My name is Vanner, and I hate chickens. Hate them.
My human, who they call Hazel, doesn’t get it. But seriously. They’re terrifying! Those razor-sharp mouths and dark eyes. You can practically see the evil brooding going on behind them.
Therefore, whenever we walk past the coop, I. Flip. My. Lid. Unfortunately, passing the coop is something I do a lot. I live on a rehabilitation ranch for off-track Thoroughbreds like me. Someone had the bright idea to put the coop right on the main road through the ranch, so I pass it all the time when Hazel takes me on my outdoor strolls, like the one we’re about to go on.
I stand more patiently than any other gelding on the cross-ties as Hazel tacks me up. Just to prove my magnificence, I take in a huge breath right before the girth is tightened. It makes me look very regal. Hazel thinks otherwise, but that is beside the point.
My human lines me up with the mounting block next to the driveway, but she takes FOREVER to mount up, so I walk away three times.
“Stand, Vanner,” Hazel says. Finally, on the fourth try, she is on my back.
Our strolls always start with a walk down the driveway. My shiny, polished hooves clip-clop noisily as we walk. Then the chicken coop comes into sight. I show the whites of my eyes and jump sideways to make sure we’re nowhere near those horrible monsters.
We veer off the road and walk on the dirt trail through the woods. My favorite part, though, is when we get into the clearing and Hazel lets me have my head a bit. I’m so happy to be running, I throw a few playful bucks. I love life!
I’m about to really pour on the speed when something stops me dead in my tracks. Hazel flops onto my neck. I probably should have told her I was stopping, but there is a small gray thing flapping around in one of the trees!
I quickly remember what to do when encountering a scary object: tense your muscles, throw your head up, and gallop away as fast as you can. My flight instincts kick in and I run. For some reason, Hazel stops me when we’re almost back to the barn. Excuse me, I was saving her life!
Still, she calms me down and asks me to walk back toward the demon in the tree. I try to turn around, but every time I do, she gently uses her legs and makes me walk forward.
When we’re back at the sight of the attack, Hazel dismounts and snatches a plastic bag from the tree. I’m prepared to run—that’s her problem now—but she stops me and holds up the bag so I can see it. I strain against the full length of the reins but can’t help myself. I carefully smell it. It doesn’t smell like anything much.
“It’s just a plastic bag, Vanner. Not going to hurt you.” Hazel slowly strokes my neck. Still, I don’t feel like a fool. It really did look like a monster. She puts the bag in the treat holder of her jacket and we walk home. That is when she decides to put me through desensitization training, focusing on the bane of my existence. Chickens.
Every day, we go through our normal routine, my favorite part being breakfast, but there is always something new incorporated. One day it’s the Colorful Noodles of Fear. Next it’s a Yellow Hose of Horror. As it turns out, most of them don’t hurt me, but I still don’t like them.
Then, after a week of new scary things, she introduces the chicken. Hazel leads me past the coop over and over again. I leap behind Hazel several times, because she apparently doesn’t know the dangers of the chicken. Strangely, I get a treat every time I do not jump to save myself. Humans … how ridiculous.
“My goodness, Vanner. The chicken won’t eat you!” Hazel exclaims with a laugh. With a laugh! It’s like she doesn’t know she’s putting our lives in danger by bringing me anywhere near those devils in bird form.
Once I can walk by the chickens and only glare at them, they get closer. Hazel walks me around the indoor arena while the chickens run amok. I watch from afar, just waiting for one to come get me. Have they been hypnotized, programmed to strike when I’m least expecting it? Weirdly enough, they don’t.
Over the course of several weeks, I learn to accept the chickens in my personal space. It takes everything I have not to freak out when they run around my legs. Then Hazel gives me the ultimate challenge: putting the chicken on my back. Absurd, I know.
First, she has someone else lift the chicken while Hazel holds my lead rope.
“It’s alright. Don’t be a chicken, Vanner.” I’m about to argue because she just compared me to my arch enemy, but then it’s on my back! I’m frozen in fear for a second, feeling its razor-sharp claws dig into my skin. Then, as soon as it appeared, it’s off. The chicken goes back to the coop, squawking and flapping like a maniac.
I’ve done it. I’ve conquered my fear! This makes me, by far, the most outstanding equine to ever exist.
And then I met the blue tarp.
Thank you to all who participated in Young Rider magazine’s first-ever Fiction Contest, held in collaboration with Trafalgar Square Books. Congratulations to Natalie!
