Trickster Read Free

warm and friendly. The short hairs of his muzzle tickle as he moves his nose over my hand and up my arm to pick up my scent. I can smell him. Man, it is so good to smell a horse again! For a second, it reminds me of how Dad and I smelled after we came home from the barn. But Dad’s not here. It’s just me and this magnificent horse.
    “Want some water?” I ask, taking the last step toward him.
    He looks me straight in the eye. Trickster is smart—I can see that right away. His eyes twinkle for an instant, then he plunges his muzzleinto the bucket. A wave of water soaks my shoes. I bet he did that on purpose.
    He raises his muzzle out of the bucket, shakes his head once, and his long forelock flops over his eyes. I set the bucket on the ground and brush the hair to the center of his forehead. He shakes his head again so it flops back over his eyes. He likes his bangs in his eyes, just like me. I wonder if his mother ever gave him a hard time about getting a haircut.
    “You goofball,” I say. He looks totally relaxed now. His ears are straight up, and he is breathing slower. His eyes scan the back of the house, taking in the clinic, the girls on the deck, and the fence line, but he doesn’t seem frightened.
    Dr. Mac steps closer to Trickster so she can check him out. “Tell me about him,” she says to Mr. Quinn.
    “He’s a chestnut gelding,” Mr. Quinn says.
    A gelding is a male horse that has been neutered to prevent him from fathering any foals. Dad told me that.
    “Five years old, fifteen hands high,” he replies, attaching a lead rope to Trickster’s halter.
    The height of horses is measured in hands. One hand equals four inches. Fifteen handsmeans that he is sixty inches tall at the withers, where his neck meets his back.
    “His previous owners described him as a smart horse, very playful. That’s why they named him Trickster. I don’t think they appreciated how fast he’s going to be. I got a good deal on him.”
    “OK, buddy, can I examine you now?” Dr. Mac asks as she pats Trickster’s strong jaw. “Stay right there, David. He seems to like you.”
    Dr. Mac uses her stethoscope to listen to Trickster’s lungs and heart. “Heart rate is forty-five beats per minute. Respiratory is thirty. A little high, but not scary. I’d say he’s still nervous about being hit in the trailer. Did he eat this morning?”
    “A grain mix and hay. He doesn’t need a special diet. Good thing, too. I already have enough fussy eaters for one barn.”
    Dr. Mac murmurs to Trickster as she runs her hands over his back, feeling for swelling. He’s fine until she gets close to the cut over his right hock. Suddenly, his skin quivers and he snorts hard.
    “That’s sore, isn’t it?” Dr. Mac asks him. She presses gently around the edges of the cut. “He’s bruised here. I can already feel the swelling. Thecut isn’t anything to worry about. We’ll treat it with an antiseptic spray, and it will heal on its own.”
    “Do you think he injured the hip bone?” Mr. Quinn asks.
    “Let me feel the leg first.” Dr. Mac goes down on one knee and runs her hands down the lower part of Trickster’s leg. I hope it’s not anything serious. I can already imagine what it will feel like to ride him.
    “I want to see him walk,” Dr. Mac says as she stands up. “David, take the lead rope and walk him away from us. Slowly, now.”
    Mr. Quinn puts his big hand on mine as I reach for the lead rope. “She said slowly,” he says, giving me a serious look.
    “Yes, sir,” I answer. I’m going to do exactly what I’m told around this horse, especially when Mr. Quinn is watching.
    “Come on,” I tell Trickster as we walk away from the house. I walk on his left side by his head. The only sounds in the yard are the soft steps of Trickster’s hooves on the grass. It feels so great to be next to a horse again.
    “OK, bring him back,” Dr. Mac calls.
    When I stop, Trickster rubs his jaw againstmy hair. “Cut it out,” I