A Leap For The Sky by Kc Wheeler (find a book to read .TXT) 📖

like riding on a ghost-horse, gently bobbing above the ground.

We slowed to a walk and headed towards the water. Bugs, typical of the Thoroughbred breed, jig-jogged sideways, his eyes wild with excitement. Lucy was a nice, quiet rider and sat calmly in the saddle, her body so still despite Bugs’ bouncy movement beneath her.

Gypsy eagerly carried me into the sea, stopping to sniff, then paw, gently at the waves. Bugs had been race trained at the beach and the sea was no threat to him either. Soon Bugs settled down and we rode side by side through the shallow water.

“Adele?” Lucy said, squinting at me beneath her helmet.

“Hmm?”

“You know how you want to show-jump for a living?”

I stared at her. “Yeah?”

“Well,” she glanced down at Bugs’ neck. “Basically, I was wondering what will happen when Gypsy can’t take you any higher?” Lucy asked quickly.

“She jumped 1.35 metres yesterday,” I said.

“Yes, but it’s different jumping just one jump as opposed to a course. And even if she can compete at 1.35 metres, that’s only 10 centimetres higher than what you’re competing next week. If that goes well, you could be up at 1.35 metres in no time.”

I stared at Lucy, confused. “You say that like it’s a bad thing!”

“What I mean,” Lucy spoke slowly now, as if explaining herself to a child. “Is what if she isn’t comfortable competing over 1.25 metres? Or even 1.35 metres… Whatever. I mean, she is only small.”

“You said just before that height doesn’t always matter!” I cried, annoyed.

Lucy looked away. “She’s not exactly bred to be a high level jumper either though. I mean, how many Quarter horses do you see competing at huge heights?”

“She’s half Thoroughbred!” I spoke shrilly.

“But she’s built more like a Quarter horse.”

I twirled a piece of Gypsy’s mane around my finger. I knew Lucy had a point, and to be honest I didn’t see Gypsy taking me much higher than 1.25 metres in the competition ring. I knew deep down that she was nearing the peak of her potential, but Lucy knew I never wanted to sell Gypsy so why was she so insistent on making me think about that right now? “I’ll have to get a new horse,” I said finally. “But I won’t be selling Gypsy. I’ll have two horses.”

“How will you afford to buy a new horse then?” Lucy asked. “You and I both know that not just any old horse will be capable of living up to your expectations.”

“I’ll get a part-time job. You know, until my riding career kicks off.” I smiled, satisfied and relieved with my answer. I had reassured myself that everything was going to be okay. “Maybe I can find a cheap ex-race horse like Bugs to train up,” I said. “A lot of off-the-track Thoroughbreds have made it big in jumping,” I added thoughtfully.

Lucy grinned. “Well, Bugs has turned out to be pretty brilliant.”

At that moment, Bugs threw his head in Lucy’s face and began to jig-jog again, the water foaming around him.

“Well, he can be a bit naughty…” Lucy mumbled. “He’s probably not going to the Olympics either. But there are nicer Thoroughbreds out there who would put Bugs to shame,” she admitted. She then leaned forward and covered Bugs’ ears with both hands, causing him to chuck his head again. “You didn’t hear that Bugs.”

I smiled, calm again, and grateful to be riding such a laid back horse in comparison.

“Do you mind if we canter?” Lucy asked suddenly. “It’ll be good for him to let off some steam!”

“Sure,” I answered.

Lucy slid her leg behind the girth and Bugs leaped high into a canter, yanking hard at Lucy’s hands before giving in and lowering his head. Gypsy calmly popped into a canter behind him, her usually smooth gait, rough in the ocean. Waves crashed against us, throwing water into my riding boots, soaking my leggings and socks.

Gypsy’s short copper mane flew up with every stride. With a burst of speed, we were now beside Bugs and Lucy, closest to the shore, her canter small and quick in comparison to Bugs’ long, ground-covering strides.

Bugs, still a race horse at heart, pinned his ears flat and tugged against the bit. Lucy leaned forward and gave with her hands, allowing Bugs full freedom of his head and neck. I followed suite and stood in the stirrups as both horses increased their pace.

We veered left onto the wet, compact sand where both horses sped up once more. Faster and faster we went until both horses reached full gallop. Despite her size, Gypsy managed to keep at Bugs’ heels for a while, her legs moving wildly beneath me. However, although an average race horse among other race horses, Bugs was still a big, long-legged Thoroughbred, and Gypsy was still a short, stocky crossbreed; so with the subtle cue from Lucy, Bugs lengthened his stride once more and ate up the ground, leaving Gypsy and me for dust.

My hair blew wildly into my face and damp salty air burned lightly at my skin. The ocean flew by in a blur of green. I stood in the stirrups, perched low over Gypsy’s back, a handful of mane in one hand for extra balance. I gazed through Gypsy’s ears, which kept flickering back as she listened to my heavy breathing. We were going so fast, yet Bugs and Lucy appeared to be a speck in the distance and I silently vowed myself to ask for a gallop on Bugs next time.

Fit from full work, Gypsy continued on strong and I wanted to shriek with glee as her hooves thundered upon the hard sand. Besides showjumping, I couldn’t think of anything more amazing than this; the freedom, the speed and the bond between Gypsy and I left me exhilarated.

