the other girls are waiting; Prissy shuffling behind me.

“Okay girls, we can switch up some of our mounts if you’d like.” To the girl on Oscar, “You can have Charlie back. Prissy’s going on Oscar” with a pointed look at Prissy, “who WILL buck you if you try another stunt like that. I’ll take Maude, unless someone else would like to try English. If anyone wants to dismount and stretch their legs, we can do that now…  And if anyone else wants to swap horses, that’ll be alright too… Just hang on to the reins so that the horses don't decide to wander off.”

The girls dismount and stretch their legs. A couple trade mounts, switching between English and Western. Prissy continues to snivel but I ignore the obvious crocodile tears as I help her mount Oscar. I take a Pinto mare named Josie with a Western Saddle.

Remounted, we follow a narrow footpath East toward the Humber River where we stop on a small beach on the bank of the river. "Loosen the reins and let your mounts have a drink."The horses step knee deep into the water and dip their heads down to drink. Then we turn South and follow the river.

The path is blocked with a newly fallen tree and I pick a new trail around it with the others following except Prissy.

Prissy yanks Oscar’s reins and kicks him with her heels, pushing Oscar to jump the fallen tree. Oscar rears and backs away from the fallen tree. Prissy continues to kick and tug at the reins until Oscar bucks. Prissy is tossed from the saddle but remarkably manages to hang on to Oscar’s neck.

Once again she manages to land on her feet and stumbles away from the angry mule. "Stupid fuckin' horse!" She screams.

Stupid frigging child "He's a mule not a horse. The only way he'd jump is if there was a rattlesnake on the path." I jump off of Josie and fling her reins around a tree branch and move to calm Oscar who's wild eyed with his ears pinned back; huffing and snorting. I put my hands on his chest and my cheek to his, whispering "Good boy." Oscar is completely capable of making the jump, with a skilled rider, but Prissy doesn't deserve to know it.

Oscar settles down with my embrace as the other girls stare at our tableau. "That language is very unbecoming of a lady, young miss. Come over here and apologize to Oscar for cursing, kicking him and yanking his reins."

The stunned looks on the other girls' faces show me that they're not used to seeing Prissy being reprimanded. 

"You want me to apologize to a mule?" she sneers.

"Absolutely. He's intelligent and has feelings. You did something stupid and made him angry, so you need to apologize." I handed her the reins, "And, by the way, you're not riding until Oscar is completely satisfied. In the meantime, you and he can walk together. Just follow this path and you'll catch up to the rest of us eventually."

"I'm not walking. Or apologizing to a dumb animal."

"Good luck then..." I walk back to Josie, mount and lead the rest of the girls along the path. Watching Prissy over my shoulder as she tries to mount Oscar and Oscar sidling away from her on each attempt. Such a smart boy!

Screams and curses of frustration ring through the bush. I pause the troops just around a corner and wait until Prissy quiets down. I see her, head down and sullen, walking and leading Oscar. We move ahead again and pause again. "Apologize." I call over my shoulder.

After a few stops and starts we’ve traveled close to a half kilometer. Oscar finally allows Prissy to remount and they catch up to the group. The path follows the river course and we turn West and then North to reconnect with the service road that skirts Crang’s Pond where we turn left. We’re heading West again. Instead of turning back into the bush where we had emerged earlier, we continue Westward and veer off the service road and across another savannah where there’s a less used path. To our right are the backyards of a mid-century middle class suburban neighbourhood. Highly prized ravine lots on a low ridge above the floodplain. Most of the homes are original but a couple have been replaced by McMansions, which from the rear are just ugly, characterless oversized boxes that the Yuppies built in the eighties. Poor quality has them looking shabbier than their older neighbours.

Facing West the open space brings a nice breeze to our faces and I nudge the group into a canter. Picking up some speed cheers up the hot and sullen group. We slow down as we reach the river and turn left to curve South-East back into the shade of the bush. Up a short steep slope we’re a dozen feet above the river. The river is deep and narrow, with high sheer banks.

“Hold up here and dismount. Tie your horses and come over here, carefully, to the edge. Take a look at the other side of the river and you can see the bank is full of holes. Each of those holes is a bird nest for Cliff Swallows.” The Swallows put on a show, flitting through the air catching bugs and popping in and out of the little holes in the clay cliff. The girls coo at the birds and spot some other wildlife as well.

