Zeplin
I made my way through knee high grass and weeds and down the rutted path towards the location where I spotted Zeplin's chestnut tobiano coat. He stood still at my approach, clearly exhausted and soaked in sweat, head drooped past his knees. His blonde mane stuck in soggy clumps to a glistening wet neck. Zeplin wore a bright red, brand-new, yearling-size halter that hung loosely over his young Arab head, to which I attached the first leadrope.
The miniature gelding, Chester, appeared from the brush nearby. I caught him handily and attached a second leadrope to his small green halter. His sides heaved rapidly from exertion, but he remained upbeat and energetic.
I led both of my errant boys past my motorcycle and onto the gravel road towards home. We were about six miles away from the house. I'm not sure how long our journey lasted. Poor baby Zeplin had clearly been pushed past his endurance. He wanted to stop again and again, refusing to budge when I tugged on the lead. I realized that if I dropped the line and continued walking Chester, the colt would stand his ground for awhile, and then rush to catch up so he wouldn't be left by himself.
The sun burned brightly on my neck as we reached our yard. I offered the boys water, then put them back in their pen with a happy Eddie. Eddie brayed a welcome to his best buddy, which perked little Chester right up and added spring to his step.
I rested for a moment and contemplated my next move. Now I had to retrieve my motorcycle as well as the other three horses. I dreaded walking the distance over and over, but that seemed to be my only choice.
As I grabbed the leads and headed down the driveway again, a green Chevy truck pulled up to me. The driver rolled the window down, and I stepped up to address the white-haired gentleman behind the wheel.
"Hey, I noticed that you have horses now," the man began.
"Well, I did," I replied, my frustration creeping into my voice. "They ran off last night, and I have to go back and get the others." I gestured to the fence behind me where Zeplin, Chester, and Eddie were happily munching on hay.
"Do you need some help?" the man offered. The lady with him smiled at me as I nodded silently. "Hop in!" he replied, indicating the crew door on the passenger's side.
Gratefully, I slid into the dark leather bench seat. "My name's Dennis," the man said. He introduced his lady friend as well, but for the life of me I cannot remember her name anymore. "Do you know where they are?"
"Yes, they are in a farmer's field by the river," I answered. I directed him while he drove.
Before we reached my abandoned bike, I looked down a dirt lane between two corn fields and saw Phoenix's shiny red body. "There they are!" I pointed. "I'll walk down and grab them then we can take them home."
It took some effort to capture my reluctant mares. I only found Jazzy and Phoenix; Caly was nowhere in site. Jazzy still had very little human interaction and had not yet been halter trained. My only chance at getting the wild mare home was by catching the alpha Arabian mare first.
Phoenix played hard-to-get for awhile, trotting up and down rows of growing soybeans whenever I neared. I finally snagged her and attached the lead to her halter. Once caught she followed me willingly back down the dirt track towards the waiting truck.
Jazzy whinnied after us. She didn't want me to halter her, but she feared being left behind. I handed Dennis Phoenix's lead then softly approached Jazzy again.
Finally, Jazzy allowed me to to pull her heavy nylon halter over her face and buckle it around her poll. All fight left her, and she walked behind me quietly to where my new friends waited.
Dennis put down the tailgate of the truck and motioned for me to sit there. "We'll each hold a horse's lead and she can drive," he said, nodding towards his female companion. "If you need her to slow down, just holler at her."
The truck pulled forward slowly. I held Jazzy's lead, and felt it go taut when the vehicle moved. At first she resisted, then she gave to the pressure and began walking.
Whereas Phoenix paced briskly behind the truck, head up and ears pricked, Jazzy stumbled tiredly, dragging her feet along the gravel road. Several times, I indicated to Dennis that we were going too fast for Jazzy. Numerous times, when Jazzy slowed to the point of almost stopping, I would hop off the back of the truck and walk her by hand. Dried sweat clung to her copper-colored coat, and her flazen mane hung limply over her sagging neck.
Along the way, Dennis decided we should take a break to offer the mares water. There were only two houses along the road, but he knew the owner of one. Kevin was an area farmer who lived alone in his old white farmhouse. I learned from Dennis that Kevin had his driver's license revoked after too many DUI arrests, so now he took his combine into town for transportation.
Fortunately, Kevin was sympathetic to our needs, and I was able to offer my girls cool water from a dog bowl under the hydrant in his yard. They drank deeply, barely giving us time to refill the bowl before plunging steamy muzzles back into the water. After a few refills, we gently tugged them away from the bowl to continue our trip home.
I think it's safe to say that Jazzy was well broke to halter and lead by the time we finally reached my yard.
Phoenix and Jazzy joined the boys, burying their noses deep in the hay. Dennis and his friend gave me a lift back to my bike so I could continue my search for Caly. "Give us a call if you need anything," he told me before they left.
Jazzy
Hot, worn out and worried, I climbed back on the blue motorcycle. I compressed the clutch, grabbed the brake and pushed in the electric start button. My bike roared back to life.
To be continued...
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