10
Orders
Stuart
My muscles are tense, vibrating with adrenaline as I return to the yard. If I hadn’t heard Mariska’s sketchpad hit the ground, I might not have made it to the fence in time to catch her. Her face was so pale, and she fell so fast, I almost missed her.
I remember shouting her name. Jessie bolted, of course. I couldn’t care less as I ran to the house, carrying Mariska limp as a doll in my arms. She’d been fine only moments before. I had no clue why she would suddenly be unconscious. Fuck this helpless feeling! I hate it!
When I’d entered the house, I scanned quickly for my keys, trying to decide if it would be quicker to take her to the truck and drive her into town or call 911. My mother and Bill saw me from the kitchen and ran to where I stood holding her.
“Put her on the couch,” my mother said, running back to the kitchen. “Let me get some water.”
“Lemonade would be better,” Bill called, holding Mariska’s wrist as I laid her on the soft leather cushions. “Her pulse is steady. It’s probably altitude sickness.”
“Altitude?” That couldn’t be right. “She’s never had a problem before.”
“She wasn’t pregnant before.”
Mom came back with a damp washcloth and a glass of lemonade. “Move back so I can put this on her face.”
Reluctantly, I stepped out of the way, but not too far. “I think we should call 911.”
“Let’s see if this works before we panic.”
That fueled my anger. “I’m not panicking.” Mom cut her eyes at me, but fuck if I was sorry. “She could be in serious danger.”
“I think she’s going to be okay.” Mom leaned back as Mariska exhaled a soft noise and turned her head.
Every muscle in my body shuddered with release.
“What happened?” Her voice was soft but strong, and all three of us let out the collective breath we were holding.
The tension had just started to ease until Mariska said she hadn’t eaten… It was good that my mom sent me to the kitchen to get her a plate of food. I might have said something I’d regret in that moment. At least she seemed to realize the seriousness of what happened. I silently decided to do a better job making sure she eats.
Now on my way back to check on Jessie, all this adrenaline has left me drained. The little horse is in the pen with the line still attached to her halter, which is dangerous. As I approach, she kicks her feet and runs away, dragging it. I have to pick it up so she doesn’t hurt herself.
What happened isn’t the greatest thing when training a new colt, but it’s not the worst either. We’ll get to desensitization before too long. She has to be ready for the unexpected and not panic—she just got an early lesson today.
“Ho, girl, easy,” I say in an even tone. She keeps running, but as I walk closer, she struggles.
Her instinct is to run. Horses are easy prey for mountain lions and other big cats in the area, and their flight instinct is strong. But she’s coming back around. Mariska’s right. She’s a smart little thing.
Before we leave the pen, I keep working with her until she’s calm again, coming to me and putting her nose on my chest so I can touch her head. Then I stroke her neck, thinking about the coming winter and returning to Princeton.
Perhaps I can convince Bill to hold onto her during the long season. My jaw tightens. It’s not fair to her with no one riding her or working with her. When we come back in the spring it’ll be like starting all over. Still, Mariska loves her so much…
“What do you think, girl?” I ask, scratching behind her ears. “How much will you remember after six months?”
She lowers her head, and I almost think she understands me. I unfasten the line from her halter and wrap it up, coiling it over my elbow and shoulder. Then I do a quick loop around the center and throw it over my shoulder. I make a clucking noise and start to walk. She walks beside me, not going too far ahead or dropping back.
“Good girl,” I say when we reach the gate, smoothing her neck.
She’s learning really well, but when we get into the open space between the barn and the ring, her head lifts fast and she looks out away from the house, toward the open prairie. Her ears twitch, and I recognize that body language. I’ve seen it in her mother on more than one occasion.
Reaching for her halter, I catch the side by her face. “Come on. You’re not going anywhere.”
It’ll take more than a few weeks of gentling to get that urge to run out of her, if we ever do.