The Bunkhouse Boys of Fort Bison

By U.H. Berner

This is the totally fictitious tale of several teenagers who were. bound by their mutual interest in horses and achievement at school.
It is the tale of their lives from February 1979 to November 1979. They live in the small city of Catvile, population 9 500, in the Oklahoma Panhandle, which the reader will find on the road atlas as Boise City, population 1 500.
Catville had experienced a growth boom after WW 2, which brought in the Hi-Tec Hawthorne Corporation with Research and Production facilities. The expansion of the UofO system resulted in the founding of the 7ligh Plains Liberal Arts College A new 300 bed Regional Hospital, finally, was the cause of a massive influx of a medium and high-level workforce, who congregated from all over the US, mainly from both, the East and the West Coast as well as the southeast region of Texas. Many of these people brought children with them, who were used to English riding, perhaps bad even their own horses. This factor contributed to the decision to organize a riding stable that could cater to the needs of these children and teenagers, eventually even an approved Pony Club.
All this took place in a land that was traditionally referred to as the heartland of Western riding and rodeo, in short of Western Culture.
By nature of their background, the protagonists of the tale are considered accelerated students with high academic achievement. They are liberal, yet disciplined
The tale takes them through the months of 1979, as occurrences on the way have a maturing effect. Their Pony Club training makes them conversant in dealing with people and animals as they are taught to handle adverse situations competently. An early sign of future leadership is observed and peers and superiors encourage such trend.
Part II takes four of the boys to a cattle ranch south of Fort Bison Military Training Area (on the road map: Rita Blanca National Grasslands) to team up with twins of the same age, who are cousins of one of the protagonists. Here they get involved with the daily work of a cattle ranch and where they participate. English and Western riding find a symbiosis. At one of their outings they encounter a severely injured soldier on survival training. They successfully instigate rescue operations, prepared for such action by their previous Pony Club training.
At the same time, Red Cross and FEMA select girls of their group for a pilot program where they undergo a six-week intensive training as certified First Aid Providers.




In Part III the training is put to the test after a horrible avalanche of tornados hits the west part of Catville and outlying ranches. One of the girls is dispatched to a remote ranch, to which all power and communication had been interrupted, to check on the status of a woman who is presumed pregnant and two weeks before parturition. She finds the womans labors in progress.
The nine months of this story show the maturing effect on the teenagers, how they grow, but also how they stay youngsters with spirit and full of joie de vivre. Shown is a world of teenagers that still is wholesome, yet, full of demands, of tribulations and earnest striving for accomplishment.
Remarkable are numerous dialogues where the teenagers, all high achieving students, convert their observation into well thought of and formulated questions. Especially the Powwows in the summer evenings on the bunkhouse porch foster lively discussions.
An old Cherokee farmhand is faced with inquisitive youngsters and able to respond. He turns out to be a retired High School teacher and former Captain in the National Guard. A befriended young Lieutenant from Fort Bison opens the understanding of the function of a modern Army and those who represent it.
The tale culminates in the commitment of a lifetime friendship of two boys and girls.
The Prologue and the Epilogue, playing 12 years later, disclose that one is married to her teenage friend, the other lost her friend, the leading prot

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 12, 2006
• ISBN: 9781462820948

U.H. Berner

U.H. Berner, a Fulbright Scholar, lives with his wife on a small farm in the woods of East Texas. He emigrated from Germany to teach literature at a University and later returned to his family’s tradition of breeding and training of horses and riders.

Book preview

Copyright © 2005 by U.H. Berner.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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27586

CONTENTS

Foreword

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Appendix

Foreword

Puberty is a dangerous and defining time. Years of physical, emotional and social assaults await the child poised on the threshold of teen years. From the titillation of pornography over the Internet and on television, to the nullification of dummied-down education, to fears of being hurt by bullies, or weapon toting classmates, teenage has become a nightmare on the fast track. The individual is given little time ‘to be a kid.’ To mature softly. Teenage has become a goal in itself, not just a way station in the trek towards adulthood. U.H. Berner expertly explores these perimeters as he fleshes out his players, the hazards they face, and the ways in which their characters are honed.

Steeped in a military background, and drawing on his vast experience as the consummate equestrian, U.H. Berner has, with close concinnity of prose, woven threads of adventure into the fabric of six boys exploring the western heartland and its history of rugged individualism. Members of a small town Pony Club, the youngsters become proficient in animal lore, teamwork, the merits of hard work, and friendships. Drawing parallels between the recent past and the present, where society no longer appreciates the necessity of the child coming to terms with responsibility, duty, expectations… of growing up civilized, he pens a work in sharp detail. As the story unfolds, we are rewarded with a colourful serape of challenged youngsters coming of age in the comparatively innocent time of the seventies.

Primarily written for adults, especially the parents of teens, and in the genre of King’s ‘Stand By Me’, and Mc Murtery’s ‘Lonesome Dove’, this book will equally appeal to young adults just beginning to find their independence. Guiding you down the hail of years, U.H. Berner will bring smiles, tears, treasured recollections, a few chuckles, and a sadness for a way of life long gone and those values, passed from generation to generation, that built a nation.

In this epic, U.H. Berner has provided us with an exciting journey of discovery, which will be enjoyed by the young for its action and possibilities, and by their elders, for a good yarn, and validation.

Look for it! Bunkhouse Boys will soon be playing in a theatre near you.

Austin, Jan. 2004 Milton M. Messinger, PhD

Professor emeritus

27586-BERN-layout.pdf

Dedication

Bunkhouse Boys of Fort Bison is dedicated to my best student of 30 years practice:

Emily O’Sullivan.

