“Whew!” Pedro exclaims next to me, as we watch the black mare unload off the trailer in front of us. “She is a beaut, isn’t she?”
I cock my eyebrow at him like he’s insane, which quite possibly he is. The horse I see in front of me is haggard, has scars all over her body, probably from previous abuse, and she’s still a little on the skinny side. Granted, she’s a rescue, and we knew she wouldn’t be in the best of shape, but somehow Pedro sees something I don’t.
“Are we observing the same horse?”
“Aw, come on, Ace.” He kicks up his leg, resting his boot on the wooden picket fence in front of us. “She just needs a chance. I’m telling you, she is gonna be a great riding horse once I build her trust. Maybe she’ll even be good at rounding up the cattle.”
The words no more than come out of his mouth before she rears up, causing the farmhand who’s guiding her off the trailer to hang on to the rope for dear life, as he’s lifted two feet off the ground.
I turn my head to watch Pedro, wondering if he’s changed his mind.
“So, we’ve got some kinks to work out,” he remarks before I can say anything. “But this is what we do here, right? Take the ones that have kinks, smooth them out, and help them find their best potential.”
He knows I can’t rebut that, because he’s right.
All Hands Farm began as a dairy farm, and that’s still our main function. With over three hundred Holstein cows, we provide milk not only to the local grocery stores in the area, but we’re in the process of expanding to more states. It’s a business that has been in my family for generations.
Shortly before my mom passed, though, she and I came up with a plan to expand even further. That includes the other side of the farm—the special needs co-op program.
For the last decade, we’ve been working with a couple local schools, specifically their special education department. The high school busses some of the higher functioning special needs students out here to give them some fresh air and a little bit of exercise. In the process, we teach them job skills varying from minor construction to lawn maintenance. Several work in the calf barn doing feedings and cleaning. I even had a couple kids learn how to use all of the equipment to milk the cows and were later hired on after graduation. It’s turned into a win/win for everyone.
And I know from first-hand experience, having had a brother with disabilities, being around and interacting with the animals can make a huge difference. There’s nothing like the nuzzle of a good horse to calm someone’s impulsive behaviors.
The program has worked out great, to the point where at least a couple times a year, people from the Texas Education Agency come out to see how we operate and if there is a way to duplicate it in other parts of the state. As far as I know, they’ve never been able to, but at least we give them a good start.
It also means I don’t have a good argument against Pedro bringing a wild mare into our midst. Especially since he purchased her with his own money, on his own time, and is going to be the one responsible for her care.
“I know I agreed to this,” I say without so much as a glance at him, still watching the horse with a wary eye, “but you better make damn sure everyone on this farm knows no one is to get on her except you. You are it, my man. She’s your horse. She’s your responsibility. She’s your liability. I’m not gonna have this place shut down because of your wild card.”
He claps me on the back with a wide grin on his face. “No worries, man. I got this. You know me better than that.”
I make a “hmfph” sound because I know full well if anyone can break her and get her under control, it’s Pedro.
Pedro and I grew up together. This farm has been in my family for three generations. When my dad inherited from my grandfather, Pedro’s dad was his number one farmhand. From the time we were practically toddlers, Juan was bringing Pedro to play with me and help out with basic chores. He and I, being the same age, of course became best friends, spending our mornings learning how to feed baby calves and muck stalls and the afternoons swimming in the lake, catching frogs.
We went to the same high school. Played in the same sports. Admired the same pretty girls. He was more like a brother than a friend.
Even this many years later, that bond has never left. He’s one of the people I trust most in the world. When my dad suddenly died of a massive heart attack in the west field, Pedro was the one who broke the news to me and picked me up at the airport when I flew home. And when I took over at the farm, Pedro was with me every step of the way—helping me get all the clients squared away, making sure we knew how to do the books, and hiring someone to run the office. It was a natural progression for him to move into the position of farm manager and my right-hand man when Juan retired. We’ve been a team for so long, there is no one I trust more. Not with my business nor with my life.
Except when it comes to this. This horse has a history of being unpredictable and potentially dangerous. Based on her skittish behavior, I have huge reservations about her ability to thrive around people, let alone be ridden safely. But there’s no stopping Pedro from trying. That doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s crazy for it.
I hear the bus pulling up behind us and turn to greet our co-op kids. Waving at the program coordinator, Mrs. Johnson, who doubles as the bus driver, I see mostly familiar faces getting off the bus.
“Hey, Mr. Ace.”
“Hey, Donnie,” I say to one of our regulars as he high-fives me on the way to the barn to start feeding our small collection of chickens and barn cats. I love working with these kids. It’s nice to see them flourish and grow, and seeing the delight on their faces makes it all worth it.
Unfortunately, some of the delight is directed at Pedro’s new project, who is still whinnying and stomping in displeasure.
All of a sudden, a new face in the bunch takes off running away from the rest.
“Oli!” Mrs. Johnson yells after him. “Oliver Declan, stop!”
He doesn’t listen, so I go immediately into “bouncer” mode. “Oliver Declan, stop right now,” I yell, and he does. Somehow the deep timbre of my voice makes an effective tool when it comes to getting kids to obey.
“Must be the new kid,” Pedro says unnecessarily since neither of us have seen him before.