I don’t notice that Prissy has mounted Charlie and is now wrestling to get him to jump another fallen tree. Charlie is wheeling back and forth wildly and the girls scatter to get out of the way. I try to grab hold of Charlie’s harness as he spins and rears. Now he’s bucking and Prissy looks like a rag doll flopping around on Charlie’s back.

Stumbling sideways, Charlie hits me and knocks me over the embankment. I gasp as I back-flop into the river. Charlie follows me over the edge and his flank lands on me, slamming the air from my lungs as his weight pushes me all the way down to the riverbed.

My lungs spasm for air and I see twinkle lights. Holding the tiny bit of air my lungs contain I am panicking as they begin to burn. A feeling of dizzy euphoria creeps into my mind. With my last brain cell still striving for survival I kick off the bottom and gulp air as I breach the surface of the water. No time to do any thinking. I'm in survival mode as I see Charlie swimming downstream towards a shallow spot where he stops and stands: Shaking.

Turning around, I see Prissy with a look of wild-eyed terror as she bobs in the deep water flailing her arms helplessly. I can’t grab her without her pushing me under. “I can get you, but you have to calm down!” I shout.

She continues to flog and churn the water frantically. 

“CALM THE FUCK DOWN!! I’VE GOT YOU!” I swim in close, turn and give her a kick and again yell, “CALM DOWN!”

Prissy slows down her thrashing and I grab hold of her arm. Getting control of her, “Just relax, I’ve got you.” and I wrap my arm under hers and around her chest. With the help of the current and a few kicks, we’re in shallow water. I release her and shout “Stand up.” as I can touch bottom with my free hand and I stand. Prissy stands up and we both stagger to the opposite shore where Charlie has found some goldenrod to munch on. His saddle has slipped over his side.

Prissy sits down on the gravel and begins to cry. Seriously sobbing. The girls on the opposite shore are staring; clearly shocked. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I ask Prissy as I look her over. She sadly shakes her head and continues to weep.

I call across the river,“Girls, stay with the horses, I’ll come and get you in a minute.” To Prissy, “I need to get Charlie and make sure he’s okay.” She nods.

I should be furious but I’m just numb. I ease up to Charlie and run my hands over his body, and up and down his legs checking for any sign of injury. Relieved that there isn’t anything more than a couple of small scratches, although there may be some bruises, there doesn’t appear to be anything major. I loosen his saddle and push it back up onto his back and secure it there. I take his reins and lead him back to where Prissy is still crying. 

She stands up and suddenly buckles over, coughing and puking: Her lunch, but mostly river water.

"That's what happens when you almost drown." I say as I pat her on her back. I pick her up and put her over my shoulder. I carry her across the river; carefully picking my way back across while leading Charlie.

The other girls encircle us as I set her down on the ground "Prissy, listen to me very carefully. All that river water can make you sick. If you throw up again or have diarrhoea that lasts more than an hour or two, you need to see a doctor. If you are having trouble breathing, your chest hurts or you can't stop coughing, you might have water in your lungs or pneumonia. Go to a doctor right away. It's called secondary drowning and it can kill you. Do you understand?"

Prissy starts crying again and sniffles her understanding. 

To the other girls, “I think that’s enough fun for one day. Let’s get back to the ranch.”

The girls remount as I tie Charlie’s reins to Josie’s saddle. I mount Josie and pull Prissy up behind me. In a soft voice Prissy says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m a jerk.”

“Thank you, Prissy.” I say as she continues to say sorry. She wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek to my back as we start to ride again.

The mood is sour and there’s nearly a kilometer ahead of us. I ask, “Does anyone here know any camp songs?” The girls name a few that I’m not familiar with and I decide on a call and response song to lead with a lot of dramatic inflection:

Old Hiram's goat

Was a feeling fine

Ate three red shirts

Right off of the line

Mrs. Murphy the cook

She beat him black

And tied him to

The railroad track

Singin' 'au revoir"

But not 'Good-bye'

'Cause that old goat

Wasn't doomed to die

He coughed and coughed

In mortal pain

Coughed up those shirts

and flagged the train

But the Engineer

He was a colour blind

And he thought those shirts

Was a go-ahead sign

Was a go-ahead sign…

We cross the river and head back up the West Humber River, back the way we had come. By the end of the song, Prissy began to perk up. We sing a couple more songs as we go and when we reach the meadow, I pull Charlie up beside us and lift Prissy over onto Charlie’s saddle. She doesn’t really deserve it, but she appears to be contrite and I want to put on a good show for her father.

