The Poor Girl Meets The Talented Horse

“Are you here to test out Dove, sweetie?” A lady asks, a smile plastered on her face. I can’t explain why I feel so nervous today, it’s not like it’s my first time at the barn.

“Yes.” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I feel out of place. Everyone on this side of the stables is wearing fancy clothes, new boots, and shiny helmets, whereas I’m stuck with my old pants, a random shirt, boots that hardly fit anymore, and a helmet that desperately needs to be replaced. 

“Come with me.” The lady smiles as she turns around, but I catch the quick glaze over she gives my clothes. I catch the small twitch at the side of her mouth. I catch the small flicker in her eyes, where the smile doesn’t quite reach them. 

Her boots echo, loud and proud through the stables whereas mine kind of flip flop. I catch the young adults staring at me, probably wondering what a kid from the streets is doing in such a nice place. 

“Here she is sweetie.” The lady pauses, her smile faltering. “Would you like some help tacking up?” She asks, moving towards the tack room with her boots clicking behind her. I’m more than capable of tacking up a horse by myself, especially a horse said to be as kind as Dove apparently is.

I get glares as I stand outside Dove’s stable door. From people passing by, to even the grooms. I look down at my old clothes. Maybe I’d be treated like a rich person if only I’d put on my newer clothes. But they were in the wash, my new boots were at the tailors, and my new helmet was broken. Maybe I’d just tell the lady that. Just say I have fancy things but they are all somewhere else right now and this was the only appropriate thing I could wear to ride a horse. If she’s sensible she won’t believe me, she’ll ask why I still have these old clothes, why I still have the boots that don’t fit me, why I didn’t just give them away to someone who needed it, and I’ll have no reply for her, for those newer clothes do not really exist. The clothes aren’t in the wash, the boots aren’t at the tailors and the helmet isn’t really broken.

“Let me just help you.” The lady says with a sigh as she opens Dove’s stall door, and carefully throws a saddle on her back, then her bridle. 

Dove takes it all like a champ, like she knows she’s one of if not the best horse on Whispering Grove’s property. Dove doesn’t look at me like the others do. She doesn’t look at me with disgust or rage like the others. She looks at me as if she’s accessing my heart, as if she’s seeing how well I’d ride her, as if she’s trying to find out if I’m a good person or not, and honestly a part of me hopes that she’ll tell me what she sees. If she sees a good person in bad circumstances, or if she’ll see a poor girl who wishes for a horse to call her own. I wonder if horses are capable of pity, if they are I feel she would pity me and my life.

The lady hands me Dove’s reins without another word. I know the stable, but I don’t know this part of the stable. This part is for the rich and the boarders. This side of the stable is well kept, not a speck of dust lays on the floor. The stalls are all clean. The hay is all put neatly into nets.

Dove’s hooves click as we walk to the arena. I feel her breath on my shoulder. Maybe she’s trying to tell me she’s not judging me for what I can afford, or maybe she’s trying to tell me everything will be alright. Whatever she wants to say, her point isn’t exactly getting across.

The arena is oddly quiet. It’s not like the other side. There’s not a single soul in the arena until me and Dove walk in. It feels so refreshing but at the same time nerve-racking, as if I’m expecting someone to pop out from the fence line and scream ‘Got you!’ Maybe I could get used to this. The peace, the fresh air that actually feels fresh, and not some manure filled air.

I carefully ground mount Dove, holding her and the stirrup in place as I lift myself. She’s not a tiny horse, but she’s around small-medium for Loshenkas. Once I’m settled in the saddle that is far too nice for a person like me, I begin to walk her around. There’s no one here, no one watching. They must really trust me if I’m able to ride one of the best horses on property alone without supervision.

Dove’s walk is strong, I rock back and forth as we cover more ground. Her head is lowered, not to a worrying extent, but she’s relaxed. I can’t help but feel happy. I’ve seen her ride before and I’ve never seen her lower her head and relax. Maybe I’m doing something right afterall.