Daddy [mxm]

8

I open one baleful eye at a time. Moonlight streams in through the skylights, and stars wink at me, lulling and peaceful in the dark sky. The tiny, illuminated screen of my watch displays quarter to midnight, and all is still quiet.

I stifle a groggy yawn, trying not to rouse Rudy. It looks like operation stakeout was a dud after all. I was so looking forward to a foaling tonight, but I can't complain about the opportunity to spend another night up here with Rudy. He's snoring softly beside me, shifting occasionally in his sleep. My heart twists with love at the sight. Every time I look at him, I see my childhood, memories of the comfort and warmth he provided. It's the middle of the night; I'm tired and it's making me sappy.

At least in my dreams, he can be mine. I shut my eyes and snuggle deeper into my sleeping bag. But just before I can drift off into dreamland, a sound startles me. My eyes snap open and I sit up, instantly alert and blinking the sleep from my eyes. Then I hear it again: the rustle of straw. I freeze, a chill creeping up my spine. The lamb is still sleeping soundly a few feet away, unmoving. Another rustle resounds in the still darkness of the night, and this time it's undoubtedly real. Straining my ears, I hear a deep rumble from below me, a groan. Then more rustling. I leap to my feet, all traces of sleep erased, my heart pounding as I shake Rudy's shoulders frantically.

"Rudy," I hiss. "Rudy, wake up! It's happening."

Vigorous shaking finally rouses the snoozing man. Understanding passes wordlessly between us.

Rudy picks up the sleeping lamb and we tiptoe down the stairs, my heart in my mouth. When we reach the mare's stall, she's down on her knees, her coat lathered with glistening sweat. Seeing us, she groans as her sides heave in a fresh contraction.

"It's okay, Nelly," Rudy soothes the mare quietly. This is it.

Instinctually, I'm tempted to go into the stall and try to help her, but Rudy warned me against this. Right now, our presence could upset or frighten the mare, because she's in too much pain to think or judge clearly, and could be dangerous. Not to mention that if the mare feels insecure or threatened, she possesses the amazing ability to delay the birth. That's the last thing we want.

Nelly's sides ripple with another contraction and a deep grunt of effort escapes her. "C'mon, c'mon!" Rudy mutters fervently under his breath. The mare's head is down, and her tail swishes restlessly. Another groan emerges from the horse, patches of sweat glistening on her sides. I watch in awe as the beginning of an opaque sac protrudes from under her tail: the amniotic membrane covering the foal.

I crane my head for a better view. I can just make out the shape of two tiny hooves sliding forward, through the obscure, white sac. This is good; the foal is positioned correctly.

Captivated, I watch as the muzzle pushes its way through next. The mare groans, her glossy neck damp with perspiration. The foal is now halfway out.

Leaning as far over the half door as I can, I watch eagerly as the hind legs slide to the straw, the foal still covered by the amniotic membrane.

For a moment, the foal lays there, unmoving, on the straw bed.

I hold my breath.

The mare nickers softly, and then swings her head around to inspect her first offspring. To my immediate relief and delight, the foal's tiny ears flicker suddenly. Opening its eyes, the foal lays there for a moment, before struggling onto its chest. I give a small gasp of adoration as the delicate creature breaks through the protective membrane, emerging like a butterfly out of its cocoon. With a flick of its big, furry ears, the foal's legs thrash out, breaking through the sac. In the struggle, the umbilical cord breaks and the foal takes its first breath, under the light of a million, twinkling stars.