Don't You Trust Me? by Patrice Kindl Page A

made rather a handsome picture—particularly in contrast to Brooke’s sweaty terror—erect, calm, and composed in the saddle. Bounce nodded approvingly.
    â€œVery nice. I can see you’re an old hand. Brooke, watch your cousin. She knows what she’s doing.”
    I smiled. And to think I owed it all to Goofy.
    Once Bounce had slung herself across a big white animal, we began to move toward the riding ring. Miss Delilah interrupted our progress by halting and beginning to eat grass. Brooke watched her helplessly.
    Bounce ordered, “Don’t let her eat, Brooke! You have to show her you’re in charge. Give her a dig with your heels. A little harder. Brooke, she’s taking advantage of you.”
    Needless to say, Brooke had been relieved of her crop during the mounting fiasco, but I had retained mine. While we were standing around waiting for Brooke to deal with Miss Delilah’s snack, my horse thought, for one split second, of taking a bite of grass herself. I transferred the reins into one hand and lowered the crop so it made contact with Chessie’s flank. I bent forward over her neck and growled deep in my throat, but softly, so that only she and I could hear. Her head jerked back up, and she stood stone-still, the picture of equine good manners.
    As it happened, Bounce had looked over at that moment. Too far away to hear the growl, she’d only seen my slight use of the crop, and that I had spoken to the horse. Clearly pleased, she nodded at me again.
    The whole lesson went like that. It turned out that what Goofy was doing in that cartoon was English-style riding—I distinctly recalled the section where he was “rising to the trot,” or “posting.” After a few moments offeeling like a bowl of Jell-O falling down a flight of stairs, I found the rhythm, and was soon trotting fluidly around the ring. By listening carefully to Bounce’s instructions to Brooke, I was able to unobtrusively adjust my grip on the reins and lower my heels so that I looked like a pro.
    â€œOh, excellent!” Bounce applauded my performance. She had had to lead Miss Delilah in a trot around the ring, with Brooke sliding first to one side, and then to the other, so I suppose our instructor was pleased not to have two incompetents on her hands.
    Surprisingly, Brooke had conquered her panic and was beginning to have fun, despite slopping around on the horse’s back like a sack of laundry. She looked awful, with her hair escaped from its barrette, her face bright red, and a roll of flesh showing beneath her jacket, but from time to time nervous giggles escaped her.
    â€œI’m getting it, I’m getting it,” she cried in triumph as she completed what I could tell was a bone-jarring circuit, whereupon she nearly fell off backward. Capitalizing on this diversion, Miss Delilah promptly stopped short and began to snatch at the tall grass that was poking through the fence.
    â€œSit up straight and grip with your thighs!” called Bounce. “Don’t let her eat grass!” And so on.
    Finally, evidently feeling that she had spent quite enough time on Brooke, our teacher told her to wait while she worked with me. She had a few corrections tooffer, and a little advice. Mostly, though, she was content to watch me as I trotted gracefully past.
    â€œYou’ve got an excellent seat, and a real ability to move as one with the horse,” she said. “I love to see it, you know. It’s like one of those mind-melds when a really good rider is in the saddle. It’s obvious when somebody’s got a strong love of horses and the experience to back it up.”
    Chessie shook her head violently and whickered in disagreement. I could see the whites of her eyes, which I suspected signaled fear. She gazed longingly back at the stable but was too nervous of me to do anything more than look.
    I smiled and thanked Bounce. Once again, humans were proving themselves