The Whip and the Open Hand

By Calla Gold

Diary – Monday July 28^th 2012 Tallulah Doyle almost fourteen

Yesterday Dave said, “A kind heart is better than a heavy hand in dealing with horses.” That’s good, because I got nothing on in the strength department these days.

***

Dave’s brows rose above squinting eyes when Tallie greeted him. The spinning dust motes and over-loaded wheelbarrow told her his workers hadn’t shown. 

“I’d help you if I could,” Tallie said.

“No need Tallie honey, I’m near done anyway. Rhonda though, she’ll have something to say about my managerial skills.”

Tallie appreciated him not mentioning the impossibility of her helping anyone, as she leaned on the handles of her walker.

“Why would Rhonda say anything?”

“You know, I don’t run this place ‘cause I make so much money. Heck, I was living in the tack room six months ago.”

“You were?” Tallie sat back on the small shelf of her walker, her legs too achy to stand.

“I bunk with Rhonda these days.” He raised an arm to ward off her opinion. “Don’t you say nothing.” A frown creased his weathered face. 

Tallie made the, lock your lips and throw away the key, gesture. 

Dave leaned against the stall door, mouth quirking up.

Tallie pictured the ever-in-motion Dave, relaxed on a couch, next to the always pissed-off-about-something, Rhonda. Smoke, like a cloud above her head, Jeopardy on the TV. Tallie suppressed a smile. 

The squeal of the front stable gate preceded odd loud metal bangs that caused barking from the corrals. Tallie recognized the diesel pick-up’s engine-knock sounds as Dave’s.

“Who’s driving your truck?”

“Our most famous boarder.” Dave said, “Lee told me he’s getting a new horse.” He shook his head. 

“Lee can’t even find time to exercise the horse he already has.”

 Tallie pictured Dave’s old rusty pickup, which had given her many a ride home, with the over-dressed cable TV star Lee getting his butt dusty behind the wheel. 

High pitched whinnies and hooves thunking against metal, killed Tallie’s grin.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

 Tallie watched Dave pat the mare, pull the wheelbarrow into the breezeway, and hustle out to the parking lot.

“Dang it, Lee, what you doing to my trailer?” Dave’s voice rose in rare anger. “You didn’t tell me you were hauling a wildcat.” Tallie thumped to the barn doorway in time to watch Dave walk as fast as his bow-legged body would take him to the horse trailer. 

“This is my new mustang, straight from the auction.” Lee flung his arm out, including in his announcement the curious boarders gathering around. 

“Man, this is all I need.” Dave cupped his hands and shouted, “Lee grab the ramp.” It stood grey and oxidized against the red barn wall. Lee ignored him, yanked the lock bar up and swung back the doors of the horse box, letting them bang noisily against the trailer walls. The horse within squealed, exploded backwards, and stumbled at the drop to the ground at the end of the trailer.

Even Tallie knew you were supposed to tie a horse with a short rope when trailering. 

The horse gathered himself and sprung away only to have his head yanked around by the long rope tied within the trailer. He was jerked to his knees. His squeals were joined by sympathetic distress whinnies from nearby horses.

The gray horse lunged up to a splay-legged stance, dust rising like mist around him. Lee stumbled back from the horse. Tallie stood, fists clenched at her side, till shaky muscles made her grab the walker handles to ease the ache.  

Lee strode to the pick-up’s bed and yanked out a long leather whip, his swagger confident. The mustang heaved against the rope, the whites of his eyes showing. Dust and bits of hair floated to the ground around him. Whip raised; Lee advanced.

“You’ve done enough Lee. Just back off,” Dave, yelled. Shorter, round shouldered, and dusty, he walked toward the tall, broad chested Lee, subject of many a teen girl’s fantasy. Lee stopped, arm raised, tip of the leather whip quivering, face red. Tallie imagined his desire to raise blood-red welts on the horse’ dirty gray hide. 

“That’s my horse. I’ll do what I want with him,” Lee shouted. He pointed the whip end toward Dave.

Dave stopped, hands on hips. In his faded jeans and cracked leather boots, he looked up at Lee, who stood, legs apart like it was shootout-at-the-OK-corral time. Lee flared the nostrils on his handsome face, looking the gleaming show horse next to pasture-pony Dave. 

Tallie held her breath. The whip whistled down and smacked the dirt raising more dust. The mustang reared up again, his forelegs reaching high. 

