Bucking in the Corral (a short story)

Bucking in the Corral
((North St. Paul, at Kiddy Corner) (1951-52))



I stood there against the fence, about to join the kids inside the fenced for my ride on Dan. There, now in the corral, sunbeams started brushing across my face, I was a bit blinded, yellow hay soaking into the dried I noticed when I lowered my head to avoid the heavy sun beams, the mud was from the rain yesterday. I stood still, listening to voices of the people around Dan, the horse; another horse I don’t know his name, was by Dan, restless or so it seemed, it made Dan restless; I was listening, watching and not thinking about anything at all even when I heard Dan stomping in the mud like a mad mule, saw him stomping in the mud when I raised my eyes, I stood there with my eyes squinting, if not, almost shut at moments, I seemed to have been drifting a bit also as I waited for my ride, I was scared a little—uncertain, he, Dan the horse, the one I fed many times through the corral fence, the wooden fence feed him grass and hay in back of the farmhouse where all us kids lived five days out of the week, while our parents went to work, some of us staying over nights, Dan was hissing at people, not like him, but the horse behind him I think bothered Dan, neither did he like those who were trying to hold him steady, so one of the kids could mount him, kids and people all about; he was very resistant today, not like his old self, calm and reserved for the most part, and now he started to back kick, I was in the corral, waiting for my ride, behind the legs of old Dan…
“Are you hurt?” said a voice around Dan, tears now pouring down my face, yet I tried not to make a sound. Nonetheless, tears were pouring down my face.
I had felt a kick go deep into my ribs, pushing them inward, taking my breath way, as if I had just been deflated. Dan must have kicked me, hard I told myself, now under the upper body of Dan, lying in the mud. I confirmed to myself it was Dan who must have kicked me, a solid kick, Janet, the owner of the private, Day Care Center (where there was also overnight lodging for kids), grabbed me from under Dan, I was no more than five-years old.
“What’s the matter with you Dan!” she screamed, grabbing the harness, with her other hand, the hand she did not use to hold onto my hand, I was now standing on my own, still a bit dizzy. Then Janet, slapped the horses face, a good one, you could hear it.
“Calm down,” she threw this order at Dan.

I wanted to cry I wanted to say let me go to Dan, but she held him back, pushed his face away from me. I suppose it was enough that she had to grab me from under his legs before he stomped on me, and she was really upset.
She was telling the others to get this other horse, the one behind Dan out of the corral lest another stampede start. On the other hand, her face was saying, “I’m ever so sorry, you know Dan, and he loves you kids.”
My ribs hurt, and she noticed. Then she noticed also, a bee sting, a bee caught sticking out, along the rim of the saddle, almost between the saddle and ribs of the horse, Dan had been stung, the bee was dead now, or so it seemed. I suppose Dan tried in his own way to tell us about this bee, and we were looking at the horse behind Dan, not the little things, that caused big problems.
I can almost feel that kick as I write this out, old Dan, Janet and me.


At the Farm House


I now could hear Janet and the other kids downstairs,” Quiet,” she said to the kids…I was thought to be sleeping myself, but I wasn’t. I tried to see my bruised ribs, but my neck hurt trying to bend it along with my twisting over to see the backside of the upper part of the rib area.
“Has it stopped, the hurting stopped?” Janet asked leaning over my bed. She startled me in the dark, I was thinking of Dan, and here she came into the bedroom; I jumped, and my ribs hurt when I jumped.
“Yes, it hurts,” I told her, and she added, “It will pass in a few days.”
I heard her saying something to someone, “Ill have to tell his mother, and she’s not going to like it.”
She put a cool rag on top of and over my ribs, and she told me to hold it softly in place.
“I hope it does not leave a big burse, your mother will see it and I got a lot of explaining to do.” She commented.
I heard a phone ring downstairs, Janet turned to hear if it was for her, the voice said,” Kiddy Corner— she’s busy right now, can she call you back…?” Then I heard the phone receiver heavily put back into place. I got thinking about how I’d feed Dan tomorrow, if Janet let me.
Later on that night Janet come back up stairs, to my bedroom with a piece of beef and put it against my swollen rib side, tied it kind of with some gauze-tape.
“You’ll need this for tonight, beef will take the swelling down, it’ll help,” she said, with an unsure smile on her face now, an old remedy I guess.
I wanted to feed Dan tomorrow, I wanted to ask her if I could, I mean, I normally could, but circumstances were a little different now.


Originally called “The Corral,” written in 5-2005 renamed, and reedited, and revised, shortened, 5-2008.