Everything was dark and quiet.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by sights and sounds, foreign to
anything to which I had been accustomed for the previous 11 months.
Something that seemed like a searing light struck my eyes,
causing me to blink uncontrollably. Even though it was just the glow of a
little, battery-powered lantern, the brightness caused me to wince as I struggled
to get to my feet. I was assaulted by the sounds of disapproving voices.
A man said, “What the heck is it?” A woman replied, “Perlino?
Palomino?” The man again, “Holy smoke, look at the blue eyes!” The woman
responded, “A Cremello? That’s not possible.” The elderly man pulled my
tail up as I struggled to free myself. “Pink skin everywhere, too. I’ll be
darned; pink skin and blue eyes. Must be an albino, or a lethal white.”
“Think we should put him down?” the man asked.
“Wait, look; look at Sugar.” The woman looked worried as
she nodded toward my mother who lay, silent, on her side. It was then that I
noticed my mother had stopped moving. The old man was holding me now, stroking
me all over, wiping the moisture from my body. His hands felt warm and
comforting, even though they were rough from years of farm work in all four
seasons.
I watched as the woman made her way to the silent mare. She
looked up at her husband and said with a tear spilling over her eyelid and onto
her cheek, “She’s gone; Sugar’s gone.”
Something that felt like a dull hot knife seemed to plunge
itself into my middle. What little strength I had seemed to seep out of me and I
collapsed onto my side, nearly falling on the sad old man.
“Whoops! Easy little fella,” he said as he slid back and
let me lie down.
His wife came over and began stroking me all over. She hugged
my head against her bosom. She smelled clean, like some kind of soap-perfume. I
watched as they looked into each other’s eyes, then down at me and finally
over at my mother.
“Well, what do you think, Emory?” she asked.
He pursed his lips, ran his tongue quickly back and forth and
then looked up and out the window of the ancient stall. He shifted himself in
the hay and sat down, Indian-like.
“Don’t seem right to lose both in one day, Alice; don’t
seem right.” I stirred a little and he smiled, patting my head.
She looked down at me with what looked like a curious mixture
of pity and incredulity.
“Poor little fella,” she said, half-smiling. “You’re
not getting a very good start, are ya?”
“They reckon it’s the wound that never heals,” he said.
“A little guy bein’ separated from, or losin’ his mom.
“No sir, they reckon they never get over it.”
She clicked her tongue. “Oh, that’s people, not horses.”
He squinted, looked down at me, then at his wife.
“I ain’t never been so sure they’s all that much
difference between us.”
“What’ll we do?” she asked, a bit of impatience
beginning to show in her round red face.
He slowly got himself up and I followed suit, shaking myself
and wobbling to my full stature. I began to walk around them in a small circle,
close to the confining walls of the stall. The old man smiled with surprised
satisfaction.
“Well, I’ll be. Looks like he’s answered yer question.
I believe he wants to live!”
She returned his smile, wiped her face with her apron and
called to me after I’d stopped in the corner, watching the two of them as they
studied my awkward, angular form.
“Come here, you,” she said.
“Got something for ya.”
Something in her eyes told me it was okay, that these people
weren’t going to harm me. I looked down at my mother’s body, my small, young
eyes captured by her large, lifeless one. I looked up again at the woman; I
could still smell that soap. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a
small handful of clover and what looked like the prettiest flower I could ever
imagine seeing. It was round like a button and yellow. I slowly made my way
over, my head bobbing with each uncertain step. The old man just stood there,
his hands in the pockets of his overalls.
I smelled the fresh grass and that flower and quickly whisked
them into my mouth.
“Well, I’ll be!” she exclaimed.
“He even took the dandelion.”
“I think we should keep him, at least until we find out
what he is,” he said.
She stroked my forehead and without thinking I laid my little
head against her.
“Poor little guy,” she said.
“Yeah; poor little guy is right,” he replied.
And I watched the sun start to come through the window into
the stall.
* * * * * *
I’ve learned something about life from the way I first
discovered it. I’d like to pass it along to you. Perhaps it will help you,
too.
