No Small Thing Read Online Free Page B

any more, I tell Cid she can ride him. “I’ll hold the reins while you get on.”
    She hands me the bag of brushes, then swings her leg up. Smokey quickly steps to one side. Cid hops on one foot like a pogo stick, her other leg still slung halfway over Smokey’s back.
    “Hold him still!” she says angrily.
    “Just hurry up and get on!” I tell her, and then I talk to Smokey the way cowboys do in the movies. “Whoa now, easy, boy.” I stroke his muzzle for extra assurance. He snorts and tosses his head. He doesn’t know what to think. I scrub his forelock and talk softly in his ear until Cid slings herself up. Smokey’s back legs buckle slightly as he considers her weight. I hold the reins near the bit and hand the rest over Smokey’s head to Cid. When I let go, Smokey lays his ears flat. I can tell he doesn’t like the idea. Cid taps his sides with her heels—and the ride is on!
    Smokey springs forward, then steps quickly to one side. His back legs compress and then he prances like a Lippizaner. Queenie watches with her big eyes. Cid holds the reins tightly with one hand and clutches a handful of Smokey’s mane with the other. She keeps her legs pressed to Smokey’s sides. Her teeth are clenched and her face is serious. I have to admit I’m impressed with her guts—really impressed—but I would never tell her that.
    “Give him another little kick,” I say, when Smokey stops. Cid kicks him and he lunges forward again.
    Despite all the snorting and stamping, Smokey never goes really wild. I can tell by his eyes that he feels obliged to put up a bit of a fuss—for dignity’s sake—but that his heart isn’t mean at all. He soon settles and gets used to the idea of the weight on his back. He walks quickly, blowing through flared nostrils and swinging his head from side to side. His mane dances up and down and his tail streams out behind him like a comet. Queenie trots beside him, her hand against his neck like she’s afraid to let go in case he disappears into the summer air like a mirage.
    By the time Cid lets me on him, Smokey is pretty much broke. He doesn’t try to step away when I get on, but stands and waits for me to gather the reins. He whinnies loudly while he waits, and I can feel the air pushing through him, his sides quivering against my legs. His coat is soft and warm, and I fit comfortably behind his withers like he was made for me. I give him a nudge with my heels, and he lurches forward, picking along the gravel road with quick, even steps.
    The sunlight is fading now. We move in and out of the shadows, the trees casting long darkbands across the road. I am so happy, I feel like I could ride forever. I want to keep following the sun until we reach the ocean. I would ride through the waves that foam and crash against the sand….
    Then I remember Queenie. She’s been waiting so patiently for her turn, her small hand still resting against the pony’s neck as she trots alongside him. “You get on now, Queenie,” I say, reining Smokey to a stop. I jump off and hold him by the bridle. I grab Queenie and push her up, then hand her the reins. I give a
cluck, cluck
with my tongue, and Smokey gets up, moving smoothly forward. I stay close, just in case, and I watch Queenie. “How do you like it up there, Queenie?”
    Queenie’s whole face smiles. Her eyes glow as she watches Smokey. I think she looks like an angel riding that white pony, the sunlight shining behind her, the little tendrils from her wheat-coloured braids shimmering around her face.
    I’m watching Queenie like this when something awful happens. From out of nowhere, we are attacked by a big, stupid dog. It charges out of the woods and hits us like a freight train. A Bouvier, I think. I don’t know what a dog like that is doing out in the middle of the country. It must have broken off its leash or its owners let it outand forgot about it, but at this point it doesn’t matter. The dog is snapping and growling like it’s rabid