The horses are cool from walking in the river so I decide we can run the horses back to the paddock. The girls are elated. Laughing and joking about having broken vaginas and being bow-legged.

I pause at the gate to the paddock and usher the girls in, closing the gate once we're all in. We line up at the hitching rail and dismount and tie the reins to the rail.

I help them all take the saddles off and switch the bridles back over to their halters.

I leave Charlie's tack out in the sun to dry and we all carry the rest of the equipment back into the barn and stow it in the tack room where there are a couple of fans blowing to help dry the horse sweat. "Before you take off the boots and chaps we need to finish taking care of the horses." I lead a tired gaggle of debutants back out to the paddock. "Give them all a nice brushing and thank them for the ride."

The horses are wet from their walk in the river and sweat. Instead of bringing them back to their stalls in the barn, we lead them to the other side of the paddock and set them loose in a pasture to dry first. 

"Thank you ladies. I hope you all enjoyed the experience and learned something. Riding lessons aren't usually this dramatic." Pointedly at Prissy. "But it was an adventure, for sure. Now let's get you out of those ridiculous chaps and rubber boots and send you on your way." The girls kick off the rubber boots and put their sandals and flip-flops back on. Prissy gathers up her hunt jacket. I hold out her riding crop and pull it back. “A good rider doesn’t need one: And a bad rider shouldn’t have one. Think about that.” I look her in the eyes and gently pass the crop to her.

I picked up the consent forms the girls had filled out and rolled them up in my hand so I could bring them to the office to file them.

We walked out of the barn towards Prissy's father's SUV as her father shuffled out of the shade of a tree, leaving several empty beer cans behind. Slurring, "So how wuzz th' ride girlies? Didja have fun?"

The girls all chirp about having a great ride, thank me and give me hugs. Prissy squeezes me the tightest.

I tip my hand in a drinking gesture towards the big man, “Would you like a cup of coffee or two before you hit the road?”

He straightens up, “Nah, I’m good to go.” Which I doubt. ”Jus’ a couple o' pops to pass th’affernoon.” 

The girls look a little helpless as they approach the vehicle. I help usher them into the back seats. “Do up your seatbelts.” I tell them as Prissy’s father loads himself into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

I step back as the SUV starts to move and I immediately dial 911 on my cell phone. “Hello, I’d like to report a DWI.” … Reporting the make, model and license plate, as well as the direction of travel on Albion Road… I’m so very thankful for my waterproof phone case. That isn’t the only phone call I’ll make. 

Under the shade of the tree, I stomp a half-dozen beer cans flat with my boots and pick them up, then grind a still smoldering cigar stub under my heel. I see a police car whiz past with its lights flashing but there’s no way to know if it's chasing a drunk driver or heading into Tandridge.

In the office trailer I dump the beer cans into the recycling bin and sit down behind the counter to pull out the paperwork and wad of cash I had stashed. I peel off six brown bills and three red for Lorraine. Three more red, five green, two purple and five blue for me. No, an extra red for Lorraine. 

I’ve really earned the other two-forty-five I pay myself as a bonus. I look at the paperwork and fill in a few details before filing them. I hold on to Prissy’s paper while I pull out a binder containing the equestrian registry and look up some other local riding clubs. I call a couple to warn them and find out that Prissy has already been black-balled. They didn’t know that we’d set up shop in the city or they would have already warned us.

What can I do? Laugh…

Lorraine comes into the office, “What’s so funny?” 

“Not really so funny, but tragic.” and I tell Lorraine about everything except for the bonus I gave myself.

As I tell her, I lead her out to the pasture and we go over Charlie very thoroughly. I collect the first aid bag from the tack room and we clean up a couple of scratches and give all the horses a grooming.

“Jeezus, Joe. What were you thinking? You should have pulled the plug sooner.”

“I know. But the other girls were doing so well and I didn't want to spoil it for them. Besides: For all that shit, the twirp impressed me. Her form is terrible but she managed to hang on and always landed on her feet. She’s fearless. Knowing that she’s been black-balled actually makes me feel a little sorry for her. Not to mention what a smelly piece of work her father is. I don’t know…”

“What don’t you know, Joe?”

