Demon Tamer

Demonically Angelic

“I was normal, then I brought my first horse.”

~Bumper Sticker

Sunday was my day off. I never realized how much I took week-ends for granted, that is until I started working everyday including Saturday. Dad had decided I could get Sunday’s off when he realized I had decided homework and studying were optional and was spending every hour (when I wasn’t teaching or at school) sleeping. Apparently that isn’t healthy, even for teenagers.

So, Sunday was the day that I always, without fail or excuse, ride the monster I call Demon.

When I went to his field to get him, I was horrified by what I saw. He was running around chasing his field buddy (who was a little pink pig inventively named The Pig), with his rug hanging in tatters from his body. As far as I could tell, he’d managed to give it a huge gash down the middle and get the surcingles undone. There was a nice little circle of fabric wrapping itself around his front leg and threatening to trip him up.

“Demon!” I called, grabbing his halter and literally jumping over the gate.

Wow, didn’t know I was that acrobatic.

He saw me and came trotting over; he had stopped making me trek across the field when he figured out I would give him a treat for coming to me. That is, he did whenever it wasn’t hideously muddy or I was in a hurry. If he could see me suffer, he would sacrifice a mint.

“You are an idiot!” I scowled at him when he reached me and started nuzzling my pockets for treats—he had clearly forgotten how heavy his big head was and nearly knocked me over. “Jerk,” I muttered as I gave him the mint and slipped the halter over his head.

Then, resisting the urge to cringe, I looked at the rug. A rug is basically a blanket that goes on the horse to keep him warm in the winter (and, as I appreciate, clean) and is held on by straps. That is, until one is put on Demon.

A massive gash ran down the middle of the top, exposing the stuffing inside and ripping the thing in two. The surcingles that crossed his belly were also ripped, hanging loose around his legs. As far as I could tell, the only reason it was still on was a thin strap of the outer binding running over his withers, just under his neck, and the buckles at the front still clinging on for dear life.

Quickly, I undid them and watched in mourning as the rug slowly slid off him all on its own accord.

He was so going to pay for this.

Correct: I was so going to pay for this.

There was no way I could afford a new rug! The cheapest I could get them for new was $100! Even second hand, if I went for one that was going to stay on, it would be around $50. And I was working to the bone here with all my money going to Dad. Even my allowance had been cancelled.

That only left one option. Fixing it. By hand.

“I’m going to kill you, you know that?” I glared at Demon. He continued searching my pockets like the monster he was. If I hadn’t known him, I would have thought it was sweet and all cuddly.

Maybe I could save money by not buying him any treats.

That was the most frustrating ride of my life. Demon didn’t buck or gallop out the ring or do anything I could scream at him for. Nope. But he didn’t exactly behave either.

When I asked for trot, he would canter, or toss his head, or trot but at such a slow pace the vultures started to circle. Every time we walked, he would either try to stop or break into a trot. And his frame? It was none existent. For the whole ride, his back was arched, his hind legs dragging behind him, and his nose waving about in the air. He reminded me of a llama. There was no way it was comfortable, but no matter what did or how many tricks I tried, he refused to bring it down. A couple of times, I managed to get him in a frame for a full three strides before he reverted back to his llama impression.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to hit him.

I wanted to cry.

Basically, it wasn’t a nice, relaxing Sunday ride.

“Why can’t you just buck?” I asked desperately, fighting for a walk-canter transition. “I know what to do when you buck. I wouldn’t even mind being ditched! Just do something!”

Maybe he was sick.

Maybe he had mad cow disease.

Maybe his back hurt.

Or maybe he was just being Demon.

That last one seemed to most likely. Trust Demon to find a new way to torture me. A way to make me wish he would buck.

God, I hated him.

For the rest of that week, whenever I had a free minute, I was sitting at the table in the tack room and desperately putting stitches in the monster’s rug. I didn’t have a spare winter rug for him, so I’d just stuck two thin sheets on and let him shiver. He deserved it.

Poor Sam was suffering because of the monster, too. Twice, he’d come round and asked if I wanted to go somewhere, but both times it was horribly timed. I was either in the middle of a lesson, or evening stables. And, even if he had come at a better time, I still wouldn’t have been able to go. As it was, I was working most hours of the day. Done at the barn at five, then on to homework and dinner and house-chores. Every day I would fall into bed absolutely exhausted at ten. Ten! I used to stay up past that to watch TV. But now I was too tired to even contemplate staying up past ten. By eight I would be ready to pack it in.

Whoever said horses were glamorous clearly didn’t have to feed them and clean up after them.

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A/N

I realized I haven’t had Demon for a while. So the picture to the side is of him.

Sorry it’s so short and late, but it’s all I could write right now. I will try to get more up this weekend (as I have a four day weekend from school thanks to Martin Luther King Jr., I will probably have enough time).

And, yes, if you have read Even Demon’s Have Their Moments, you will have probably noticed that I love llamas. (Or maybe I just think they’re funny…or funny-looking. IDK) Maybe it’s from having to read the title sequence of Monty Python’s Holy Grail to my little brother so many times. (If you haven’t seen it…WATCH IT. You can thank me later.

-Horsegirl113