The Brink(ley) of Extinction

Merritt, Canada, 1867

          "Beth! Come give us a hand!" Papa's voice burst out of the barn. He and Chip were trying to help a labouring mare deliver her foal.

          "Beth! Have you got the garden watered yet?" Mama called from the front porch, "I need a dozen potatoes and carrots for supper!"

          Beth set her buckets down, wiped her forehead, then plopped her floppy old hat back on her head. She picked up the buckets again, sloshing some water over the sides, soaking a good portion of her dress. She moved to the garden again. Papa had Chip to help him in the barn and Blythe was in the house with Mama. Everyone would be fine for another minute while Beth got the rest of the garden watered.

          "Beth!" Papa all but yelled from the barn, and something in his voice set her to runnin' for the barn, buckets and all. She passed Chip in the doorway. The six-year-old was sprinting to the house as fast as his little legs could go. That meant only one thing: Trouble. Beth set the buckets down outside the stall and slipped in, slowly and quietly so as not to alarm the already-distressed mare. She knelt beside Papa.

          "What's wrong?"

          "I'm not sure. The foal should have come out by now. He must be turned around in there, but my arms are too big to fit inside." He spoke without turning his attention from the horse and Beth realized where this was going. Her stomach turned at the thought of having to reach her arm up the horse's—. She gagged, then stood and backed out of the stall slowly.

          Beth made it out of the barn just in time. She cast up everything in her stomach, then marched stolidly back in, wiping her mouth on the edge of her skirt.

          Papa stepped out of the stall just as Beth returned. He glanced down and nodded, "Good. You've brought water. Scrub your arms thoroughly, then get back in here."

          Beth smiled weakly at his words and did as she was told. She was just about done when her older sister burst into the barn. Blythe took one look at Beth and hurried to a stall nearer the open doorway. She flung the stall door wide open, slipped a bridle over the gelding's head and seconds later, was flying down the dusty lane at a full gallop. Beth watched her sister disappear into the dust, wishing that was her. Leaving the trouble behind. Or simply getting more hands to help deal with it.

          "Beth!" Papa's voice started to sound downright panicked, so Beth dropped the horse brush she'd been using, in the bucket and took a deep breath to fortify herself.

          She dropped back to her knees next to him, "Okay." She blew out a breath. "What do you need me to do?"

          "Reach in there and feel around for anything that feels like a foreleg. Find both of them and pull him out on a contraction."

          Sounds simple enough. And that thought in itself told Beth that it was going to be a whole lot more complicated than 'find the forelegs and pull him out'. Beth's stomach rolled and roiled like a ship in a hurricane. At least what she imagined a hurricane would be like.

          Beth found one foreleg easily, but the second was missing. Her fingers traced the leg to the end, walked across its tiny chest and felt around for the other. She found it but it was folded under its belly. Beth worked it free and pulled it up next to its partner.

          Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her back started to ache from the awkward position she was holding. She took a firm hold of the foal's ankles and waited. Papa paced the width of the stall behind her. Bailey's heavy breathing hitched. Her legs stiffened and a groan escaped as the contraction took hold. Beth tugged but got no movement. She increased the pull until she was giving it all she had. Still Papa paced.

          "Help me." She grunted.

          In a flash, Papa had reached in, placed his hands over hers and was pulling with all his might. Her hands felt like they were being crushed under Papa's grip. Just when she thought she had no strength left, and her hands were broken beyond repair, the foal moved. Papa suddenly heaved himself backwards and the foal slid a few more inches. The mare seemed to gasp in a new breath of air and pushed with renewed vigor.