All too soon, Bugs and Lucy appeared nearer and nearer and I realized they were walking now. I slowed Gypsy to a canter, a trot, and finally a walk. She took the contact and lowered her neck, stretching out towards the ground. “That was fun aye girl?” I murmured.

“It was amazing!” Lucy exclaimed.

“Bugs is very fast!” I commented. Bugs walked calmly now, blowing hard, his thin coat lightly glistening with sweat.

“Yup; all he needed was to blow off some steam,” Lucy said matter-of-factly.

Chapter Three

I felt so tired after our big beach ride. However, when the time came to go to bed, I was wide awake. I switched on the bedside lamp and grabbed my book, The Horse Whisperer.

I was halfway through The Horse Whisperer and I had been enjoying it thoroughly, but tonight I struggled to get into it. When I found myself reading the same line repeatedly, I shut the book and placed it back on my bedside table.

I then leaned over and reached beneath my bed where I kept my photo album. This album was full entirely of horse photographs and I intentionally kept the album there for nights like this. The first photo was of me mounted on Missy, a fat, grey Welsh pony I rode when I started riding lessons as a six-year-old, with a lady named Mel. Missy would have been lucky to be 12-hands-high, yet I looked so small up there in my pink jodhpurs and miniature jodhpur boots. I wore a huge, happy grin upon my face. Missy on the other hand, stood half asleep with her head lowered and both ears out to the side. It was just another day for Missy. Day in, day out, Missy carted around kids as they bounced on her back, struggling to follow Mel’s instructions. Such a patient pony was Missy.

I flicked through a couple more photos of Missy and I; one of me learning to trot, my legs so far forward that my foot touched her shoulder; and one of us standing between two chestnut ponies mounted by Deanna and Kirsty, two girls who attended riding lessons with me.

The next image showed me at my first horse show. I was eight-years-old here and had moved onto a more advanced pony named Tiger. Tiger was a truly stunning animal. He was part Arab and had an elegant, dished head with a huge white diamond beneath his forelock. Lean and athletically built, he was a picture of health, his bay coat forever shinning in the sunlight.

This was a picture-perfect photo. Unlike Missy, his ears were forward and his bright alert eyes were looking directly at the camera. He had a neck full of ribbons. I sat with the same happy grin I had in the photo of Missy. I remembered feeling so pleased with myself.

I continued to flick through the album, stopping to study showjumping images. Unfortunately, Mum was my regular photographer and it was rare that she managed to take an image at the peak of the jump. Instead, I flicked through photograph after photograph of Tiger a stride before take-off, and a stride after landing.

I’d started showjumping on Tiger and discovered I absolutely loved to jump. At every riding lesson I’d ask, “Can we jump today?”

I was always disappointed when Mel said, “Dressage is the base to good jumping,” and we had a straight dressage lesson instead.

I finally reached an image of Gypsy. She stood grazing at Ridgewood stables behind a wire fence. Leaning against the fence stood a large cardboard sign; it read, “Happy Birthday, meet Gypsy.”

I smiled at the memory. I remembered feeling confused. I didn’t dare hope she was for me until Dad confirmed it. “It’s not every day you get a horse for your birthday, is it?” he’d laughed.

I had burst into tears, tears of pure joy. I’d hugged both of my parents and then rushed to the paddock to hug Gypsy who had at first seemed taken aback. Still, she stood there quietly as I cried into her mane. Just as I finally managed to stop the happy tears, she’d rested her head affectionately on my shoulder and I had found a new river to cry.

I came to a professionally taken image of Gypsy and I showjumping together for the first time. The fence was only 80 centimetres, but Gypsy sailed above it a lot higher, her knees tucked tightly to her chest. Anybody could see the enjoyment jumping gave her in this image. Her dark eyes shone bright, searching for the next jump. Her ears were pricked forward.

You could vaguely see the smile beneath my helmet. My eyes were hidden behind black-rimmed glasses- Once or twice I’d come close to losing them in a jumping round and I was glad I wore contacts now. I remembered I was having the time of my life. I had been so nervous prior, and Gypsy had been sure to take away any doubt from the moment we entered the ring. Though forward and excited beneath me, she waited patiently for the cue to canter. She did not rush on approach, nor fight me as some showjumping horses do. Respectful and trusting of me, she gave me a safe, tidy round to finish off in third place.

It was after midnight. I forced myself to shut the album, sliding it carefully back under my bed. I switched off the bedside lamp and lay on my back. A white strip of light shone through the window and danced across the ceiling. All was still and quiet. I closed my eyes and silently willed sleep to come.

When fifteen minutes later I was still wide-awake, I climbed out of bed and switched on the light. I picked todays clothes up from off the floor and pulled them on. I then headed down the stairs, walking lightly on my feet, careful not to wake anybody. I stopped at the front door to step into my gumboots. Ridgewood stables was fortunately just a five-minute drive away, so I found myself with Gypsy very quickly.

It was a mild night. The air was still and thousands of stars dotted the dark sky, promising the sun for tomorrow. Not a sound was to be heard; I felt alone in the world; just