Leopard's Kin



  Leopard’s Kin

  978-0-9878097-1-1

  Becky Norman

  Copyright 2012 Becky Norman

  All the Courses Run

  Prologue

  It was still a clumsy business when Noel Tecumseh picked up this particular body and started using it again. He hadn’t mastered the art of spanning time and space with ease and frequently felt disjointed when he came back to a specific spot. He had to adjust to the limited dimensions of this 5’11” male body, with its indigenous overtones and heavier density. Just moments ago he was light, sound and the empty spaces between matter; the next he was taking on a lower vibration like one would drag on a heavy, woollen sweater.

  When he regained consciousness, his forehead was pressed against the cool glass window of his much-loved, often-used pick-up truck. He stirred, blinking, and took a deep breath. He took a few more to get the lungs working properly then gingerly wiggled his toes inside a pair of well-worn cowboy boots. The muscles were starting to function now, too.

  The truck appeared to be parked in the country - a long expanse of gravel road stretched ahead of him, framed on either side by fields of corn and soybeans with the occasional tree acting as sentinel. He could smell wet earth, a dizzying perfume of lilacs growing along the fields around him and just a hint of manure drifting down on the breeze from a farm that was visible in his rear view mirror.

  Noel sat up straighter in the truck, brushing the thick, wavy strands of deep brown hair away from his forehead as he continued to look around. He was parked next to a log home just barely visible behind a screen of cedars across the road. He squinted through the branches - it was early in the dawn and the place was quiet.

  He was debating what to do when he saw the big brown tabby cat heading straight toward his truck. It was jogging with a purpose, looking neither left nor right as it came on and Noel watched it, bemused.

  It paused at the corner of the log home’s driveway and brushed itself against the mailbox, looking straight at Noel. He opened the truck door, the squeaking of the hinges sounding particularly loud in the dawn’s silence and he cringed. The tabby turned to look at him and Noel held still in invitation. The cat checked the roadway and then crossed toward him. Noel slipped out of the truck - still holding the doorframe for support as he adjusted to the feel of this body - and smiled as the tabby chattered at him as it approached.

  “Namasté, brother,” Noel called softly as he watched the cat come.

  They brushed against each other momentarily - welcoming each other to a new world - then the cat turned and started jogging down the road.

  Noel walked around the truck several times, swinging his arms, placing his feet carefully, getting used to the capabilities of his body once more.

  He was back. For what purpose, he hadn’t a clue, but he was fairly certain if he followed the cat, he’d learn the answer sooner or later.

  Chapter 1

  The horse was doing a lot of rearing as Lori Pate stood at a safe angle and kept the pressure on, asking for him to longe in a circle around her. It made for good theatrics as she demonstrated these “natural horsemanship” training techniques to the crowd of 8-10 adults watching. Good theatrics, but it was tiring for both her and the horse as he towered over her once again and she remained ever-vigilant of those lethal, striking front hooves.

  “Now remember,” she shouted out to her audience as she side-stepped back into position and continued tapping the big gelding on the side of the neck with her training stick, “stay at a 45-degree angle to his shoulder – that way, you’re out of reach of both the front hooves if he tries to strike and the rear legs if he tries to kick.”

  She tugged hard on the lead rope and rope halter as he came down from the heights, keeping his head tipped towards her, and avoiding his powerful hindquarters. Her other arm was getting tired from the tapping, but she gritted her teeth as he popped into the air again and kept going.

  “See, we can’t stop him from rearing. But he’ll get tired of it soon – it takes a lot out of them to do this. He’s learned his whole life to intimidate people this way, so we can’t stop now or we’ll be teaching him this is the answer. We have to keep applying pressure until he tries something else – until he finds the right answer.”

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth than the gelding leapt forward and to the side, starting a brisk, trotting circle around her. Lori immediately dropped her stick hand into a neutral position and breathed a silent prayer of gratitude that she got a brief respite.

  “There!” she affirmed. “He got the right answer; immediately remove the pressure. That’s his reward.”

  Lori kept her eyes focused on the gelding, waiting for him to settle a little more before she would ask him to stop and try the departure again. He was a beautiful horse: a tall, red chestnut with flaxen mane and tail. Anglo-Arab, they called the breed – a Thoroughbred/Arabian cross. He floated above the ground as he trotted around her, his tail arched like a flag behind him, the crest of his neck all Arabian, too. Gorgeous, maybe. But a powder keg waiting to explode if he wasn’t trained properly.

  She pulled him up, with cues she’d already taught him, and rubbed on him with the stick while she let him get a little of his wind back.

  “Lots of rubbing with the stick between his eyes serves two purposes. It shows him the stick is nothing to be afraid of and it reinforces the idea in his brain that looking at you equals a rest.”

  The gelding’s eye softened a bit and he lowered his head imperceptibly. That was Lori’s cue to try a second time.

  “Okay, let’s start again,” she said as she adjusted the lead rope and stick in her hands. “Remember that it’s always ugly in the beginning and horses usually pick something up on the third try, so we’re on our way.”

