Heart and Soul

Chapter 15

The people at the Livery fed us as little as possible and beat us as much as they could. One gelding got hit over the head with a metal pole so hard he fell down, dead. For what? Whinnying. As I watched they roughly dragged his body from his stall and then vanished into the complete darkness of the barn's rear.

Horses died almost every day here, and were replaced just as quickly.

As the years crept past I felt myself grow weaker and weaker, they fed us just enough to keep us alive and suffering, our dirty water was teeming with mosquito larvae and my wounds squirmed with maggots. As did the manure and urine filled floor of my stall, rotting the frogs of my feet and turning them soft. My hooves cracked and curled, becoming painful to walk on.

The fat sank away from my skin, leaving my dirty, ratty, sore covered, maggot infested, fly-bitten coat to barely cover my sharply visible ribs. Every step was difficult, every breath felt like it would be my last.

All the memories I had been trying so hard to hold on to slipped away, every joyous, tragic, painful, bitter-sweet memory was gone. I forgot the wind in my mane, I forgot Molly and Nelly, I forgot Muneca and Tootsie, I forgot everything. Whiskey and Charm were dead, all that was left was a hollow shell, a sad compensation for my life. Was this my purpose? To pull carriage around the city while half dead?

We spent a lot of our time standing at the curb, freezing in winter, sweating in summer. The men at the Livery didn't rub the sweat off, they just let it sit on our thin, dirty coats. My manure came alive with parasites and I could practically feel them sucking the nutrition from what little feed I ate.

I was fully ready to die, but my body had other plans, as did the men. They fed me their worm infested feed and gave me their stagnant water. I had firmly convinced myself the men wanted me to work until I died or dropped.

I found it harder to pull my carriage, but if I didn't I would be whipped until I bled. I knew this, and I tried as hard as I could. Finally they paired me with another horse, a dark bay mare I called Flaca, as she was extremely skinny. Living with the wild horses taught me their language, and although I wasn't fluent I knew a few words. And that was something I wouldn't forget.

One day, Flaca and I were crossing a street, pulling our carriage behind us. My mind had wandered to happier times, something I hadn't done since I had been condemned here. In that moment I remembered Blue, and I longed for him more than ever before. I felt a physical pain deep in my chest, yearning for his large presence beside me. His gentle voice, his gentle ways. His huge stride, his huge heart. Flaca did little to fill in the gaping  hole that lingered beside me and matched me, exhausted stride for exhausted stride.

I imagined myself galloping beside him, my mane flying in the cool breeze. The scream of brakes became happy squeals as Rio sparred with another colt. The harsh yank on my reins became Molly's emotionless hands as she pushed me into the bit, and I arched my thin neck, softening my mouth and tucking my chin in.

Flaca's fearful screams and violent tug on the harness became the squeals as Paloma, Vikingo, and I played in the pasture. The sound of splintering wood morphed into the sound of hundreds of hoof beats as we galloped across the open lands. I remembered Mariposa's words: "Our hooves beat as many but our hearts beat as one. We are all different, but we all make one body, and we are all needed to complete that body."

That was the day Paloma and I really felt welcome. Paloma, she came back to me too. The sassy grulla mare that was quick to challenge dominance, but she never bothered Donaire. My heart raced as memories flowed back like the fresh water from the creek Paloma loved to roll in.

When I was thrown onto my side and heard bones splinter and crack I remembered the night I birthed Rio, in awe at a life so small yet so utterly important. As people raced to my side and held me down I thought of the girl I still couldn't quite remember laying with me in the pasture and reading books to me. The prick of a needle sliding into my vein became the bite of a fly as Blue and I raced each other up and down the fence line. Slowly I felt myself slip away, and I let it happen.