“Stop!” Dave’s deeper, thunder-loud caused a moment of quiet.

Lee’s head rocked back. He stumbled away from the horse’s thrashing hooves. 

“Stop it,” yelled a teenaged boarder in a high-pitched protest.

Lee looked sideways, toward the warm-up ring, saw several female boarders, horsed and on foot, eyes riveted on him with frowns of interest. He spun away from the trailer and stalked toward the street. His whip lay like a snake in the dirt.

One open-mouthed rider was Rhonda, her eyes on Dave. Another woman, lips tight together, swished her crop in Lee’s direction. 

Dave crooned and advanced toward the mustang in a wide circling crouch. His short, slow steps were smooth despite his bowed legs. The mustang stood, muscles bunched, lead rope taut. 

“Easy.” The mustang’s eyes followed Dave’s every move. With a constant tuneless song, Dave hummed and reached for the taut rope. The grey’s head lowered, he snuffed in scent, and blew out snorts. 

Tallie noticed how quiet the stableyard was. Even the three boarder’s dogs, off leash, despite the rules, had tails tucked and made no sound.

Dave pulled a pocket knife and cut the rope. With a grunt, the horse fell backwards, butt on the rutted dirt road. Straight arm holding onto the stubby rope end, Dave’s feet dodged hooves as the mustang scrambled back up. With quiet sounds he invited calm. With gentle pressure on the halter, he got the mustang turned into a paddock.

Standing back up, Tallie took uneven steps. Little dust poofs rose like smoke, where the rubber tipped legs hit the dirt with each step.

The gray mustang leaned into the farthest metal bar of the corral, facing the hills beyond. Tallie pictured him galloping in the wild, hating the pipes that hemmed him in, like she hated the nerve damage from the car accident shackling her to her walker. Tallie stared at the gray horse’s pricked ears and the mountain view beyond. 

***

She walkered into the cool tack room, inspected the two filthy bridles in the basket labeled, Tallie. On a normal day, she’d sit in the dim leather-smelling room, her small fingers working saddle soap and a rag into the crevices of a tooled leather bridal. She had separate cloths to use with silver cleaner for silver conchos, black from months of tarnish. Some of the boarders had more leather horse tack than time to use it. 

“Tallie, bring your kit out here,” Dave said.

Tallie spent the next hour by the paddock gate telling the boarders that Dave said to stay back. She overheard a snatch of conversation, like, “giving the crippled girl something to do.” She knew it was pointless to get mad.

The bridle leather gleamed under her vigorous rubbing. Tallie had tried to scrub out the memory of the previous night’s argument with her step-dad about how much time she spent at the stable. He’d offered to get her a kitten if she’d stop with her, “impractical risks of hanging around dangerous horses.” He’d called her dream to own a horse a “ridiculous passion.” 

Tallie looked over her shoulder when she heard a distant car back-fire. The mustang became a gray blur. He bucked and kicked away from the gate, then raced around the perimeter. He finally ran to Chester, Dave’s old pensioner, who stood still and barely reacted to the strange horse and his aggressive bared teeth.

Two Days Later Tallie had a plastic chair next to her, full of saddle-soaped bridles, and a book to read in her unofficial position of mustang protector. She spent hours each day by the paddock gate, making no friends as she kept the curious away from the mustang. 

Dave called out as he strode toward her, “long as you’re here, he’s not runnin’ around like his tail’s on fire.” 

Tallie smiled.

“He sure puts on a show when other people came over,” Dave said. “Sometimes they wave their arms to watch him run.” His eyes squinted over a frown.

“Not helping,” Tallie said. 

“Let’s see what he does with you inside.” Dave opened the gate and she walkered in, getting a friendly nicker from Chester. The gray horse galloped to the far corner of the paddock, and turned to face them. The cloud of dust he raised, hung in the air.

“I’ll be right back.” Dave said. He took the finished bridles out of her basket and was back soon with a small sack of carrots. 

Chester, big, red, and old, lived for food. Tallie, backpack on, bag of carrots and walker in hand, made her way farther into the paddock. Chester followed, his droopy lower lip inches from her back. She stopped in the middle. In the far corner, like a statue, the gray horse stood and watched her. Ears pricked. 

