Horsewoman Book 1: Best Of Equitation

Horsewoman

It felt great when the auctioneer bellowed "Sold!" Into the microphone and hit the wooden hammer on the desk. I went straight to the holding stalls to welcome my yet-to-be-named grey Andalusian filly. When I reached her stall, I grinned joyfully at her sweet little face. "Hmmmm," I hummed, tapping my chin, "what should I name a gorgeous little filly like you? Let's see...Flicka?" The filly snorted and stomped. "Ah, maybe not," I said, shaking my head. "Snowflake?" Again she snorted. "I know! You're the color of a cloud, and your eyes are sky blue. I think I'll name you Skye. For your longer name, I'll name you Skye Blue." Skye nickered. "I think you like it!" Then I remembered were leaving. I slipped a blue nylon halter onto her velvety face, then took a matching leadrope out of my jeans pocket and snapped the shiny clasp onto the O-ring. When I led her out, she followed in a high-stepping walk, her ears pricked forward. Mom saw us and grinned. "She's beautiful, Cristal! What do you think her name is?" Mom asked. "I've already name her Skye Blue, Skye for short!" I exclaimed. Mom clapped her hands together. "Aww, what a cute name! I love it! I'm sure an Andalusian's gonna be a great horse to train." "Am I going to train her?" I asked excitedly. "I've always wanted to train a horse!" Mom tilted her head, thinking. "Well, if you want to, I guess it's your responsibility!"

As soon as we got home, I wanted to start training my filly. But Mom was headed for a town meeting, and I had to do barn chores. Our farm is huge. We have a big red barn with fifty stalls, twenty-five of them for our horses, and the other half for boarders. But we haven't had any boarders since the Thoroughbred stallion, Rocket. Next to the barn are three big round pens. To the right of the pens is two big, rectangular arenas, covered with sawdust for our monthly mini horse shows. To the left of the pens is a big garden, growing green beans, soybeans, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, herbs, strawberries, raspberries.....everything, really. Next to the garden are the orchards. We are famous around our town, which is just outside of Cheyenne, for our U-pick cherries, apples, peaches, and blueberries. We also grow almonds. Thirty-five employees work at the orchard every day. I give trail rides to visitors, too. Next to the orchard is the corral, usually filled with cows, and to the right of that is the pasture. There's a quarter-mile long trail leading to the pasture, so whenever we turn out the horses, we ride them bareback through the trail to the fields. In all, we own 130 acres of land.

"Nickers!" I called to my favorite horse, a white Arabian I'd named after Winnie the Horse Gentler's horse, which is my favorite book. I needed a ride before I mucked stalls. I set a blue hunter saddle onto her sleek back and tightened the girth. The buckles made a satisfying, soft click when I pulled the straps up. I slipped a black bridle onto her head. No need to bother with the martingale. I stuck my Ariat English riding boots into the stirrups and swung up. "Come on, girl," I whispered. "Let's jump." Nickers responded to my aids and cantered toward the red-striped cavaletti poles. We cleared the two and three footers easily. But I stopped when we reached the five foot poles. Arabs aren't hunters, and five feet would be pushing it for Nickers. I posted back to the barn.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. I scraped the red plastic fork across Nicker's stall. When I was finished, I cleaned out all the other stalls. On our ranch, twenty-five horses live here, including Skye. Their names are: Buck, a Criollo gelding. Freedom, a Friesian mare. Nickers, a white Arabian. Tutu, Carrots, Nova, and Sweetie, all Quarter Horses. Pal, a palomino gelding. Lilly and Tilly, twin fillies. Mr. Tiny, a Shetland pony gelding. Greta, a Fjord mare. Teensy, a Falabella gelding. Twizzler, an Appaloosa stallion. Opal, a Welsh Mountain Pony. Misty, Map, Snowy, Buttermilk, and Twister, all Chincoteagues. Fireheart and Blaze, both Trakehners. Cherry and MJ's Melody, both Hackneys. And, of course, Skye the Andalusian filly. When I was done, I groomed Mr. Tiny, Twister, Nova, and Pal, the only ones who had been ridden or rolled. "Cristal?" A tiny head popped into the barn. "Can I ride my Opal? Will you give me lessons?" It was Ella, my six-year-old sister. She loved her little pony. "Not right now," I said slowly. Ella pouted. "But I will in a little bit." She brightened up again. "Hey Ella, do you want to help me train my new horse?" I asked, almost in a whisper. "Ohhhhhhh!" Gasped Ella. "I'd love to!" Soon we were getting Skye used to grooming. "Ok," I started. "We're going to use this soft body brush to groom Skye. Here, feel how soft it is." I held it out to Ella to feel. She ran her hand across it, sending a little cloud of dust and horsehair into the air. "Oo, it's soft!" She exclaimed. Soon we had Skye swaying to the rhythm of the brush.