Moral Disorder - Margaret Atwood [61]
A farrier was called in – luckily Billie knew one – and Gladys had her hooves trimmed, and sparkling new horseshoes applied. She was looking friskier now, she was taking more of an interest. Her ears swivelled around at the sound of Nell, who always had a carrot with her, or a sugar cube – this because of a hot tip from Billie.
“She has to bond with you,” said Billie. “Breathe into her nose.”
Then Nell had to try digging the stones out of Gladys’s hooves. This needed to be done at least twice a day, said Billie, and also before riding Gladys, and after riding Gladys, because you never knew when she might pick up a stone. Nell was afraid of being kicked, but Gladys didn’t mind having her feet picked out. “She knows it’s for her own good,” said Billie, whacking Gladys on the rump. “Don’t you, you big lump?” Gladys was on a diet, despite the carrots. Being thinner – Billie claimed – would help with the wheezing problems. It would be necessary to ride Gladys every day: she needed the exercise, and also the excitement. Horses were easily bored, said Billie.
At last it was time to try Gladys out. The saddle was lifted onto her, the girths tightened. Gladys put her ears back and gave a crafty sideways look. Billie swung up into the saddle and kicked Gladys in the flanks, and Gladys cantered off down the road to the back field. They looked quite funny – top-heavy. Tall Billie astride fat Gladys, with Gladys’s stumpy little legs whirring away underneath her like an eggbeater.
After a while Billie and Gladys came back. Gladys was wheezing, Billie pink in the face. “She’s been ridden by too many people,” said Billie. “She has a hard mouth. I bet she was used for kiddie rides.”
“What do you mean?” said Nell.
“She has a whole bagful of tricks,” said Billie. “Bad habits. She’ll try them out on you, so look out.”
“Tricks?”
“You just have to stay on,” said Billie grimly, dismounting. “Once she knows you’re on to her, she’ll cut out the monkey business. You’re a bad girl,” she said to Gladys. Gladys coughed.
Nell found out what the tricks were the first time she tried to ride Gladys. Billie ran alongside, shouting instructions. “Don’t let her get near the fence, she’ll try to scrape you off! Keep her away from the trees! Don’t let her stop, give her a kick! Pull her head up, she’s not allowed to eat that! Don’t pay any attention to that cough, she’s doing it on purpose!”
Though Gladys wasn’t going very fast, Nell clung on, resisting the impulse to lean forward and clutch Gladys by the mane. She had a vision of Gladys rearing up on her two back legs or else her two front legs, as in films, with the same result in either case – Nell shooting off into the bushes, headfirst. But nothing like that happened. At the end of the track, Gladys halted, wheezing and panting, and Nell actually got her to turn around. Then – after Gladys had glanced back over her shoulder with an incredulous but resigned stare – they repeated their odd merry-go-round motion, back to their starting point.
“Well done!” said Billie. “Good girl!” The praise was for Gladys. “See? You just have to be strict,” she said to Nell.
When the week was over, Billie left, in a sullen mood, because Gladys had not been sufficiently grateful for having been rescued – she’d nipped Billie on the bum when having her head tied to a post as part of her diet procedure. Once Billie was no longer in the picture, Gladys and Nell came to an understanding. True, every time Nell approached with the bridle Gladys would start wheezing,