Chester crowded her, his nose pressed her sack of carrots with interest. When she lowered her pack to the ground with a plop and a poof of dust, Gray Horse, as she called him, exploded into a bucking run, farting and kicking, as he followed the line of the paddock. He put on the kind of show she’d become accustomed to when people came by and made too much noise. Tallie knew her mom would lose it if she saw her daughter in the same corral as Gray Horse, but she had no intention of telling her.

Tallie fed so many carrots to Chester, she ended up spotted in orange slobber.  She noticed the carrots she lobbed in the direction of the mustang, disappeared. She sat on her walker seat, saddle soaping more bridles. She never looked at the mustang directly, but felt his location, like a heat source. 

Three Days Later Gray Horse made his move. After two hours seated inside the paddock, the mustang nipped Chester out of the way and stood, eyes on Tallie, rump muscles bunched, ready to bolt. She held out a carrot and admired the curve of the mustang’s long neck. 

Gray Horse stepped forward and neatly took the next carrot by the very end, then spun away at a gallop to the perimeter. His head held high, he slowed to a floating trot, hooves flicked forward, legs straight, before they touched the ground. His eyes tracked Chester and Tallie as he moved. When he came to the corner of the paddock, he spun a tight turn and reversed direction. His tail held high, his neck arched, he looked magnificent. Tallie held her breath, riveted, in love.

Tallie woke the next day as if it was Christmas morning. Her need to see Gray Horse, overcame her urge to stay still and not unleash the shooting leg pains from the first steps of the day. She grabbed a quick breakfast, packed lunch, and made her way with labored steps the one block to the bus stop. The bus was her magic carpet to the stables, her favorite place on earth. 

Tallie made her way with care up the stable’s rutted, dirt drive toward the barn. She listened to the stamp of a hoof, the lazy jingle of windchimes, and hopeful whinnies. As if to speak would break the early morning magic, Tallie nodded at Dave as she headed toward the paddock, a couple of bridles to clean in her basket, backpack stuffed with rags, Neatsfoot Oil, saddle soap, and carrots. Tallie stood by the gate as Chester ambled over, one ear forward. 

Lift, plant, step, lift, plant, step, Tallie worked her way with the walker to the center of the paddock. Five minutes later, a burst of hot energy zinged through her when she realized the warm breath on her neck came from Gray Horse. 

“What’s she doing in there?” Said a cranky-voiced girl. Tallie didn’t look back to see who spoke. 

An hour later, Dave ambled into the paddock. “Horses love to be brushed. Just see if he’ll let you,” Dave had given his advice in the croon he used on fractious horses.  “Just go reeeal slow.” 

After a few minutes brushing Chester, Tallie heard slow hoof steps. She turned her head toward Gray Horse in time to see him snort wet snot, peppering her jeans. Gray Horse bumped his nose on Chester’s rump, causing him to amble a few feet away. Gray Horse stretched his long neck, sniffed, and blew short breaths at the brush. He nodded his head in agitation. Tallie froze, brush held out, as Gray Horse stamped and swished his tail. She heard herself crooning like Dave. 

Tallie lifted her walker and placed it one step closer to Gray Horse, and stepped forward. She reached out and touched the brush to his shoulder.  His hide rippled as if to dislodge a fly. He blew a short snort, arched his neck, but stood his ground. Tallie stared at his thick black mane, matted with mud and bits of hay. She moved the brush down his dirt-caked shoulder. 

The next day Tallie tried to make each step the same length as the last as she worked her way up the road to the barn.

“What’s new Tallie girl?” Dave yelled down from the hayloft.

“Working on my technique”

“You know you’re gonna kill someone with that thing if you keep going so fast.” Dave joked. 

Gray Horse liked being brushed. He lowered his head and turned it to help her find just the right spots. Tallie groomed away all his dust, dirt, and sheddings. The reveal under all the mud and muck was a lighter gray coat with shadowy dapples darkening to black lower legs. But even better than his surprising and beautiful coat, was the trust he showed with his careful steps, as he followed Tallie when she walkered around the paddock.

Diary – Saturday

I told Dave, my physical therapist said to keep doing whatever I’m doing. My leg strength is improving. I used her words to dodge, when Mom tried to get me to go shopping and skip stables today. 

Dave told me, “There’s nothing better for the inside of a person than the outside of a horse.” For me that’s just factual. 