As a superb model-teenager she has been with me as the ‘Ellen’ of the book. When I spun the yarn of ‘Ellen’ during the year of writing, Emily stood before my eyes: An excellent rider, a beautiful young woman, a model Pony Clubber. In true Pony Club fashion she helped her younger sister to become a proficient rider. She always had a friendly smile and helping hand for other riders on the place. Without the image of Emily,’ Ellen’ would have been much different and not better for sure. From the depth of my heart I wish that she too, one day, will find her Jonathan!

U.H. Berner

Credits BBoFB

In their field of expertise have the following contributed immensely to the creation of this novel For their dedication I shall be grateful forever. The readers, l am sure, will admire the good will of these people.

Endless hours of listening, discussing and editing my wife:

   Fiona Crichton-Berner

Ethnic consultation. The members of the Cherokee Nation:

   A. Marsau

   M. Berry

Law enforcement advice:

   D. Hill, Constable, Past President of Texas Constable Assn.

United States Pony Club advice and editing:

   C. Soul, District Commissioner USPC

Military consultant:

   Col Samuel. USAF. RET.

Editorial assistance:

X-libris staff

   J. Mc Williams

   A. Anderson

   Dr. S. Hose

   Prof .Dr.M .Messinger

Cover Art-Work

   Seahorse Studios, F.Crichton-Berner

Computer Magicians:

   Jennifer Canup

   Kimberley Reininger

To all above I am extending my most sincere gratitude. Most of all it was their never ending patience that helped me through my frustration when the months dragged on and the subject research seemed to bog me down! You are wonderful people and tremendous team-workers!

Richards, Tx February 2005

Ulli

REVIEW of Bunkbouse Boys . . . 

by Col.W. Samuel:

"Bunkhouse Boys is a gripping novel about youngsters, boys and girls, growing into adulthood in a setting all too reminiscent of the old West. The horse is central to the story, to the friendships gained and the loves experienced or imagined. Every youngster who owns or dreams of ever owning his or her own horse should read this captivating book, written by a man whose entire life has been lived never too far away from the smells of a horse barn. I found Bunkhouse Boys an exciting tutorial on horsemanship, a primer on the art of riding, a testimonial on horse sense and horse psychology,-providing an incredibly lucid insight into how it-is-that man and woman can form such lasting and defining bonds between themselves and their animals. It is not a story of ownership, but a story of partnership. Written by Ulli Berner, a German immigrant like myself, Bunkhouse Boys is as American as the Quarter-Horse bred to fight a lassoed range-bull and bring him down; as exciting as the Western style of riding that conquered the American west. Bunkhouse Boys is a winner.

Colonel Wolfgang W.E. Samuel, author of German Boy I Always Wanted To Fly; ‘The War of Our Childhood; and American Raiders".

In U H Berner’s book, "The Bunkhouse Boys of Fort Bison’, the main characters belong to a riding club, The Pony Club. This is not a fictitious club, invented for this story but a well-known and respected organization which has its origins in Great Britain, and which was introduced to the United States in 1954 It is not just a riding club with a goal to teach children how to ride. Indeed, as Mr. Berner has so aptly illustrated in his book, it teaches much more: responsibility, teamwork, independence, social skills and of course great horsemanship. All of these things are seen as Mr. Berner’s story unfolds and he has accurately depicted what effect belonging to the Pony Club can have on a young person’s life

Caroline Soul

Former District Commissioner,

Tejas Pony Club, Rio Grande Region

Prologue

March 1991

Gently laying his hand on the flag—decked coffin, Lt. Col. Kieffer looked beyond the cemetery and the assemblage of mourners far into the distant low hills of Fort Bison. He still was under the spell of the eulogy that he had just delivered. He had honoured a fellow officer and good friend, had spoken about the merits of a young and brave man who had been injured five weeks ago in the Arabian Desert, been brought home, but finally had succumbed to his injuries. He had talked about a splendid career that had come to an end by the ultimate culmination an officer can ever face. But then his eulogy had trailed off. After all, Capt. Shawn Fitters had been one of the six horse-crazy friends who eventually became known as the Bunkhouse Boys of Fort Bison. And while he looked into the distance he thought of how much he, then a first lieutenant and officer at Fort Bison, a Texas National Guard training area, had become part of this group twelve years ago and how they had been able to demonstrate to be a remarkable group of youngsters whom he was supposed to arrest for trespassing but could not help to make friends with forever.

Jonathan Kieffer straightened up, stepped back and gave the dead friend and fellow officer a smart salute, while the pallbearers stepped forward to fold the Stars and Stripes that had adorned the coffin in strict military manner. The men in desert uniform were, like the honour guard, men of Capt. Fitters’s company of the First Cavalry and had travelled from Fort Hood, Texas, to bid farewell to a beloved leader. A low but firm command drew the honour guard into attention and three volleys rang over the gravesite while somewhat in the distance a bugle, almost eerily, sent the last Taps, a tradition of many hundred years that bade good-bye to a fallen soldier. Kieffer returned to the ranks of the cortege and the pallbearers presented in ceremony the folded flag to Shawn Fitters’s parents.

Into the ensuing stillness sounded another, however totally unexpected, salute. Squatting in some distance from the mourners was an old, white-haired Cherokee Indian, turned out in the festive regalia of his tribe, beginning to beat slowly on a drum. Introverted and in disregard of anybody around, he began to sing in Cherokee the plaintive farewell to a fallen warrior. Eagle Eye had been ever so much a beloved friend of the Bunkhouse Boys.