“We trained Oscar, and he was a real mess when we got him.” Oscar was bred, Donkey and Arabian, as a cruel joke and was abused and neglected before Lorraine rescued him. “We managed to train Oscar. Maybe we can train Prissy? Maybe we can rescue her? If she’s actually getting a ‘Pony’, we’d be rescuing it, for sure.”

“She’d be your project.”

“Well, I’m going to chew on it, anyway…” I put Prissy’s phone number in my phone under ‘Monster’.

I rode my bicycle home at dusk. Stopping at a burger joint and gorging myself on greasy goodness. I get home and have a long hot shower. Finally crashing hard.

In the morning I’m stiff and sore, like I’ve been trampled by a horse. Funny, that.

The day is a regular Monday; dealing with all the lawn mowers and trimmers that broke down over the weekend. Gotta love those little two-stroke engines. Mostly, it’s dirty air filters or amateurs who didn’t get the fuel mixture right. For those guys, we recommend switching to a four-stroke. Or electric.

Lunchtime, I’m fidgeting with my phone. Staring at it.

One of the guys pokes me, “What’s a matter? Trying to work up the nerve to ask somebody on a date?”

“Ha, something like that…”

I'm still too stiff to pedal the few kilometers up to the stable so I borrow a moped from the shop. On the way I pick up some fried chicken for dinner to share with Lorraine.

Lorraine and I sit down at a picnic table in the shade beside the barn and between mouthfuls. “I think I’ll do it."

"Hmmm?"

 "Between the boarding fees and a special ‘black-ball’ rate for training." I give a wink. "I think it might be worthwhile. The old man’s got more money than brains. As long as we can get him to fill in all the waivers and insurance forms properly.”

“Alright, Joe, but it’s on you. But: Don't do it unless you're sure. Give it a few days before you pull the trigger."

Wise sisterly advice.

A few days later I do pull the trigger. It's just before five and I take out my phone and tap 'Monster'.

A rough female voice answers, "Hello?"

“Hello, it’s Catlin Josephs, from the Smythe Riding Academy. I'd like to speak to Prissy.”

"Hi Catlin. You sound like Joe."

"Yes. Catlin is my proper name but everyone calls me Joe. I wanted to check up on you to make sure you are okay."

"Daddy got busted for drunk driving again."

I fist pump and silently cheer. Innocently, "On your way home after riding?"

She gave a hoarse cough and her voice sounded a bit better, "Yes. Cops pulled us over and Mommy had to come and get us."

"But, you're okay?"

"Yes. You were right about the drowning thing. I started coughing and feeling like crap the next day.  I asked to go to the doctor. Daddy said it was just a summer cold." *cough* "Then I got worse so Mommy took me to the Doctor. He said I have fluid in the lungs and pneumonia and gave me some medicine. I'm feeling better now." *cough* "You saved my life."

"Just doing my job, ma'am. I noticed on your form that it wasn't really your birthday."

Silence…

"Anyway. I called a couple of other riding clubs and found out you caused a bit of trouble there too."

Sniffle…

"I'm wondering: When are you getting your 'Pony'?"

A sob. "The breeder won't send the horse until we have a registered Stable to accept him." *cough* *sob* "If we don't get the proper paperwork, they're going to sell him to someone else."

"I see." I pause and listen to Prissy cry. No crocodile. "Listen. You're a real pain in the ass. But I want to help you."

A shriek and some whooping along with some dogs barking followed by hoarse coughing fit. *sniffle* "Really?"

"What I want to know is: Are you a jerk all the time,  or were you just showing off for your friends?"

"I'm sorry. I was showing off." She sounded sincere.  

"Your form is horrible and your attitude needs adjusting, but you're fearless. There's going to be a few conditions though. I'm going to be the law and you are going to obey. Are you understanding what I'm saying?"

"Uh huh."

"Say it."

*cough* "Yes. I understand. You are the boss."

"Alright. I'm not going to promise anything right now until I talk to your parents. Your Mother. I don't want to deal with your Father. And get all the proper paperwork and contracts signed. But if everything is kosher I'll be your trainer."

"Thank you, Joe." More whooping and coughing.

"Now, put your Mother on the phone."

….