  The horse snapped to attention as she raised her right hand into the air this time, his nostrils flaring at her active body language.

  “So what are the steps?” she asked her group. “First?”

  “Point up high in the direction you want him to go,” somebody called out.

  “Second?” she asked as she started swinging the stick with her left hand.

  “Swing the stick in a circle three times,” another voice responded.

  “That’s right. You’ve got three chances to move, buddy, and then we up the pressure.”

  On the second swing of the stick the horse gave a half-rear and started looking for a way out. Lori completed the third arc with the stick and the chestnut still hadn’t moved away and to the side.

  “You’re out of chances – move!” Lori said as she moved towards the gelding and tapped him on the side of the neck.

  He thought about rearing again – Lori could see it in his eyes – but at the last second he leaped to the right and started his effortless trot around her again.

  “That was a lot better,” Lori informed the crowd. “Just one little rear this time and then he remembered the answer. He might be what they call a ‘hot’ horse, but he catches on quickly. A few thousand more times and this horse will be a pro.”

  The group laughed politely and the training continued.

  It felt like hours later when Lori finally took a break. She stopped to lean against one of the rails of the roundpen and chugged a second bottle of water down. Removing her dusty, worn cowboy hat, she shook her long, thick black hair out of its ponytail and revelled in the breeze that pulled at it. She massaged her scalp briefly, put some water in her hands and rubbed that through her hair, too, then gathered it all back up to be wrapped with the elastic band.

  “Lori?” Shannon called to her, as she approached with a check in her hand. “I know we agreed on a hundred dollars, but there’s a little extra
in there since you had to do so much with Renny today.”

  Renny – short for Renegade – was the big chestnut gelding and Shannon was his owner. Lori had met Shannon only a few short months ago, when Lori had moved to the area after getting married, but the two had become fast friends. Shannon was a petite, nutmeg-haired, refined-looking lady. Her delicate features and slim build gave a false sense of fragility that was shattered for Lori the first time she had visited Shannon’s barn. When she arrived on this sprawling 100-acre compound known as FairWind Farms, Lori had seen Shannon working with a massive Warmblood stallion in their outdoor ring. Aside from instructing others, Shannon was an accomplished rider in her own right, focusing primarily on dressage, and her effortless way of commanding the 17-hand stallion to do intricate manoeuvres in tight collection had impressed Lori. This little woman was no one to trifle with.

  Lori had, in fact, offered to do some training on one of Shannon’s yearlings that was giving her some particular problems, in exchange for some riding lessons on better seat and balance. Even though Lori’s own sport of choice, barrel-racing, seemed a far cry from the elegance of dressage, both Shannon and Lori knew that balance was balance and if you sat properly on your horse, you would excel at whatever discipline you focused on. That month of learning from each other had solidified their friendship and now Shannon called on Lori whenever she brought a new horse onto the property. Shannon had loved the suppleness and response Lori developed in her horses and wanted them to learn from the start what the expectations would be at FairWind Farms. Lori put the foundation on them and Shannon refined.

  Lori took the check and smiled at Shannon.

  “That wasn’t necessary – I’ve had worse,” she answered the older woman.

  As Lori looked at the check and saw it was double the agreed-upon rate, she gasped.

  “Shannon! I can’t take this much – it’s only a couple days’ work!”

  “Nonsense,” Shannon said, lightly pushing the check back to Lori. “You had your work cut out for you with all that rearing, you had a crowd to contend with on top of it all, and besides, I know things haven’t been easy for you, newly married and trying to make a go of it. You’re too good of a trainer to lose your business just as it’s taking off. Take the check.”

  Lori could only shake her head mutely as she swallowed some of her pride. She knew she was blessed to have a friend like Shannon.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, then tucked the check into the front pocket of her dusty jeans so it wouldn’t cause her to crumble emotionally.

  Shannon gave her a one-armed hug around her waist and then steered her towards a couple of other people who had observed the training. “I hope you brought business cards,” Shannon whispered in Lori’s ear. “They were very impressed.”

  **********

  When Lori got back to the hobby farm she and her husband had recently purchased in Delhi, Ontario, Cody’s truck was already in the driveway. She clambered out of her own, beat-up Outlander, and groaned as her 21-year-old muscles protested the fact they’d been inactive during the 30-minute drive home. It was only May – she was going to have to get her body in shape if she was going to get through the summer horse-training season.

  “Hey, good-lookin’,” Cody called as he came from the hay shed back out to the truck. Her big, blond husband, rippling with muscles, picked up a 50-pound bag of horse feed with ease and Lori paused to admire his hard body flexing with the load in his arms. She loved the way the sunlight caught the highlights in the waves of his tawny hair. He walked over to her and they gave each other a lingering kiss before Cody adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

  “Come walk with me and tell me how the day went,” he suggested.

  “Give me a second, okay? I’ll grab my training gear and take it back to the tack room.”

