In Our Words Canadians Reading Together

Inside the Gate

CHERYL CANNING

The gate groaned as Margo lifted and pushed against it. The wood had swollen into the earth and stuck to its decaying bottom and had begun to weather away at its red paint. Margo searched her pockets until she found a whistle. She often used a whistle to sound the attention of her horses. They would know to come for the grain that awaited them. It held more gut-appeal than even the lush green pasture they were so used to. Houdini came galloping first, then Martingail. Star came in a distant third, only because her advanced age would not allow her to over take the rest of the herd. Margo had to rush to remove the strand of electrical fence wire that separated the pasture from the riding paddock. Once inside she would secure each animal to a post with a lead and halter. They would be well enough away from the other before being given their grain, assuring that their greed would not interfere with the safety of her routine which she had worked hard to maintain, especially when she taught riding to a new student. Today only she and the horses were present, and she was glad for the fact.

Margo considered herself enormously blessed in the presence of her hoofed compatriots. She considered Houdini and his enormous stature, the way in which his long gray mane flowed and tapped her knee when they rode together. His neck was gracefully arched by the nature of his Arabian - Percheron blood which also accounted for his large stature. Together they were magnificent. Margo would tie her long blond hair and it would pony in the wake of the breeze that she and Houdini would create. There seemed to be no dark, biological stirrings that “her condition” as it were, caused when she rode. She felt safety among those marvelous beasts.