The Foster Mum

Chapter 1 - Moony

It was a beautiful fall night. Anne was out with her dogs Charlie and Louis. She breathed in the fresh Doncaster air and felt so content she could almost say she was happy. But yet there was this nagging feeling of something missing. You see, Anne had almost everything she could ever ask for. She had a decent sized farm with five horses, three cats running around and of course Lou and Chaz. No mortage. Enough money to get by only by being a riding instructor. And a beautiful house, perfectly sized to contain a family of at least 8! And she was only 23. Very successful in her life. But there was something missing. Something most people had that she didn't. Something essential in everyone's life. Family.

Anne's father passed away when she was only 2 months old. Cancer. Unexpected and sudden. Her mother never overcame the greif that followed, so she turned to alcohol. Abandoning her little girl at a very critical bonding-period of her life. This marked Anne quite alot. She was diagnosed with attachment disorder as early as at 4-years old. Yet she was never taken from her home. Child services seemed to have forgotten completly about this little fragile girl. Slowly breaking emotionally untill she was nothing but a shell. She felt an empty darkness with no ending what so ever. Depression. At only 7 she got that diagnose. And yet again they did nothing to help. She had no siblings, no grandparents she knew of, isolated herself at school so she didn't have any friends and all in all 8 year-old Anne felt broken.

Life slowly took a turn when she got older. At 16 she realised that she couldn't continue wallowing in her own sorrows, and feel bad for herself. So she got involved in sports. Horsebackriding. It was a sheer coincidence that she got an interest for horses. The neighbors got a horse and a little pony. Anne hated them at first. And she was a little frightned. But slowly she started to feel a connection to the little pony. The little shit-head of a stubborn Welsh sec. D. Moonlight Sonata was her name. And you could only wish for her to be as harmonic as Bach's piece. But no. Absolutely not. She was silently suffering. Well, not very silently. The owners just didn't realise it. Anne saw it one day. Moony had just thrown off the 14-year old girl riding her and came right towards Anne in a canter. Anne got really scared but stood frozen in place watching the little pony come closer and closer. Moony had abruptly stopped in front of Anne. And had Anne seen the pain in the pony's eyes. The very same pain she saw in her own every time she looked in a mirror. She slowly lifted her hand to touch the little pony, but Moony flinched and abruptly turned around and ran back to the barn. She was a little dissapointed and a little angry. She was only gonna cuddle it! Why did she run away!? Shit horse.

The following days she only got more and more interested in Moony. And by the end of the month she snuck into their paddock, laid down on the grass and just watched them. The other one, Sunday Morning, was the one to find interest in her first. Already the first evening on the field he came over and sniffed Anne's hand and hair. Then he started to lazily graze around her. Anne being a little afraid of this big horse's lanky legs had shuffled further away from him, unknowingly finding comfort in being closer to the pony. She observed them. The beauty of the little welsh, gray in color with white dots shattred all over, almost shining like silver in the low summer sun. It was breathtaking. Her short-cut, nicely trimmed black mane lightly shifting in the summer breeze. Sunday was definatly beautiful too. Though he was a boring dark brown color. He had a very interesting marking in his face, as if he was growing old only on one side of his face. His mane was actually thicker than Moony's, which was weird since he was an American Trotter. He was friendly and trustfull. He was also very cuddly. Like, he came over and laid his head in your hands cuddly. Anne grew to love them both during that summer. And she continued going there after school started aswell. But she got a little too bold, and one day the owner at the farm shouted a curt "HEY! YOU!" at her, and she was off. Heart beating loud in her small chest and her legs running as fast as they could muster. She heard footsteps behind her and then she fell. Her foot had caught a root, and she fell hard, face first straight into a stone   Just as she felt rough hands grab her, she fell unconcious.