Many an evening on the bunkhouse porch he had introduced them to the history and life of his tribe. At daytime he had been a farmhand. In the evening, however, he had turned into a medicine man, who gathered friends in a powwow. Kieffer, then a lieutenant, had again and again taken his pick up cross-country through the training area, to come to sit and listen.

He now turned toward the old Indian and saluted him, thanking him for the way he honoured their friend, and the assemblage broke up and headed in small groups down to the road and waiting vehicles.

Looking down the road, it became evident that a great number of people had joined the Fitterses to say good-bye to their son. But that was no wonder since the family, not only Shawn, were known well in Catville. He had done remarkably for himself. He had been an honour student every year in high school. In the pony club he had worked up to level B and was able to accumulate blue ribbons at regional horse shows with his horse Calamity Boss that had been given to him by his friend Lt. Kieffer.

As it is the custom in the pony clubs that the more advanced riders help the beginners of level D, Shawn had been active and his teaching skill had found the attention of some faculty members of the Department of Equine Studies. They encouraged him to plan his future with them and join them after obtaining the degree of PhD. But the military at Fort Bison recognized his leadership ability and being always on the lookout for good future officers won him over, last but not least thanks to the friendship with the lieutenant colonel, then captain, Kieffer who was instrumental in talking to the right people and have Shawn Fitters accepted into the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. This was the tale of the small city and he became their hero.

None of these achievements, however, had turned him conceited or arrogant. Nay, he had always been that tall blond boy with the big grin in the face, and though he never had been a Boy Scout, their motto Be Prepared could have been coined for him.

The Catville Pony Club was well represented with former and current members. They had either ridden with Shawn twelve years ago or were youngsters who had heard so much about him. The college had sent Prof. Dr. McCollin, dean of the Equine Studies School, with several of his colleagues. The mayor, the Honourable Jack Rutherford, had lain a wreath on the coffin and in a short eulogy expressed the pride of the city of Catville to have been given the honour to be home of the remains of their hero-citizen Shawn Fitters to whom twelve years ago he had had the privilege to pin the captain bars on his coat collars in recognition of the leadership displayed when he led the Junior Posse through forty-eight hours of agonizing relief work following the disaster tornado of 1979.

Now everybody walked slowly toward the long snake of waiting cars. The honour guard had secured their weapons and colours and was mingling with the crowd. Many people were eager to find out about Shawn Fitters whom they had not known as a soldier, while some of the soldiers wanted to know what that story of the Bunkhouse Boys was all about.

Rudy Schulteberger, who had played such an important, though passive role, had come with his parents and was soon crowded by some of the honour guard when they heard the wondrous story about his severe injury and the rescue instigated by the Bunkhouse Boys and that there was a miraculous link to a battle rescue at the 1944 Normandy landing involving his grandfather and the senior owner of the Sweetgrass Ranch, the grandfather of one of the Bunkhouse Boys.

It is easy to understand that the participants in the cortege stopped here and there to learn more about the fascinating story of six boys.

While they were walking together, the five of them, they reminisced, arms on their shoulders at times: Philip Ascovitz, now twenty-four, at graduate school, a PhD candidate; Joey Wolters, now twenty-four, a computer engineer and a second lieutenant in the National Guard; Dick Samuel, now twenty-five, a high school teacher of biology and mathematics; Bob Wolters, now twenty-five, an agronomist; and Rocky Wolters, now twenty-five, a graduate school student at Texas A&M Veterinary School, with him Evita Collins, Shawn Fitters’s fiancé, also a former Catville Pony Clubber and close friend of Ellen Kieffer. Evita was dressed in desert camouflage as a first lieutenant and helicopter pilot, having just returned from Kuwait. Right behind them were Lt. Col. Kieffer and his wife Ellen. As a Catville Pony Clubber, she had entered into a lasting friendship with Philip Ascovitz when she mourned her dead horse Jewel.

After boarding his vehicle, everybody proceeded to the senior high school where the auditorium had been made available for a memorial service. It was here, too, that a special performance of the high school band was planned to create the frame for an official naming of the school, which from now on was to be the Shawn Fitters Senior High School. The guest speaker was to be the former commandant of the training area and CO of Fort Bison, the then Col. Van Dork, now Major General Van Dork, from the National War College at Fort Lesley J. McNair.

It was clear that not only had the Independent School District but also the citizenry at large done their utmost to deck out the auditorium in a festive manner. Students of the junior ROTC, in neat uniforms, functioned as ushers and guided the mourners to the front seats on one side. Members of the service mainly occupied the other side. There were the men of Capt. Fitters’s company as well as fellow officers of his battalion. The stage with the rostrum was decorated with a great number of flowers in front of which stood the flag bearers in parade rest. They were cadets of the college’s ROTC. A special accent had been given by positioning two boys and two girls of the Seahorse Pony Club of Catville, dressed in immaculate show attire with coat, boots and protective headgear, a crop in one hand, on either side of the rostrum. In the orchestra pit, the high school band, reinforced by some members of the College School of Music, were tuning their instruments. In anticipation a subdued murmur wafted back and forth through the auditorium. Latecomers stepped up to the front row to present their condolences to Mr. and Mrs. Fitters.

As the room filled almost to capacity, Mayor Rutherford, together with Pastor H. J. Leclerk, escorted General Van Dork to the stage and up to the rostrum where the pastor stepped forward to celebrate the invocation. The audience, upon the pastor’s light hand signal, rose for the brief ritual and after the amen Mayor Rutherford introduced General Van Dork whom quite a few in the audience remembered as the former commanding officer of Fort Bison.