***

“Come on, give it.” Tallie coaxed. She pulled the excess hair on Gray Horse’s black fetlock. He lifted his foreleg to her tug. She held his rough hoof in her palm, with the other hand on her walker handle. After holding the hoof up for a while, she lowered it, patted him, and told him what a good boy he was.

“You lift his hind legs yet?” Dave asked as he join her. 

“They’re a bit heavy, I can’t hold ‘em up right.” Tallie frowned.

“I’ll do ‘em,” he said. “He’s nice and quiet with you. Mustangs can be more companionable than bred horses sometimes. You know that?”

“Na uh.” She started a slow circuit around the gray to get at his other hoof. “He’s just super special.”

“You know when Lee comes by, that horse practically goes into orbit?”

“Good. That dude’s a full-on cringe daddy.”

“But Tallie, he’s famous!” Dave said with mock respect.

“Ha. His Cowboy Traveler show’s a joke and he doesn’t know crap about horses.”

“Enough about Cowboy Lee. That mustang’s a fine-looking animal. Wherever he come from, there was some bloodline animal covering those mares. What you gonna call him?”

“Not that he’s mine to name, but I’d call him Smokey.” 

“Smokey it is.”

Two days later Tallie grinned when she heard Dave call out, “Did you see that, Rhonda?” Smokey had followed Tallie all around the paddock as she did her walking therapy. 

Rhonda slipped between the fence poles and walked with slow steps to join her. “Tallie, you just keep doing what you’re doing here with Smokey.” Smokey swished his tail, but stayed by Tallie. 

“What if Lee tries to catch Smokey and wrecks him?” Tallie asked.

“Dave and I are watching out.” Rhonda pulled out a cigarette.

“Rhonda! You’re not supposed to smoke around here. If Dave sees…”

Rhonda grinned like a naughty two-year-old. 

“I know your legs can’t kick Lee’s butt, but you’ve got what he doesn’t.”

Tallie felt the warmth of a blush coming on and buried her face in Smokey’s neck. She liked the part where Rhonda mentioned her funky legs, like they didn’t make her useless.

Two weekends later Lee showed up to the stables in a bright maroon western shirt. Above his too-tight blue jeans, he wore a large, rodeo-champ-style silver belt buckle. Tallie could see that most of the younger female boarders by the corrals had forgotten his cruel display the day Smokey came to the stable. She turned away from Lee, maneuvered her walker into the shade of the barn, dropped her pack in the dust and bit her lip.

“Bring out that mustang, will ya Dave?” Lee boomed. He smiled his fake TV-cowboy smile at the growing number of admirers.

“Lee, I’m not your stable boy.” Dave looked at Lee with a stone face. Rhonda, stood on the edge of the smiling crowd wearing her pissed-off face. Tallie welcomed that look.

Lee shouted, “I’m gonna break that horse.” Smokey buck-jumped into a run at the sound of Lee’s voice. He spun a tight turn at the far fence and halted, ears laid back.

Lee slid between the bars into the paddock.

“I wouldn’t do that, was I you, Lee. It’s not your paddock for starters.” Dave shouted as he jogged toward the enclosure.

Lee yanked Chester’s lead rope clean off the top rail. The end hasp hit the pipe-corral pole with a loud metallic clank. Lee doubled up the rope, then advanced within, spinning it in slow circles. 

Within five minutes the mustang’s sleek coat was slick with sweat. Smokey spun, buck-jumped, and evaded Lee’s every move to corner him. Lee’s stiff, sprayed hair, soon crusted with dust.

Lee yelled at the horse, his curses high-pitched.  His lunges grew shorter and rope swings wilder. The curiosity of the watchers, turned to glares of disapproval. A few cried out for him to stop.

Glaring around, Lee noticed the admiring glances were gone. He stood, rope limp in the dirt, a look of hurt surprise. 

“That horse doesn’t like you.” Yelled the short girl with the black mare.

“This horse is an outlaw bronc. I should sell him to the glue factory, or the rodeo.” He yelled back at her. 

“Lee, you’re not takin’ that horse nowheres. And you’re late on your stable bills,” Dave bellowed. “Not to mention the damage to my horse trailer.”

“I’ll do what I want with that miserable nag,” Lee grumbled. He swaggered back down the road toward his little Mazda sports car.

Rhonda had walked over to Dave at some point while Tallie watched Lee terrorize the mustang. Rhonda’s hand gripped Dave’s, their faces stiff with anger. Smokey stood nervous, head high, at the far corner of the paddock. Rhonda walked over and put her arm around Tallie’s shoulder. “He’ll calm down.”

