Hooves By Amanda Klejeski   I   I ride in a buddy saddle, two stirrups and a cushioned seat, strapped behind Mom’s brown leather Circle Y. Tezza is a tall Arabian and the clop of her hooves sounds farther away than it is. At an easy walk, I hold onto the belt loops of Mom’s jeans or, if we are loping, I wrap my arms around her waist. She holds my sister in a baby sling across her chest. Mostly we ride Tezza out on the trails, and sometimes down the gravel road to Little Long Lake, the three of us.   II   Cinderella, the little gray and white spotted mare, is the horse we learned to ride on. First my brothers…