The rescue lady backed her large trailer up to the gate of my chain link fence panels and opened the back. Two bright coppery bodies bolted out, confused. We directed them into the pen, blocking any escape routes with our bodies. She climbed into the trailer and freed the remaining two ponies. They trembled on their knobby knees, but they were a lot more tractable and easier to direct. After leading them into the pen, the lady removed their halters, although she told me I could keep the one on Phoenix.
We retreated to the house to sign the paperwork. I could barely believe that I finally had a herd of my own. I signed agreements promising to never sell the horses at auction, and she handed me Phoenix's registration papers. Phoenix was the only papered horse of the four, registered with the Arabian Horse Association as Praire Park Gerri. I winced when I read her unfortunate name. "Prairie" wasn't even spelled correctly (or was that intentional?).
After a little more chatting, the lady and her friend, who came along to help, returned to their rig and drove away. I felt excited but at a loss as well. I didn't have a shelter up for the horses, I needed fencing around my five acres to allow them grazing, and the only horse-keeping experience I had was the short time with little Chester and Eddie. I was totally unprepared.
Only a couple days after the newbies arrived, they made a break for it. What "it" was, I'm not sure, but they decided to try my temporary fencing. When it gave easily, they headed out down the road. I don't know how long they were gone before I went out to check on them, but the sun had already sunk well below the horizon and the dark, moonless night offered no clues as to their whereabouts. How do five horses and a donkey simply vanish?
My heart leapt immediately into my throat. I imagined any number of horrible incidences. Bruised, bloody, broken bodies lying on the road in front of a furious motorist. Hordes of mountain lions, coyotes, or wild dogs chasing frightened and wild eyed ponies through dense corn and soybean fields. Panicked equines bolting straight into barbed wire fencing in the blackness, shredding thin, fine skin.
I gathered my German Shepherd mix, Tasha, and we hopped in my crappy little Mazda to go look for the doomed horses. The Mazda's headlights barely illuminated two feet in front of me, much less enough to see any evidence of the passing of my herd. We puttered along a few of the local roads with no luck, stopping to call once in awhile from the road into the enveloping blanket of the night. The longer we were out the more my heart sank. I felt dread and terror building up within my chest. How stupid I had been, to leave them out in that temporary fencing instead of putting them back in their makeshift pen. I had no local resources to help in my search.
Finding nothing from the pathetic Mazda, I decided to continue my search on foot. I grabbed Tasha's leash (not trusting her to keep by my side otherwise). We headed back down the gravel road, straining our eyes to catch site of the errant ponies. I found manure on the road and easily followed the path until we reached a dead end at a soybean field. The horses had left the road and entered the field. I couldn't see them or hear them. Tasha and I pressed on through the stubbly green stems until we reached the edge of the field where it bordered a cornfield. I debated turning back, but again the violent images danced through my mind, preventing me from abandoning the task. Into the cornstalks we crashed, thrashing around blindly.
I have no idea how long my loyal pup and I pushed our way through stalks towering well above my head. The rustling of the leaves as the wind ran through made the fine hairs of my arm stand on end. I brushed through more stalks and stumbled into a clearing. No sign of the horses, but a trail of headlights not far ahead informed me that we were close to the interstate. It was time to turn back. Without light, the search remained futile. I would have to pick it up in the early hours of pre-dawn.
Tasha and I trudged along the edge of a bean field, skirted the strange neighbor's house, and continued on through yet more beans, trying to cut back to the road.
We were blocked.
Ahead of us lay a deep ditch, at least 10 feet down, filled with water. Why hadn't I noticed it in the field previously? I slid down the embankment, searching for a spot where I could leap across the stream. My feet were soaked in my old tennis shoes from inadvertently sinking into a soft part of the marshy ground. I couldn't see in the inky night where the ditch might end. We tried following it away from the strange neighbor's house, but only found ourselves trekking even farther into the bean field and away from the road. Frustrated, I backtracked. I think we had to go the entire length of the field and past the strange neighbor's house yet again. We reached the edge of the corn patch again, this time not venturing very deep into the jungle of grasping leaves.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Tasha and I burst from the corn into the bean field we had originally traversed. Exhausted, worried, squishing my toes in wet socks, I dragged myself back home...
...To find Eddie grazing peacefully in the front yard as if he had never left. However, my sad-eyed long-ear was alone.
Feeling utterly disgusted with myself, I led Eddie to the pen and then went to bed. I set my alarm for five, way too early for a night owl to be up in the morning. I had difficulties sleeping, but eventually drifted off, dreaming of monstrous corn stalks and injured horses.
To be continued...
Tasha
0 comments:
Post a Comment