Diary – Sunday

Yesterday when Rhonda said Smokey would be okay, I figured she was talking like adults do, saying things will be fine, when they know they won’t be. Turns out she was right. Dave let me take Smokey into the pasture today. He followed me around and ate lots of grass.

My legs are sore, but it’s a good sore.

***

Two weeks later Tallie tried going two steps at a time before leaning on her walker up the stable road. Dave leaned on the rake end and watched her approach.

“Come in and set down, girlie,” Dave swept his arm toward the tack room.

“What’s up?” Tallie said. 

“Did I tell ya Rhonda’s in the law?” Dave said.

“The police?”

“Naw, she’s the lawyer kind of law. You won’t win no arguments with her. Leastways, I don’t.” Dave glanced out the door.

Tallie raised her eyebrows.

Dave leaned forward, speaking in a whisper. “One of the boarders took video of Cowboy Lee’s ‘horse-breaking’ skills and Rhonda got ahold of it.” 

“And?” Tallie asked.

“We’ll see.” Dave said, then walked away.

***

Bits of cut-off hoof hit the dirt as the farrier quickly snipped and pared off Smokey’s ragged edges. She switched to the rasp, and hoof crumbles rained down like grated cheese. Dogs barked, a chain clanked around a metal-pipe corral, and someone shouted to open the gate for a hay delivery. Smokey stood next to Tallie through it all with ears flopped to the side.

Tallie felt exhausted after the hoof trimming, but Smokey seemed fine. He float-trotted around the paddock, getting used to even hooves.

“I’d say that went as fine as a day fishing with my grandpappy,” said Dave. 

“Did you see Smokey’s taking apples and stuff from some of the other boarders now?” Tallie said.

“You’re still his favorite. I feed him, but he only follows you. And Chester.”

“What if Lee catches him?”

“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Dave said.

Diary – My birthday!

I had the best birthday ever. Mom took me to the Therapeutic Riding Academy. I got to ride this squatty little horse in a saddle with straps. The lady leading me around said she thought riding could help build my leg muscles, till I didn’t need straps.

Who knew stupid old physical therapy could lead to the best birthday present ever? My legs feel stronger already. I think.

Diary – Sunday

It’s official. Lee is banned from the stable! No more Lee! And Smokey gets to stay!!

Rhonda told me that Lee got ‘released’ from his Cowboy Travel show. She’s a cutie when she smiles.

Shireen, the new boarder who has the pretty pinto, came by with an apple for Smokey and stayed to chat. I recognized her from school. That was dope.

Diary – Saturday BBQ Day

This afternoon we went to a sucky BBQ for Mom’s work. There were a bunch of kids there, but the grass was all deep and bumpy. Mom thought I’d have fun with the kids, but I’d rather have stayed with Smokey and Chester. 

The only thing worse than not being able to carry my own plate of BBQ to the table was having my mom carry it.

***

Two Months Later, Tallie grinned down at Rhonda, who was stroking Smokey’s nose.

“Dave, is this a good idea?” Tallie’s mom’s voice quavered as she leaned on the railing of the oval riding ring.

“Mom, seriously?”

Tallie stood on top of the mounting block Dave had brought into the center of the ring. She leaned only slightly on her walker handles, feeling how high-up she was from the sand below.

Smokey stood wearing the new saddle with the leg straps. Dave lifted her onto the saddle and strapped her in.

Tallie adjusted the reins. “Waaalk” she said. Smokey stepped out. Rhonda, walked by his head.

Tallie felt the roll of the saddle as he moved. She tried to anticipate the saddle’s motion, and balance in the sweet spot, neither ahead, nor behind. Her game was to ride without the tug of straps pulling on her thighs. 

“Can we trot?” Tallie asked.

“No.” Shouted her mom.

“Just kidding.” Smokey’s ears pricked forward as he looked ahead, then one flipped back when Tallie told him what a good boy he was.

Calla owned a jewelry design business in Santa Barbara for thirty-eight years. Her non-fiction book: Design Your Dream Wedding Rings, From Engagement to Eternity, was released on Valentine’s Day 2019.
Her stories have been published in The Santa Barbara Literary Journal and Confetti Magazine.
She lives with her husband in Southern California. And she loves horses.