The general stepped forward. Dressed in the dress blues decorated with ribbon banks of medals and honours that had been bestowed on him in a long time of service. He stood in erect silence. There stood a somber man who, in his elevated rank of two-star general, was a symbol for what the U.S. Army had been and will be: educated, trained, willing to serve the country when called upon. General Van Dork, after a moment of respect and devotion, turned to the front row where the Fitters family were sitting together with Evita and other relatives. He solemnly raised his hand in military salute.

"Dear family, citizens of Catville and comrades in arms. It is almost twelve years ago that I had been called upon to honour six young boys and commend them for excellence in citizenship. We had learned to refer to those six as the ‘Bunkhouse Boys of Fort Bison’ who stood with their horses, dismounted, in front of soldiers of Fort Bison to be thanked in the name of all the men of Fort Bison and through me by the adjutant general of the Texas National Guard, General Hogan.

"Although two years older, Shawn Fitters as one of them was considered primus inter pares. He had displayed an outstanding example of leadership. This led him through excellence in school and graduation with honours at West Point into a splendid future as an officer. Today, we had to give him the honours due a fallen hero. We had to say, ‘Captain Shawn Fitters, you lived a life that was a role model for everybody near you, from the Seahorse Pony Club in Catville, through the summer of the Bunkhouse Boys, to the desert sands of Kuwait. Captain, I am grateful and proud to have known you!’

"Mrs. Fitters, it has been the fate of the mothers throughout our history, to let their sons go and pray for their return. Some of us don’t. Madam, when the waves of grief will have subsided, I am sure deep in my heart that you will be able to go out to the cemetery and, despite all the mourning, tell your boy, ‘Thank you, Shawn. You had to go. But in me where you began, you will live forever. I am grateful for the joy that you have brought into our life!’

"I am proud to have the opportunity to fulfil a wish of the Board of the Independent School District and the council of the city to announce to the Fitters family and the citizenship of Catville.

"This beautiful new high school, the pride of everyone here, will from now on bear the name—.Shawn Fitters Senior High School

Mr. and Mrs. Fitters, allow me to step down and present you with a small replica of the new, big nameplate that shall be affixed above the main entry. I would be grateful if everybody in the audience would rise in respect for the family and in honour of the hero-son of Catville!

As the orchestra began a muted Funeral March by Chopin and the ROTC cadets lowered the flags in salute, General van Dork approached the Fitterses with his service cap removed, thus displaying his snow-white hair. For a moment he was not a soldier but a compassionate father who also had two sons for whose return he prayed. He bowed to the parents, presented the gift and whispered, God bless you!

Chapter 1

Joey and Philip

February 1979

Something wrong with the phone, Phil? I can hardly hear you!

Na! I just feel no good. Got a headache!

How come? Got a cold or something?

Hell no! At practice this afternoon that nerd Jerry gave me an illegal hold and flipped me off the mat. I got kind of a concussion. Was out for a while. They took me to the doctor!

Jeepers creepers! Why don’t you give up that dumb wrestling? Did Coach have nothing to say about that? Jerry done stuff like that before, hasn’t he? Every time he loses he gets dirty!

Yeah, he’s a regular jerk. Coach said he was going to throw him off the team if he pulls crap like that again. But what did you call for, anyway?

Oh, I just wondered when you’ll go to the stable tomorrow. Saturdays there is always a lot going on. I thought, maybe, we could take Spot and Kinky out for a while. If we call him, Dick might come too and Karen.

Can’t! They won’t let me on account of my head, you know! I’m not supposed to get on a horse for a few days. So this weekend is shot! You go! Maybe Mom lets me go just visiting and perhaps grooming Kinky. But I don’t know. She went shopping. I’ll call you when she gets back, OK?

Phil, that’s a bummer. Get well quick, you hear! Talk to you later!

These two fellows had been close friends for quite some time. Ever since Philip’s parents had moved into town and Phil began to board his horse at Bluebonnet Stables, too, they had hit it off with each other. At school they were also in the same class. Joey Wolters was a local. His father came from a ranch just across the state-line in Texas, while the Ascovitzes had moved in from the East Coast a few years ago. These two were, on first sight, as different as could be. Phil was dark haired, short and stocky. Joey was blond, tall and slender. While Phil had real dark eyes, Joey’s were bright blue. So nobody could mistake them for twins. Besides, by their jargon everybody could tell that they were raised in different necks of the woods. Phil’s New England accent opposed Joey’s Oklahoma Panhandle brogue. At times it was funny to hear these two talking. And they sure did that a lot.

Because of his lingering headache Phil abstained from running his beloved boom box with the latest tape. Even reading did not go too well. So he sat at the window in order to occupy himself with nothing. And that was an activity totally unbecoming this twelve-year-old miniature wrestling cowboy. Staring out, he watched the scenery. Early February had brought another cold front out of the Rockies and put some frost on shrubs and trees. This young fellow was of a sensitive breed and he was easily open to all that was pretty or beautiful. Perhaps his Slavic heritage broke through. The Ukraine people were known for their music and love for the arts in general. So he quietly looked out into the trees and observed a few squawking crows that were on the lookout for unattended trash cans or similar goodies.

Before long, his mother Mamie returned from her weekend grocery shopping.

Mom, Joey called. Can I go to the barn tomorrow? I mean, just visiting and, perhaps, grooming Kinky? The other kids will be out too. And I’ll be real careful?