Walking toward the teen, I do a quick assessment. It always helps to make a few pre-judgements on the kinds of issues we could be dealing with. Because of all the privacy laws, I’m not allowed to get a lot of initial information on the disabilities and needs the kids have. I have enough to make sure they’re safe, but a lot of times I’m forced to wing it for a while. Once the parents come to visit and take a tour, they usually give me more insight and ideas.
Until then, I must go with what Mrs. Johnson is allowed to tell me and my gut instincts. For instance, this particular boy doesn’t have any outward physical deformities. He also doesn’t have any distinct facial features like my brother had, so I can safely rule out Down’s Syndrome. He doesn’t seem to be avoiding eye contact either. If he’s on the autism spectrum, he must be pretty high functioning. However, he’s a little on the heavy side and lumbers rather than walks. Maybe muscle tone issues?
No matter what his official diagnoses are, he has a huge smile on his face. That’s a good sign.
“Morning. I take it you’re Oliver?”
“Don’t call me Oliver.” His voice is monotone but not angry. Just factual. “My name is Oli.”
“Hi, Oli. I’m Ace.” I reach out my hand and sure enough, he takes it and shakes it tightly. “Welcome to All Hands Farm. It’s your first day, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I like horses.”
So far, so good.
“Me too. Have you ever ridden a horse before?”
He shakes his head, still admiring the mare and not paying much attention to me. “No. But I’m gonna be a cowboy someday.”
“That sounds great, Oli.” I take care not to stand too close and get in his personal space, still not able to pinpoint what kind of reactions he might have. I assume there are some behavioral concerns with him, but that’s not unusual for the special ed program. Frustrations can run high when you struggle to communicate or get terribly uncomfortable. “The most important part of being a good cowboy is you have to learn the rules and you have to follow them.”
“What kind of rules?” Oli finally regards me, and while his eyes are clear, there is a slight vacancy to them.
“The number one rule is you don’t approach any of the animals without permission from either myself, Mrs. Johnson, or my friend Pedro.”
Pedro immediately jumps in. “Hey, Oli. Nice to meet you.” He puts his hand out to be shaken and Oli complies easily, which has me feeling confident that Mrs. Johnson made a good choice bringing him here.
“Can I pet that horse?” Oli stares right at the mare when he asks.
Shooting Pedro a glare for coordinating a terrible delivery time, I respond, “That horse just got here. You see how she’s jumping around and stomping?”
He nods.
“She’s still kind of scared, it being her first day and all. So, we’re not letting anyone pet her today. We’re gonna let her get used to being in a brand-new place.”
“Okay.” Oli looks over at me again. “Can I pet another horse?”
“You can pet a horse after we get some work done.”
His shoulders slump. “Aw man. You’re gonna make me work?”
This is more along the lines of what I was expecting. It doesn’t matter how many times the kids are told work comes first and hanging out with the animals comes second, it doesn’t completely translate until they’ve been in a routine for a couple weeks. It’s a struggle in the beginning, but one that’s well worth it after they’ve learned the ropes. Even better, once they get used to the reward system, the kids almost always start to enjoy the productivity of a job well done.
“Hey Oli, why don’t you come with me?” Pedro offers. “I’ll give you a tour. Show you where everything is and get you set up at your first job. The sooner you finish your work, the sooner we can pet the animals.”
“Okay.” Oli doesn’t even hesitate, just walks away with Pedro as he points to the normal things he shows on the tour, like where the bathroom and the water fountain are located. We’ve learned over the years those are the two most important things.
Mrs. Johnson comes to stand next to me as I watch them walk away. “Sorry about that,” she apologizes, hands on her hips. “We went over the rules several times, but he was so darn excited to be here. It’s been a struggle all day.”
“He doesn’t seem disabled.” I know that sounds awfully ignorant to Mrs. Johnson, especially coming from me. I know just as well as anyone there are some disabilities you can’t see. Mental ones most often. But Oli just seems extremely highly functional.
“Oh, you’ll see.” She smiles sardonically. “He’s been doing really well, but his mother told me to warn you once the honeymoon is over, it’s on.”
“Can you give me any more information than that?”
“Yeah. They recently moved here from Kansas. He’s lived in the suburbs all his life. This is his first time out in the country. I can’t give you specifics, but he has defiance issues and impulse control problems. We’re hoping the animals will help calm him. Mom’s considering getting him some sort of an emotional support animal when he’s old enough. Figured this program would be a good stepping off point to see if that’s an option before spending all that time on paperwork to apply.”
I nod. “Smart. Are you going to head back to school or hang out in the main office today?”
“I’m gonna work in the main office, if that’s okay with you. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. I could go for a quiet place free from distractions.”
“I think Jill is having one of her Metallica days. I hope you brought ear plugs.” She crinkles her nose in disgust. Mrs. Johnson hates heavy metal, but when the office manager gets here first, she gets to control the music. “Oh, it’s not all bad. Brittany found some of that nasty vanilla Coke you like so much. She put a twelve pack in the fridge just for you.”
Her eyes light up with delight. “Oh! I may have to work at the kitchen table with her instead. She spoils me rotten.”
“She spoils all of us rotten.” And she does. Running all the meals and the main house has been Brittany’s job since she and Pedro got married. She’s damn good at it.
Mrs. Johnson tells me she’ll find me when she’s finished, and I head off into the farm, catching up to Pedro and Oli, since the others have already disappeared to their stations. The workday is already half over, but my new project with a smiling, lumbering teenage boy, just began.