Neil couldn't wait to tell his friend Gabe about the new excitement in his life. So after Devin left, and his mother inquired about how he felt with this new arrangement, he called his buddy and they met in Riverside Park for a little catch at “Our Zone.” Gabe and Neil had chosen a spot where they always met to play catch. There was very little throwing and catching that afternoon. Neil was too excited about the change in his life, but Gabe quietly apprehensive, saw Devin as a possible intruder. Gabe, like his pal, had hair neglect problems. Gabe had rust colored hair with untamed curls. He had grey eyes that always smiled, no matter what direction his lips turned. Some commented that his eyes were independently enjoying themselves. He was a couple of inches taller than his friend and was three months, seven days older. Their mother’s were in agreement that they both had the same rebellious hair and neatness shortcomings. “How old is he?” Gabe asked. “How do I know, I didn't think about that . . . and I didn't ask him.” “Is he a teenager?” “That’s stupid,” he said, throwing a wild ball on purpose, which Gabe missed of course, making him run after it. “He's my teacher, he's maybe about our mother’s age,” and after reconsidering, “a little bit younger, but older than us.” “He's still in school though.” “He's becoming a doctor.” “A veterinarian . . . an animal Doctor?” Gabe asked with a raised interest. “Why am I not surprised you'd say that,” knowing Gabe's attraction to the animal kingdom. “Not a dog doctor . . . not a medical one either, a doctor of Pshycolog . . . no . . . Sociology or . . . and Education . . . I think.” They stopped playing, so he jumped on to the nearby black iron pipe fence, hitting his feet toge... ... middle of paper ... ... pool tables, basketball courts and two bowling alleys, and there were plenty of things to do regardless of the weather. Esther showed her abilities with the tennis racket and would get into some sort of organized tournament. She won a prize three summers in a row. She taught Neil the game and he loved it. Both of them were always being beckoned to the clay courts for a game. It was the same with horseback riding. When she mounted the horse, she was in charge. “She looks like Joan of Arc,” Neil thought. She would put the stallion through a variety of turns and prances. There were no places to see if the horse could negotiate a post jump or a water hazard, but it was certain that if necessary, she could get the horse to do that too. They stayed on a passive trail that became tiresome after a week or two. Neil didn't take to horses or them to him, though he did try.
The Mother is among a family of four who lives on a small farm and takes immense pride in what interests her, however her passion does not particularly lie in her two children; James and David; nor in her husband and their interests; but instead lies within her chickens. Though chickens bring the most joy to the Mother, they are not the sole animals that live on the farm. The animal that draws the most interest from the father, James and David is their horse, Scott. At a young age, Scott was used as a working mule for the family and grew up alongside the Father and two Sons. To the father, Scott was like one of his own sons, and to James and David, Scott was like their brother; but according to the Mother, “He’s been worthless these last few years”(Macleod, 267). Ever since Scott was young, he was a burden on the Mother’s lifestyle; she never took a liking to the horse even when he served as a source of profit for the family. The Mother had never appreciated the sentimental value that Scott possessed because he had never been a particular interest to her. Once Scott had aged and was no longer able...
She then moves on to describe each of the characters, and in doing so, their surroundings and how they fit in: "He was cold and wet, and the best part of the day had been used up anyway. He wiped his hands on the grass and let the pinto horse take him toward home. There was little enough comfort there. The house crouched dumb and blind on the high bench in the rain. Jack's horse stood droop-necked and dismal inside the strand of rope fence, but there wasn't any smoke coming from the damned stove (28)."
The cowboy climbed aboard and gave a wild yell. The men holding the head of the horse let go and jumped back. Almost immediately the horse began bucking. The cowboy stayed with him though. The horse bucked around the pen slamming into the fence and off the post that was set in the middle of the pen. Finally the horse began to slow down and the cowboy got him under control. It would take another week of this before the horse would allow himself to be handled without blowing up.(Rashid 102)
"Uh-huh, but he don't feel nothing. Wouldn't be humane if he did." Said the guard
One day Andrew made a bet with a Rival horse breeder named Mr.Dickinson. The bet was that the Andrews horse Mustang was a faster horse than dickinson's fastest horse that he bred. Mr.Dickinson claimed that his fastest horse Sparky can beat mustang therefore the bet was made. One hot summer day Andrew, his wife, Dickinson, and his wife went to the track. Andrew was in the stable preparing Mustang for the
“Thought about it, but didn’t believe it. Well then,” my father’s voice was still the same, “that changes things, doesn’t it?”
I have always wanted to be a Special Education teacher. I started deciding what I wanted to do in the eighth grade. This was also around the time I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome. Asperger’s is an autism spectrum disorder; people with it show difficulties in social interactions, and reading body language. For me, I have trouble making friends and having age appropriate conversations. It is difficult to read people’s emotions, which sometimes gets me into trouble. I have been given the gift to be able to help teach other children with special needs how to ride horses, and also learn about how the horses communicate with these riders differently then a “normal” person. Through working with Ian I have been able to obtain a better understanding of my career goals.
My perception of the State Fair was one filled with amazement and adventure. The loud music of the rides and the familiar, huge crowds overwhelmed me with excitement. Unfortunately, I was forcibly taken, by my parents, to watch the World Championship Horse Show in Freedom Hall. At such a young age, I was not interested in seeing the next world champion horse make the show of his or her life. In my mind, the horse show was a waste of good ferris-wheel time. My parents usually set aside an afternoon in which they, with long-suffering faces, would indulge me in my fair frenzy. For these few hours, we waded into the jostling crowds, surrounded by the screams of thrill-seekers, the cacophony of bells and whistles, and the powerful smells of fair cuisine. To me, these were the best sights and sounds on earth.
“All the Pretty Horses”, a novel written by Cormac McCarthy tells the tale about a man and his friend travelling the plains of Mexico after leaving their homes in Texas. As the novel’s name alludes to, horses are a central theme in the story as they represent manhood and freedom when John Grady, the protagonist, and his friend Rawlins get thrown in jail. McCarthy’s novel became critically-acclaimed which gained him more recognition, as well as a movie adaptation directed by Billy Bob Thornton. Even though Thornton’s adaption has the basics of the novel’s story it does not appropriately grasps its depth. While Thornton’s version stays faithful to the dialogue from the book’s included scenes it does fall short by having an erratic pace, having
“You don’t know me.” My voice sounded as unsteady as his stance. He shrugged as he chuckled; the laughter turned my blood cold. He seemed to know something I did not.
“I wanted to see if you actually cared about me. That you would be honest.”
Sliding the barn doors open, I step into a warm, comforting environment. Musty straw mingles with the sharp aroma of pine shavings, complementing each other. A warm glow from sporadically placed incandescent lightbulbs richens the leather tack, all cleaned and hanging ready for the day's use. From it wafts the smell of a new pair of shoes. The fruity essence of "Show Sheen", applied after yesterday's baths, still lingers in the air. Even the harsh stinging scent of urine and manure is welcome at this early morning hour. Breaking open a bale of hay, I sense the sweetness of the dried timothy as it engulfs my olfactory system, making me wish my queasy stomach had not made me skip breakfast. I am nervous, as are many others. I know that the day ahead will bring excitement, dread, triumph, and defeat. The unpredictable nature of horse shows causes frenzied questions, like salmon spawning, to run constantly though my mind. Will the judge like my own particular style? What if the red flowers bordering the first jump spook my horse? What if a piece of paper on the ground blows into the ring? Will this horse show be a success? The outcome depends not just on me; but a...
“True, that he’s no Prince Charming, but there’s something in him that I simply didn’t see.”
“Now I’ll tell you without asking . . . if you not be of the house of