First of all, son, it is ‘may I.’ About your going, I really don’t know. After all, it is a bit fresh. Let’s see how your night will be. I’ll give you another Tylenol, so you can sleep and than we shall see in the morning. Maybe, you’ll be fine and can go! OK?

These aspects were not without hope for the youngster. So he immediately told his buddy about the good chances that he would be at the barn. And Joey was going to call Dick anyway. It was amazing how Phil’s headaches were getting better spontaneously—as regards to Saturday morning possibilities.

It is a distinct feature of the psychological makeup of a twelve-year-old boy to be able to control physical handicaps as soon as an enticing distraction looms on the horizon. Philip Ascovitz proved to be a splendid example. Assisted by one extra-strength Tylenol tablet he healed quickly in a deep sleep. Consequently his attitude on Saturday morning was that of a go-and-get-it nature. Both his parents could not help a hidden smile when they gave their offspring the green light for the road to Bluebonnet Stables, his preferred out-of-school abode. It cannot be denied that he as well as Joey was doing their schoolwork promptly and successfully. They both were constant in their high-grade average. This fact gave those two enough leverage to talk their parents into permissions, which they otherwise would not have been able to get.

Hi, Phil! Good that you could make it. There is lot going on. Mr. Trucker is running a class in the covered arena and some adults are riding in the outdoor jump field. You want to mess with Kinky first or go and watch the jumpers?

"Hi, Joey! I tell you what! I brought some carrots. Have one for your Spot. Why don’t we give them to our horses first and then go and watch the jumpers. OK?

By the way, who else is here? I mean from our gang? I wanted to ask Dick something and maybe Shawn is here too. But he is probably with the jumpers. He has taken his Kickboard over some heavy stuff lately. Gives me the willies and I am not kidding you!

I haven’t been here much longer when you came. So I do not quite know who all is here. I have seen Ellen playing with her Jewel and her buddy Evita is standing with her in the box. But I guess they are talking more than doing something. The mare could stand some brushing for sure!

Joey was not catty with that remark. It was just that Jewel had been brought in from the paddock where she had rolled and made a mess of herself. Mrs. Huffing, the stable manager, had set a barn policy that allowed the first group of horses to be taken out of their boxes into a paddock as soon as they finished their morning ration. This gave the horses a moment to stretch and roll before they were needed by their owners or for a class.

It was still rather brisk in the morning and remnants of snow could be seen in niches and corners. Our two equestrians decided on the jump field. They parked their hands in the deep pockets of their coat, pulled their stocking caps into ear-warming position and hightailed out of the warm stable hallway, where the many horses functioned as natural heaters.

As expected they found Shawn working his Kickboard over some low jumps, while Dr. Westmoreland had his Goldfinch practicing turns in and out of a correct approach.

Joey, what do you think that Shawn is doing? He takes only the real little things. That stuff is only for beginners!

"You know, I think he is working strides, like between cavaletti. Look! He works different speeds and gives Kickboard a lot of rein, letting him find out by himself how to get comfortable over several poles. Neat! Isn’t it?’

Hi, guys! Are you teaching the jumpers? For amateur instructors you are a little short. But keep working on it!

Phil, how come that the girls always must try to get you. No matter how nice they are. They have to be ugly! Ellen and Evita, we saw you standing in Jewel’s box. What did you do there? Did you teach that damn horse to speak American sign language or what?

The two girls giggled at that remark. Although they were a bit older than the boys, they got along well with each other and at times rode together. Bluebonnet Stables’ thirty acres had enough outdoors to allow the youngsters freedom to go and even move their animals at livelier paces. Ellen and Evita liked Joey and Philip because they were always helpful and good sports when it came to a need for company in a ride-out. Mrs. Huffing was adamant about riding out alone. She demanded that the teenagers always rode at least two together for safety reasons, because rolling terrain and partial woods took riders easily out of sight of the stable.

Ellen found it strange that the two inseparable friends were watching rather than getting their own horses ready. She was curious enough to ask, Have you guys been out already, or are you going later? Evita and I want to ride out. You care to come along? We’d be happy to have you!

Oh, shucks! I could, but Phil is grounded for a few days and I promised to stay with him. We’ll just groom our horses. We also need to look after our tack. It’s high time. Yours is always looking so good. Maybe we don’t know to do it right!

Come on, Joey, your stuff is looking all right, isn’t it, Evita? But why was Phil grounded anyway? He didn’t do anything, did he?

Heck no! I just had a little sports mishap and hurt my head a bit. So the doctor said I should not ride for a few days!

My Lord! Did you hear that, Evita? Doctor. And ‘hurt a little.’ Come on, man, what happened? I mean, really. You don’t see a doctor for a little hurt!

So Philip found himself in a pinch and since they all were friends he explained in a few words what had happened. All the girls’ reaction were faces of disgust, and Evita commented, Jerk!

The two boys waved at the girls and returned to the tack room, if for no better reason than to enjoy the snug warmth. Cleaning tack today was not that bad after all. In their assumption that they would not be alone for long they were quite right. Before long other teenagers showed up. First came Shawn Fitters and Dick Samuel who had shared transportation. They both were older and taller. Shawn was fourteen and Dick thirteen. Like Phil and Joey they had been good friends, perhaps due to their common interest in horses. Shawn owned the liver chestnut Morgan Kickboard and Dick had the Anglo-Arab gelding Rascal, a dapple grey, quite pretty, fifteen-hand horse. Shawn turned to Joey.

