Helping Hands Read Free Page A

Trickster,” David says. “He was terrified of the trailer because he’d been in an accident in one. He’s a lot bigger and more powerful than these old ponies. He’s more than sixteen hands high.”
    â€œHands?” I ask, confused.
    â€œHorses are measured in hands, didn’t you know that? Each hand is four inches. Buster and Babe are maybe ten hands high. You weren’t here at Thanksgiving, were you? I got to ride Trickster in the Ambler Thanksgiving parade. We looked pretty good, if I do say so myself. But you should really see my dad’s horse, King’s Shadow—”
    â€œLet’s get the pony rides started,” I interrupt. “You can tell me that other stuff later.”
    Mom pops her head out the back door and calls to me. “How’s it going out here?”
    â€œGreat,” I smile and wave. “We’re just about ready.”
    Babe lifts one foot in the air like she is waving, too. Mom smiles and goes back in. Good thing she didn’t notice what Babe ate for breakfast.

Chapter Four
    W here’s the grooming gear?” David asks Gus.
    Gus grunts and jerks his thumb toward the trailer.
    â€œWait, what are you doing?” I ask, following David.
    â€œWe have to groom Buster.”
    â€œNo, we don’t. Look at all those kids. We need to get the saddles on.”
    David takes a faded plastic crate out of the back of the trailer and carries it to the corral. “Nobody rides until the ponies are ready.”
    I had no idea it was going to be this complicated. Gus should have showed up two hours early instead of half an hour late.
    David pulls a weird-looking thing the size of a hockey puck out of the crate.
    â€œThis is a currycomb,” he says, working it through Buster’s coat. “You need to groom them, especially here, where the saddle goes. If you don’t pick out the burs and stickers, they’ll really hurt once the rider is on.”
    He trades the currycomb for a brush. “Most horses like to be groomed. Look how Buster is leaning into this. He’s already happier, which will make the pony rides safer for the kids. No one wants to ride a cranky pony.”
    Some of the kids in line are whining. I hear some parents grumbling, too, until Jules drowns them out by starting a sing-along to “Old MacDonald Had a Hardware Store.”
    Buster looks a whole lot better after he’s been brushed. I comb his mane clean while David starts on Babe. By the time I’m done, Buster stands a little taller, as if he knows he looks better and he’s proud of it.
    â€œAnytime now!” an impatient dad calls from the long line of waiting kids.
    David carries the saddles and bridles from the truck as I’m finishing Babe’s mane. I watch as he sets the saddles over the saddle pads and cinches up the girths. “Tacking up,” he calls it. The ponies take the bits in their mouths, and the bridles are buckled up around their jaws.
    â€œThere’s a mounting block in the back of the truck,” Gus calls.
    David and I lift it down together and set it up inside the corral so kids can climb on and off the ponies.
    â€œNot that I mind,” David says, “but isn’t that guy supposed to be doing all this?”
    â€œHe is,” I say. “But the whole point of the pony rides is to bring families to the store and to keep their kids happy. I think Gus would scare them all away.” I pause. “Look, you’ve already helped a lot and I really appreciate it, but you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me, right?” David stands. “Helping is what the Vet Volunteers are all about. We have to, or we face the wrath of Dr. Mac.” He grins so I know he’s joking. “My dad can’t pick me up until later this afternoon, and you could use a hand, so . . . can I stay?”
    It’s my turn to grin.
    â€œThe