Heart and Soul (rewrite)

Chapter Twelve

When my fifth winter with the Cassels drew to a close, Mom moved out. She took Owen and furniture, the red truck and trailer, and much of Dad's happiness. I could smell the depression when he entered the barn, and he rode Paloma no longer. One day, Annie flew up to me, and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Dad's going to sell you, Whiskey! He says Mom took almost all our money in the divorce! But don't worry, where you're going, I'll see you as much as I can!" She wiped a tear from her face. "And you'll have P and Vikingo. Pete says you could take him to high goal polo, and that he hasn't seen a horse like you in a long time." She smiled and sniffed. "I love you, Whiskey Lullaby." She sang me my song, and I listened with my head down as we stood beneath the twisted oak in easy companionship. "I'll always love you," She whispered after several minutes in easy silence. "And I'll wait for you to come home, with all my heart and soul."

A week later we arrived at Pete's. It was a sprawling blue barn, and an indoor arena capped the wings. An elderly Rottweiler trotted out to meet us, and he sat quietly at Pete's feet. Pete was a short, solidly built man, with bulging muscles and slightly bowed legs from a life in the saddle. Annie hugged us one last time, slipped us one last carrot, and watched from the window of her car as they drove away. The three of us spent the first month in quarantine, ridden lightly every day. Pete rode much like Dad, and tended to yank on our mouths to turn us. Vikingo worked without complaint, Paloma wasn't above a solid buck, and often I reared, threatening to bolt. Eventually he learned, and went softer on my mouth.

We were turned out on a dry lot, and after three weeks on that a grassy pasture. When polo season started the game was faster and more difficult than ever before. High goal polo. I played on Pete's elite team across the U.S, even flying to Florida for the championships. I won best playing pony countless times, but I couldn't help but feel something was missing. Whenever I saw a roan my heart longed for Blue, and a red head in the crowd sent a harsh pang of loss through my body.

After a year of traveling, I finally returned home. Paloma and I touched noses, squealed softly, and shared a hay pile. Vikingo had been sold to a woman name Cheryl, and I missed him deeply. One dark, cold winter night, Paloma and I were outside, wrapped in thick turn out blankets and nearly drowning in fresh hay. I raised my head. A gravel crunched quietly, and a motor purred. I could hear the unmistakable creaks of a trailer, and watched as a dark form took shape. It was a four horse stock trailer towed by an SUV, all painted a dull black.  Two figures emerged from the car carrying lead ropes, a man and a woman by the pitch of their hushed voices, and crept across the dark lawn towards me. I watched them with curiosity, but a stone sat heavily in my gut. Something was wrong.

They came to my gate and held out gloved hands that shook. In the flattened palm was a hard white object. I sniffed it, then picked it up delicately, and chewed. It was delicious! Saliva filled my mouth as I bobbed my head up and down in appreciation. Paloma shouldered her way past me, but the treat was so amazing all I did was pin my ears at her. The figure laughed quietly, and rubbed my face, then Paloma's. The woman clipped a lead rope to both of our halters, and they took down part of the fence. I turned to Paloma and met her eyes. Did they know there was a gate?

We followed them through the now bare section of removed fence to their trailer, then I balked. The small box was dark and foreboding, but the man leading me coaxed me forward gently, offering another sweet cube. I stepped up, and he tied me expertly. Paloma followed soon after, and the man tied her beside me. Something gleamed in the woman's hand and I felt a prick in my neck. A sudden, violent head toss from Paloma confirmed the same had happened to her. Then the trailer door closed silently, and the SUV stuttered to life. There was a jerk as the trailer slid into motion, and we were pulling down the driveway. Once on the interstate I felt my eyelids grow heavy, and sleep soon overcame me.

I awoke with a jolt. The trailer was flooded with light, and Paloma struggled to stay upright on the slick, urine and manure smeared floor. Now that I could see better, I noticed the trailer was in shambles. The black paint was peeling and there was a hole in the floor by my right hind. It rattled and shook as it glided along at a faster speed, and squeaked constantly. The trailer only stopped for the humans to fill their black truck with a foul smelling liquid, and exchange money for pieces of plastic in strange shapes.

When darkness overcame the SUV and trailer again Paloma and I could barely keep our feet, and the squeaking had grown to an insistent shriek. Then came a different type of scream, one of humans. Brakes squealed and the trailer was jerked sharply. I watched as the road fell away, replaced by a blue sky. A massive dent appeared in one side of the trailer at the same time Paloma and I were thrown to our sides. Our halters broke and we tumbled to the side of the trailer, only to be thrown against the opposite side as the trailer continued its tumble. 

When we finally came to a stop Paloma was bleeding from a wound on her forehead and I from a cut on my hindquarters, but we were alive. The trailer had been nearly sheared in half, and we managed to squeeze through a massive gap in the side.

Nothing, however, could prepare us for what we saw outside.