Good thinking, fellow! I ought to do that too. Dick, what do you say? How about doing some tack work first? Later on toward noon it will warm up some and we can ride then.

Sounds good with me. But don’t forget: we have lessons this afternoon!

Philip pricked his ears. Tell me, Dick. Do you have lessons every Saturday? I like to watch if I can. Mr. Trucker lets us. Don’t he? Turning to his buddy, You would come too and watch, right?

A friendly chat went on and it seemed to be contagious because within the next half hour Brittany, Karen and Carla Lopez had arrived and joined the cleaning gang. All were hoping for a bit of a warm-up. But until then it was time to make plans and put a shine on saddles and bridles. Ellen, who had dropped in, asked if there was a dismounted meeting of the pony club on the next weekend. Shawn was sure.

It is third weekend of February. So we should be meeting. Dick, do you know the schedule? I think it is about horse management, isn’t it? I thought Dr. Wolcott is supposed to talk about illnesses of the foot and lameness.

Everybody was looking forward to that date. Lameness was always an important subject for all riders, pony clubbers as well as all the other riders of Bluebonnet!

It happened on the next Thursday that Ellen’s mother answered the telephone.

Mrs. Pack, this is Dr. Wolcott, your veterinary.

Good morning, Doctor. How are you? What can I do for you?

She was quite surprised to hear from him, since Jewel had just had her shots and was wormed. So it was no wonder that she began to get apprehensive and fearing that the call did broach dismal news. Unfortunately, her foreboding was met with Dr. Wolcott’s information.

Mrs. Huffing asked me to call you and talk to you about this morning when I was called out to the stable. Jewel had been out in the paddock cavorting around and must have stepped into a rodent’s burrow, breaking a leg. I did not like what I saw. The fracture was very bad and the examination showed that the chances for healing were minimal. Definitely she would not ever be able to soundly move about, let alone to carry a rider. Besides, she would be in pain most of the time. Mrs. Pack, I’m sorry to bring such bad news. However, I have to suggest that Jewel is to be put down in order to spare her a lot of misery. But in order to do so, I need your permission. As your veterinary, I do not only recommend strongly to agree, but as a man who loves horses I wish you would have mercy on that poor animal and say yes!

Mrs. Pack was quiet and tried to cope with the blow. It was too sudden a shock and she could not help that a sob escaped her.

Hello, madam, are you still there?

Yes, Doctor, I am sorry, I did not mean to be rude. But I am sure you will understand. My pain is twofold: I did like that little mare. She had been a part of our family. But then I worry about my little girl. She so often gives the impression of being robust and almost a tomboy. But this is beyond that child’s experience. I am afraid I shall have to muster all the strength that life has given me to handle this sad event. I thank you, Dr. Wolcott, for handling the situation and for your compassion. Well, now here is my response: Yes, go ahead and put Jewel to sleep. I shall be out after school and Ellen and I shall bid Jewel good-bye. Thank you, Dr. Wolcott!

Good-bye, madam!

When school was out in the afternoon, mothers brought young riders out to the stable. Others rode in on their bicycles. They were barely in the tack room when they found out about Ellen’s horse Jewel. They, one after the other, went out to the paddock where they found the dead Jewel lying. Some of the adult riders had come out, too. A few of the girls started weeping at the sight of the dead horse that they all had known. Even the grown-ups had tears in their eyes. Some of the adults began to wonder if it had been prudent to let the cadaver lie in the open for the children to see. Their instructor, however, had insisted to handle things this way; he argued, These young people have to face a cruel fact like that. Any day they might be confronted with the same traumatic occurrence. It also will deeply engrave into their mind the need to be alert to anything that might result in the death of their beloved animal. The lifetime of a horse is so much shorter than the human. So the chances that they will encounter death in the paddock are much greater!

Finally Mrs. Pack came with Ellen by her hand. But when they turned the corner to the paddock, Ellen broke away and dashed for her beloved Jewel. The keening, high-pitched wail that the young girl uttered was so heart-rending that even the older grooms and the instructor had to turn away. Ellen knelt down to hug the neck of the dead horse. Interrupted by sobs, she whispered her grief into Jewel’s ears that no longer twitched in listening. Gradually the bystanders respected Ellen’s misery and walked off. Most went to their own horses and shared with them their own wretchedness. It was a very sad day in the barn. There was no room left for laughter or for happiness that were so common on a normal day. It was as if the fun had left the place and everybody went home early.

When Philip got home, he went straight to his room and did not want to talk to anybody. Finally his sixteen-year-old brother Ron went to look after him. He found him on his bed in great misery. Since they had always been good friends, despite the four-year age difference, he was able to elicit piecemeal-wise the reason for Philip’s despair and could, after a while, persuade him to come downstairs in order to join the family for supper. The parents were wise enough to leave the boy to himself and everybody partook in the meal before them. Only that Philip nipped but a morsel with no gusto at all. Finally Father Keith spoke up.

Son, you are not a crybaby. Yet I can tell that you must have battled with tears. Your face tells me that they were not tears of joy. Nor do they seem to be tears of anger. So I presume that they were tears of grief or pain. You know that we love you very much and would not allow harm to befall you. Please, let us know of your misery when you are ready. Mom, Ron and I are here to listen and help if it is necessary and if we can!

Father Keith’s friendly words brought tears back into Philip’s eyes. After a big sigh that was almost half a moan, he began to tell what had happened in the afternoon. The Ascovitzes all had a heart for horses, although only Philip was riding. So they listened intently to the boy’s tale.

