by the arena gate and watched a lesson get started. “The mounting process can be tense, especially when we have riders with severe disabilities,” he continued. “Getting an unbalanced rider on a horse can turn into an accident if everyone, including the horse, is not well trained.”
I looked at Darcy. She wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of person and I thought the close, physical contact the volunteers had with the riders might make her uncomfortable. But, her sharp eyes were scanning the scene, and I could almost see her brain taking it all in. Forget the bored expression on her face and the annoying snap of her bubblegum. Darcy was into this. I think we had a service project!
“What’s wrong with that little boy?” she asked, nodding at a small child on a brown and white pony.
“He looks mighty happy, doesn’t he?” said Robert. “And there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s perfect in his own way. His brain just processes things differently than yours or mine. See, they’re playing a counting game.”
We watched as the little boy threw one large, soft, stuffed dice and watched it tumble to the arena surface.
“Dillon, how many dots face the ceiling?” Emily, who was teaching the lesson, asked.
Dillon sat on his pony and smiled.
“How many dots?” Emily prompted again.
Slowly, Dillon took one hand from his reins, examined his fist intently, and then shot his arm up high above his head with four fingers showing. Then he laughed so hard I thought he was going to fall off his horse. He might have, too, if a volunteer who was standing next to him hadn’t steadied him.
“Yes, Dillon. Four dots! You are a wonderful counter!” said Emily. “Now, you are going to ask Spanky to walk four steps, and then ask him to stop. Do you remember how to ask Spanky to walk on?”
Dillon considered this, as the volunteer who was leading Spanky started to ask the pony to walk. Emily shook her head and the volunteer stopped the pony.
“Dillon, how do you ask Spanky to walk on?”
This time Dillon bumped his ankles against the pony’s side and Spanky began to walk forward.
“One,” Emily counted as she held up one finger. “Two.” Another of her fingers popped up. “Three . . . four and . . .” Emily waited for Dillon to show her that he knew how to stop his pony. When he began to pull back on his reins, she said, “And whoa.” Then everyone on the team gave Dillon a high five.
“In addition to counting, Emily is working with Dillon on two step directions,” said Robert. “She asked him to one, walk four steps, and two, stop. Dillon makes sounds, but is otherwise non-verbal. He is one mighty happy kid, though.”
“The lady walking next to Dillon looks like she is, ah . . . mighty happy . . . too,” said Darcy.
“Sandy Sweet is a sidewalker. We have supportive sidewalkers, who help the rider stay on the horse, and interactive sidewalkers, who interact with the rider to help them interpret the instructor’s instructions. Dillon has good balance, but needs help in knowing what to do, so Sandy serves mostly an interactive role in this lesson.”
Darcy nodded. “So what does Melody Cross do when she is here?”
“Just about everything!” Robert said. “She helps in the office and cleans stalls and tack. Usually she is a sidewalker, though. She likes being in lessons.”
“Bubba,” I asked, “What do you think?” Like Darcy, Bubba had been taking it all in. There was a lot to absorb.
“How old do you have to be to come here?” he asked.
“Four to ride in a lesson, sixteen to be a sidewalker or lead a horse in a lesson, and . . . how old are you now, Bubba?”
“Just turned eleven.”
“And
eleven
, to help out in the barn,” said Robert.
Thank you
, I mouthed. Then I turned to Bubba. “Do you think you might want to help out sometimes?”
“If ’n my dad lets me,” he said, rubbing his toe into the arena footing.
I’d talk to Hill, I thought. Maybe Bubba could come out with
I looked at Darcy. She wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of person and I thought the close, physical contact the volunteers had with the riders might make her uncomfortable. But, her sharp eyes were scanning the scene, and I could almost see her brain taking it all in. Forget the bored expression on her face and the annoying snap of her bubblegum. Darcy was into this. I think we had a service project!
“What’s wrong with that little boy?” she asked, nodding at a small child on a brown and white pony.
“He looks mighty happy, doesn’t he?” said Robert. “And there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s perfect in his own way. His brain just processes things differently than yours or mine. See, they’re playing a counting game.”
We watched as the little boy threw one large, soft, stuffed dice and watched it tumble to the arena surface.
“Dillon, how many dots face the ceiling?” Emily, who was teaching the lesson, asked.
Dillon sat on his pony and smiled.
“How many dots?” Emily prompted again.
Slowly, Dillon took one hand from his reins, examined his fist intently, and then shot his arm up high above his head with four fingers showing. Then he laughed so hard I thought he was going to fall off his horse. He might have, too, if a volunteer who was standing next to him hadn’t steadied him.
“Yes, Dillon. Four dots! You are a wonderful counter!” said Emily. “Now, you are going to ask Spanky to walk four steps, and then ask him to stop. Do you remember how to ask Spanky to walk on?”
Dillon considered this, as the volunteer who was leading Spanky started to ask the pony to walk. Emily shook her head and the volunteer stopped the pony.
“Dillon, how do you ask Spanky to walk on?”
This time Dillon bumped his ankles against the pony’s side and Spanky began to walk forward.
“One,” Emily counted as she held up one finger. “Two.” Another of her fingers popped up. “Three . . . four and . . .” Emily waited for Dillon to show her that he knew how to stop his pony. When he began to pull back on his reins, she said, “And whoa.” Then everyone on the team gave Dillon a high five.
“In addition to counting, Emily is working with Dillon on two step directions,” said Robert. “She asked him to one, walk four steps, and two, stop. Dillon makes sounds, but is otherwise non-verbal. He is one mighty happy kid, though.”
“The lady walking next to Dillon looks like she is, ah . . . mighty happy . . . too,” said Darcy.
“Sandy Sweet is a sidewalker. We have supportive sidewalkers, who help the rider stay on the horse, and interactive sidewalkers, who interact with the rider to help them interpret the instructor’s instructions. Dillon has good balance, but needs help in knowing what to do, so Sandy serves mostly an interactive role in this lesson.”
Darcy nodded. “So what does Melody Cross do when she is here?”
“Just about everything!” Robert said. “She helps in the office and cleans stalls and tack. Usually she is a sidewalker, though. She likes being in lessons.”
“Bubba,” I asked, “What do you think?” Like Darcy, Bubba had been taking it all in. There was a lot to absorb.
“How old do you have to be to come here?” he asked.
“Four to ride in a lesson, sixteen to be a sidewalker or lead a horse in a lesson, and . . . how old are you now, Bubba?”
“Just turned eleven.”
“And
eleven
, to help out in the barn,” said Robert.
Thank you
, I mouthed. Then I turned to Bubba. “Do you think you might want to help out sometimes?”
“If ’n my dad lets me,” he said, rubbing his toe into the arena footing.
I’d talk to Hill, I thought. Maybe Bubba could come out with
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