Fear of Falling Read Free Page B

smell hot dogs and sausages grilling. That means we’re near the end. My stomach rumbles. Man, am I hungry! Maybe I can sneak in a little snack without Mom seeing. Her health-food kick is starving me to death!
    We round a corner, and up ahead I spot a little girl in a purple sundress waving wildly in my direction. Don’t tell me Mom actually let Ashley wear that dress! As I draw closer, I see she’s got jeans and a sweater on under the dress. Looks like she and Mom worked out a deal. I have to hand it to Mom—how many mothers would let their daughter go out in public dressed like that?
    â€œYou’re one block from the end,” Mom calls as I ride up. “Come join us for lunch after you’re done.”
    â€œMom packed a picnic!” Ashley shouts. “With pickles!” The people around her chuckle. That’s my sister for you—never a dull moment.
    â€œOK, Ash, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I call down.
    At the end of the parade, we circle back to the trailers and load the horses. Then I meet Mom and Ashley at the park for lunch.
    â€œOne of the booths had the cutest goat,” Ashley says, sucking on a pickle. “It had long curly hair. Can we go pet it?”
    Long curly hair on a goat? This I have to see. “All right if we go, Mom?”
    Mom nods. “Just walk Ashley home when you’re done.”
    â€œCan I feed my sandwich crusts to the goat?” Ashley asks as we pack up the food.
    â€œWell, we can ask the owner if it’s OK.” I take Ashley’s hand so I don’t lose her in the crowd, and we start back up Main Street. Now that the parade is over, the booths are mobbed.
    Suddenly Ashley looks worried. “But what if the goat bites me?”
    â€œDon’t worry. Goats don’t have any teeth on their upper jaw, so they can’t hurt you,” I tell her. “Besides, I’m sure it’s a nice goat, or they wouldn’t have brought it here.”
    â€œLook, David, there it is!” Ashley points, and through the crowd I spot a small white goat in a wire pen. It has long curly hair, just as Ashley said. In fact, it looks almost like a sheep, except for the narrow horns curving back from its head. Suddenly it bleats. I wonder if it’s scared of all the people.
    The table in front of the goat pen displays handmade posters about spinning and knitting with mohair wool. A woman in a long skirt demonstrates a spinning wheel, while a girl who looks about ten years old hands out wool samples.
    I approach the girl. “Hi—is it all right if we pet your goat?”
    The girl nods. “Sure. She’s real soft because she’s an Angora. She’s a little noisy, but don’t worry, she’s very friendly. Her name is Sabrina. If you call her, she’ll come right up to you.”
    â€œWill she eat my crusts?” Ashley holds up her chewed sandwich remains.
    The girl smiles. “She probably would, but she needs a special diet, so they wouldn’t be good for her.”
    â€œA diet? Is she too fat?” Ashley asks.
    The girl shakes her head and laughs. “No, but to make all that nice long hair, she has to eat special high-protein pellets. If she fills up on your sandwich, she might not eat her dinner.”
    Ashley nods knowingly. “That’s just what my mom tells me !”
    As Ashley and I walk over to the pen, the goat bleats again. She’s got her head poking through the fence, watching us.
    â€œHere, Sabrina,” Ashley calls, but the goat doesn’t move. No wonder: as we come up to her, I can see that the wire fence is caught behind her horns, and she can’t pull her head back through.
    â€œLet’s get you unstuck,” I say to the goat. Holding a horn, I gently twist her head, then slowly back it through the square of fence. Suddenly Sabrina squirms and bleats again. “Hold still, I’m trying to help!” I mutter.