When he was done, the father thought for a moment and then said, "You know that all living beings will sooner or later die. We all know that for a fact and live our lives without thinking much about it. Things, however, change very drastically when death hits close to home. You are young and fortunate not to have to lose anybody close to you, man or animal. If death comes close it hurts, because death has taken something away from you and, maybe, taken a tiny piece of your heart along. It will never come back, leaving a scar on your heart. As you grow older your heart will show many such scars. Some are bigger, some are smaller, but they all are signs of a deep hurt.

"But these scars are not only painful. They are also memories. They speak to you of the good that you have had and they make you be grateful for the good. Sometime the hurt will go and the memory of the good stays.

Do you remember about a year ago when Ron had such a hurt? You remember that his best friend Jason got killed in a car accident? Well, he was smitten as you are now. But let us ask him how he feels today. Maybe he can tell you something good for you to think about!

Brother, you must know that I cried too when Jason died. But now I do not have to cry anymore. I still think about him a lot. But I think about what we did together and I think about the fun that we had. Sometimes I even have to laugh. Little brother, believe me, only if you really cry, only if you truly grieve now, will you remember the good. If you would not need to grieve now, there probably would not be anything worth to remember!

And Philip had a teeny weensy smile in his face when he bade them good night.

Days came and went and slowly life returned to normal. Only Ellen did not show up and Jewel’s stall was empty and reminded everyone, as they walked by, of what had happened only so short a time ago.

Philip and Joey hung around together as usual and it came about that they talked more and more to the other two boys who also boarded their ponies at Bluebonnet Stables. Shawn Fitters was two years older, and Dick Samuel thirteen. Dick, too, went to Raburn Junior High School while Shawn was at Alberts Senior High. Both boys lived in Roberts Ranch, further East from the Bodmin Park Subdivision, where Philip and Joey were at home. The boys and Dick had met at school, but they somehow never got close. Now, after they had seen that devastating grief of Ellen, they moved together a bit and also started to ride together. Shawn and Dick could not come to the barn as often as Philip and Joey because they were too far away and had to rely on transportation offered by either one mother or Shawn’s older sister Barbara. Since they had signed up for lessons, they were mostly busy when they got out there. That left little time for the four boys together; however, that newly developing friendship made them ingenious in bumming an extra ride off and on. So, one late afternoon, they were sitting in the tack room and talking up a storm. Since nobody else was expected to come into the tack room, everybody had spread out his stuff. Bridles were taken apart. Joey and Philip saw that theirs was way past due. Some blankets and saddles were lying all over the place.

And I had told her that I had done my homework, said Dick, but she sure did not believe me!

Did you? asked Philip, whom by now everybody had started to call Phil, which in the beginning did not sit very well with him, but by now he had gotten used to it and found it OK.

What do you think? Of course not! But now I have to do it after bedtime with the flashlight under the cover.

Yeah, I know how that goes. Homework is real cold, man, stated Shawn. It does not leave any time for doing something that’s fun!

Joey, fully occupied with trying to put the bit back in proper order, had listened nevertheless but now changed the subject a little.

Dick, you are the one to complain about homework and you are the one who picked Latin. Why, t’hell, did you do a fool thing like that? Did your folks make you or do you want to be a doctor? Man, I would not touch that stuff with a ten-foot pole.

It’s a little bit like that, you know. Last summer we were just kidding at home and my dad asked me what I want to be. I did not know, so I just blabbed ‘doctor.’ That made my folks laugh, and Dad said I was not smart enough and much too lazy. Also I would have to study Latin and he said I did not even know English right. That made me mad and so I signed up for Latin.

Man, said Shawn, that is cool. And I always thought you were something like a nerd! Wham. Shawn had a well-aimed dirty rag smack in his face!

Nerd for you, idiot!

And soon a few loose items were increasing the tohoo-wabohoo in the tack room. But they quickly settled down, still laughing, ready to continue on short notice!

Joey had something on his mind and after a moment he grinned and said, "The other day I had to run an errand for my mother, going to the hardware store, down at Main Street, you know, next to Oklatex. When I came in, old man Chuck Miller was there all by himself. Nobody else was there. And as he probably was bored, he started talking to me. You know how old people are. They always want to know about school and do you have good grades and such. What a pain. They never ask how my horse is doing or how many play cards I got or even if my sister has a boyfriend, not that I care. No, he talked about the school. But all of a sudden he started giggling, like he had thought of something and, by golly, he started:

‘Joey, do you know that your father and I went to school together? Chuck Wolters and me, we were good friends! We went to Trenton, which then was the Junior High. One day we got in bad trouble. Your dad had to keep the blackboard clean and that morning he was washing it off when Jeff Walker called your father a real bad name. He should not have done that. Your daddy was no wimp and threw that wet sponge right into Jeff’s face. It was a perfect hit. Your dad was pretty good on the mound, you know! Now Jeff was mad as a tomcat with a tin can tied to his tail and retaliated in kind, letting that old sponge fly. Your dad ducked, of course, and so the sponge missed, but hit our math teacher, Mr. Ferguson, smack in the face as he walked through the door. First we all laughed. But soon we did not laugh anymore. Mr. Ferguson immediately surmised that your dad was the culprit, because he had not seen who threw. When your dad said he had not done it, the teacher yelled at him and demanded to know who did it then. Your dad had always been a good pal, he never would rat on anybody. But Jeff was a real jerk. He did not come forward but let Chuck Wolters take the hit. Your dad had to go to the principal’s office and his parents were called and there was a lot of trouble.’