  Lori could feel his eyes on her as she leaned in through the car’s open window and snagged the duffle bag full of the tools of her trade: rope halter and extra-long lead, spray bottles full of water, hair clippers, tie rings, plastic bags and balloons – all things to desensitize skittish horses, plus receipt books and waivers of liability. She picked up the training stick with her other hand and straightened up to find Cody watching her every move and shaking his head.

  “What?” she asked self-consciously.

  Cody uttered a mild expletive with an impish grin then explained, “You have got one fine body.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Lori said with a laugh. “You’ll get sick of it soon enough, once the honeymoon is over,” she teased.

  “Hardly,” Cody replied as he patted her on the rump and they started walking to the shed. “The honeymoon was over three months ago. I’m an old married guy now, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. Silly of me.” Lori swished the training stick through the grass as they walked along.

  “So, how did the training go at Shannon’s?”

  “Good. That new horse of hers is a pistol, but if she works with him consistently, she should have good results. I handed out a few more business cards and she paid me double what I asked.”

  Cody adjusted the load on his shoulder. “Good ol’ Shannon. That definitely could not have come at a better time. We’ll need to get the kittens spayed and neutered soon – we should earmark your money from today for that.”

  “Good idea. I’ll cash the check on Monday and put it in our slush fund with a note on it.”

  The kittens were a brother and sister set of grey tabbies by the names of Luke and Leia. At 12 weeks’ old, they were becoming tiny terrors, but they definitely livened up the place and gave Lori something to distract her when Cody was away on business trips, scouting out talent in the horse world and matching the right rider to the right animal.

  Cody had a natural ability in reading the skills and qualities of both humans and horses. Lori could easily vouch for that: she had first met Cody three years ago, when she was 18 and looking for a barrel-racing prospect. Cody had found her the beautiful bay gelding, Piper, who had since become her lifelong partner and champion of two seasons on the circuit. They had come home with numerous ribbons and earnings, but Lori had given up on barrel racing, at least for the present. With the chaos of planning the wedding, moving into their own place and trying to get established with income, Lori realized she needed to focus on bringing in more money than she was shelling out on entrance fees and tack. So she had turned to training other people’s horses – and teaching the humans, as well – something she had discovered she had a natural talent for, just as Cody had found his niche at the tender age of 18.

  “Natural Horsemanship” was all the rage these days, but Lori knew the concepts and principles used in so many programs had been around for centuries. The gentler method of working with the horse had been overshadowed in the days of the Wild West by the need to get a horse “broke” quickly and ruthlessly. Unfortunately, most of those horses had given in to their riders out of fear, rather than respect, and the majority of “well-broke” animals introduced to humans in that way were essentially beaten down. Lori, instead, used a variety of different trainers’ methods that she’d studied since she was old enough to ride and became the partner of the horse. She corrected where necessary but viewed the whole experience as a teacher working with a student, not as a brute breaking the horse’s essential spirit in order to get cooperation and respect.

  So far, it had worked well for her. She had given numerous demonstrations at the start, fully aware that word-of-mouth would be the best way of gaining clients. She and Cody had moved to their own farm after the wedding so that she could work with a variety of horses throughout the day and give free demonstrations on the weekends, allowing people to see what she was all about. Luckily, Piper had been a quick student of the methods she’d developed and it was only a few months after beginning his training that they were able to do elaborate “at liberty” programs for the people who came to see what she did.

  It w
as impressive stuff, even to Lori. She would never have dreamed as a youngster that she would be able to turn her horse loose in a 100 x 200-foot riding arena and have that animal canter attentive, perfect circles around her in the middle of the ring. She would have laughed at anyone who would have told her that a horse with no halter, bridle or saddle could do flying lead changes and then trot diagonally across the arena from one corner to the other with only the slightest leg pressure from its bareback rider. And yet Piper was doing it every weekend for people who gasped in amazement while a smiling Lori directed him through various manoeuvres. As they witnessed how fluidly and easily Lori and Piper worked together, they wanted it for themselves and came to her afterwards, asking when she was available to come work with their horses. Lori’s agenda had quickly filled up.

  On Cody’s suggestion, she had also gone to some of the local auctions and picked up four horses that had already been started and were of riding age. She got them cheap because she targeted the “problem” horses that were healthy and sound, but unrideable because of behavioural issues. Within a month, she had all of them ready to be sold again – this time, to a rider of any ability because of the intensive training she had put into them. With Cody’s keen eye at the auction ring, they had picked up some beauties and because of his connections, they already had two prospective buyers that would make them a handsome profit. Things looked promising and they were becoming solid partners, both in business and as husband-and-wife.

  After dropping their bundles in the tack room / feed room combination, Cody wrapped his arms around Lori and gave her a deep squeeze and soft kiss on the neck. “I’m very proud of you, you know,” he whispered in the closest ear. “You’ve done a great job with those horses. I think I might have another buyer for the palomino mare, too.”

  Lori returned the hug and looked up at her tall husband. “Really? Then I’m proud of you, too.”

  Cody laughed in his self-deprecating way and pinched her gently before releasing her. “You little bugger – is nothing I do enough for you?” he asked in mock exasperation. She laughed back at him and they walked arm-in-arm up to the house.