Lost and Found - A Horse's Tale

New

Something new. She is a new creature, a new possibility, a new personality, a new way to freedom, a new chance, and a new hope. My grandmother and I are walking down to the horse pasture, with the whole family coming along. Their voices are high and exhilarated at the prospect of meeting her. 

Mother, with her minimal knowledge and experience with horses is outwardly the happiest. She is always full of life, until she has a mood swing driven by hunger or fatigue. My sister trots along beside her, her face sulky after being told she wouldn't be only hers to ride. My father is a silent force, walking with heavy treads beside us.

The ground is slippery under our boot-clad feet. The night before, my family drove through a great rain storm to meet the new horse. Occasionally one of us will slip, another's arm immediately there to catch them. The conversation is describing what she will be like. I ignore all of it.

I cannot hear my own thoughts, let alone other voices, over the roaring of mixed joy and dread in my head. The red barn is growing closer as we pass the mountain of wood Grandpa has spent all of his free time constructing. My eyes flick up the small wind mill next to the mass. The wind blocked by the massive fall colored oak that shelters the tool shed and emergency dog pen, hands burrowed deep in the pockets of the first coat in Grandma's coat closet I could get my hands on. The corn field on our right has been harvested and the remains of once tall corn stalks are brown stubs. I want to run forward, leave the babble behind, but I am fearful of whom I will see at the end of my sprint to the pasture. I catch Grandma watching me. She nods; I know she is telling me to have courage and go forward.

Swallowing hard, I give into the sense of joy and sprint to the barn. I pass the shinning silver horse trailer, then the mossy hitch post my eyes fall on her. She is separated from the other two by a fence. She is in her own paddock. I freeze, Emotions roar in my mind and heart, Each one demanding to be felt. Who is she? How will I get to know her? Will she like me? Will I like her? Who am I kidding, I will love her. Our moment is short, but lasts an eternity. Her deep brown eyes lock on mine. It is a plea for something solid and familiar in this ocean of new. These kind of things only happen in movies, or cheesy romance novels, or people trying to write about horses who have never really bonded with one more than riding it on a lead rope in an arena.

We gaze at each other, testing each other's hearts. She takes a tentative step forward. She has  the body structure of a much larger horse. Her block like head which would cut her out of any show. Her short and stubby legs that hold up body that should be plump but it isn't. Her story is none of extremes; the previous owners simply had no need for her anymore. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Unable to break her gaze, I grunt in recognition of someone who would probably be insulted if I didn't respond. Grandma doesn't tell me how she was cared for, but her visible ribs and general hollow gaze say her appetite wasn't sufficiently met. I take a step forward, she takes a step back. I begin to raise my hand to the fence and she carefully walks forward. Curious, she puts her nostrils on my hand. Her breath is moist and tickles from her whiskers.

A shout breaks the moment; my sister Stella is overcome with excitement and scares her off.  The sudden noise shatters our silent conversation, this  allows me to take in her surroundings more than just her. The hay trough is full of fresh hay that Grandma says she has been filling twice a day. The wire fencing between moldy upright logs is rusty, I see the gate that once held a nest of wasps who gave me a piece of their mind when I was younger. Inside the generally level pasture, the once-long grass is eaten to stubs. The set up is small for comfort and lies off the main barnyard and pasture, Separating the barnyard from the gravel road. A blue water dispenser which pumps water from a well sits between the two enclosures.

On the other side of the fence are two large horses, brother and sister accompanied by their medium sized mother. Bud, Josey, and Rose are all watching her, most likely jealous of all the attention she is getting. The barn yard ground is mostly poop, but they can leave at any time they wish for the huge pasture beyond. If they choose they may walk over many hills, across a stream, and enclosing their own small forest. She is in the small paddock simply to get used to a new home. The grass is green even though winter is drawing near; the sharp wind bites at my nose and makes my eyes water.

"She is just nervous with her surroundings; she is a perfect kid horse." Grandma says, watching her, "I watched her at her old home. She is quite calm. This is just new to her."

"When can we go riding? I'm sure Bud wants to go out too." I say, referring to Grandma's sorrel bay quarter horse gelding.

"Groom her for now." Grandma says looking at the 15.2 hands tall, Bud. Hands are measured in adult male hands stacked on top of each other. Fifteen hands is five feet at the shoulder, but one needs to consider that the head is much taller. She had spent a week getting used to the other three horses through the fence. All horses in the pasture are larger than and older than her .

I tuck my golden braid into my coat, not wanting to get burrs in it. Dashing over to the barn sliding door, big enough for a tractor to drive in and out, I unlock it with trembling fingers. Grandma has played the radio while she works with her horses for as long as I can remember, always the same country station. 292.3 music from the fast lane, which is supposed to get the horses used to human sounds. I read in a book that horses aren't actually calmed by the radio; but I don't have the heart to tell Grandma.

I open the door on the right and take the step up to the room. Locating the large black and dusty radio, I press the power button with a gloved finger.Picking up the ancient tack box and a bottle of "Show Sheen", I drop off my load next to the hitch post. Then go back, grabbing the new lead rope and halter. Being young and frightened of actually catching her, I hand them off to Grandma. She goes into the oat bin and grabs a handful. I catch a glimpse of myself in a clouded barn mirror. A wild look in my green eyes and giant black caterpillar sized eyebrows.

I trot off to the hitch post where Grandma has caught both her and Bud. Grandma says that Josey, is too much of a handful and we should take these steps carefully. I get out the red bristled dandy brush. Not knowing that the blue bristled one is the softest, I run it along her shoulder. She watches me, monitoring my every move. There are no burrs in her black mane. I brush this out with my fingers, with gentle motions.

"Hello Amber." I whisper to her and she gives a noncommittal grunt. That was the first time she made me laugh.

Book editor : cjnwriter