When old man Chuck Miller took a breath, I asked him what then happened to Jeff. He looked at me and said, ‘Son,’ he said, ‘we did exactly what you would have done. We beat the bloody daylight out of him. But we did not fink. And you know what? The story got around in the school and everybody had himself one heck of a laugh. See, that all came back to my mind when you told me about your school, my old Trenton Junior High!’ He is a good guy, that old man. I’ll go back there sometime.

Philip shook his head. I did not know that your dad and him were in the same class. But then Catville is not a big town. I guess everybody had to go to Trenton and Alberts High. We’ll go to Raburn Junior next year, but that is a very new school. Elementary we have ‘One’ and ‘Two’ now. Shawn! You are at Raburn? What is it like? They are the only ones with a swimming pool, right?

Shawn replied, You’ve been there once. Remember last Christmas they had a play in the auditorium and you were there with your mom. You just forgot!

Right, I forgot. Are they doing it again next Christmas, have you heard, Shawn?

I guess, my sister said she was going to be in it.

Dick laughed and mimicked a girl acting on stage. I bet she is going to be Joseph, but where is she going to hide her balcony!

Oh, shut up, Dick! You always have to talk dirty. I hate you. My sister is a nice girl. And so what if she has breasts? Maybe not as big as your mother’s who needs both doors to get in at Wal-Mart.

A fight was brewing. Shawn reached for a water bucket while Dick looked desperately for a similarly adequate object when Joey stepped in between and yelled, Stop that, you clowns! Cut it out! Who wants to clean up that mess! Everything looks like hell already.

Shawn sobered up and just glared at Dick when Joey continued, By the way, Shawn, when is your mom supposed to pick you up? Didn’t you say something like six o’clock—and looking at his watch—it is a quarter to now! Shawn shrieked, Oh my gosh. My duff will be in a sling if we are not ready when she comes. You know, we have to be at the door when she drives in. She is always in a hurry. She does not even bother to take the gear out. She just steps on the brakes, honks and throws the door open. Golly, we better get cracking and clean up this mess or we have Ralph on our back too. That would make two of them!

The boys forgot about their spat and tidied up in a hurry and barely made it.

Bye, Phil, bye, Joey! and out they went.

It was a week after the incident when Ellen’s mother, Anette, called the barn and talked to the manager, Mrs. Ida Huffing.

Ida, this is Anette Pack. How are you?

I’m fine, thank you. And how are you, and mostly, how is our little Ellen? You know that we all were very sorry about Jewel. In a small stable like ours, all riders, children as well as adults, become a large family. We all know each other’s animals and we all help each other. So, if something like this accident happens, we all feel equally hurt.

Thank you, Ida, for your friendly words. And this readily opens the subject I wanted to talk about. My daughter, of course, is still grieving. She does not eat properly, withdraws into her room most of the time, and finds excuses, warranted or not, to skip school. I think we need to steer her onto a road of recovery. Death, so close, is extremely hard on a child but, unfortunately, is one of the obligatory lessons of life. We grown-ups cannot shield them, we only can offer a shoulder to cry on and soothe the pain. So I should like to have your input on my plans. My husband and I are wondering if another horse would spurn the beginning of recovery. The danger that I see is that the girl will be repelled, hate the new animal and never will bond, but will withdraw even further. Would you be so kind to contemplate the problem and, maybe, call me back as soon as you have arrived at your conclusions?

Anette, I think that you have something there. I fully agree with your appraisal of the situation and its pros and cons. I tell you what, give me a few hours to mull things over. I might also want to consult Ralph. He has a touch with children and is very sensitive. He might be of quite some value to us. So I’ll call you back! Talk to you later!

Thank you so much, Ida. Talk to you. Bye!

As it goes on a busy place like this, where one thing chases the next, where customers have questions, others need help with their horses, the farrier needs attention and so forth, it was well past noon that Ida was able to corner Ralph, the instructor, drag him into her office, shut the door, and pour a cup of coffee. This signaled to Ralph that a serious conversation was looming ahead. He plummeted into a comfortable chair, exhaled a deep breath and was ready to listen. It took the two of them the better part of half an hour to look at the various aspects of the problem and then put suggestions on the table for consideration or, mostly, discard until they, finally, had hammered out a proposition that Ida could put before Anette.

Chores were calling Ralph and so he left, not without shutting the door behind him carefully. He knew that she was going to call Ellen’s mother and he did not envy her the task.

Hello, Anette? This is Ida. I am sorry to have kept you waiting. But a place like this is hard to schedule. The only regular thing here is the fact that something will happen to distract you. But I did have a chance to get together with Ralph. Do you have the time to listen right now?

Hello, Ida! How considerate of you to attend to my problems so promptly. Go ahead, by all means, I am most anxious to hear your recommendations since my mind is still going in circles without the hope to see a green light.

"All right, Anette. Here is in a nutshell what we came up with. Since Ellen has not been back to the barn, we think, it might be the first thing to be pursued. That is, get her back here. We think that you will have to anticipate that she will be very resentful and not inclined at all to go. Here it might be helpful to appeal to her good-heartedness and explain to her that it really would be appropriate to go to the barn and see all those friends there and the staff, who had been suffering with her and cared so much for her and tell them ‘Thank you.’ Maybe it would help to explain to her that friends are something precious in one’s life and one should not shut them out. Since not everybody will be there at any given time, she may have to repeat the trip. Ralph was of the opinion that she would receive a warm, albeit somewhat shy, welcome and she could see the other children on their horses. She would relax a little and if one of her friends could even talk to her