Rio made his way back to the stands and found Merry’s group.
Merry patted the empty seat next to her. “Mark won his horsemanship class. All he has to do is place fourth or higher here and he’ll have high point champion for this show.”
Whooptidoo, Rio thought. He could care less if Mark got the stupid championship. But because Merry and the others were so excited he went along with them. “Fingers crossed,” he said.
“Our last class of the Southern Idaho Open Quarter Horse show, number ninety-seven, Amateur Western Pleasure,” the announcer called. “You may enter the arena at a jog.”
Rio watched as one by one the horses shuffled into the arena. They moved slowly around the rail, heads low, barely moving, to Rio’s way of thinking. I could walk faster than they’re joggin’, he thought sarcast
