by M. Garzon
“Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?” I asked. I clutched the bars of her stall and pressed my face against them. I wanted to go in and pat her, reassure her, hold her hoof — anything I could do to help, but I was afraid she’d be upset by my intrusion. Gracie was usually very friendly, but even the most docile mare can become nervous or aggressive when giving birth. I didn’t blame them; it was such a vulnerable time for them, a fact they felt all the more keenly because they were prey animals.
“Hold on, I’ll be right back with help.” What help we could offer I didn’t know, but I dashed back through the windy dark to the house, light bobbing from the flashlight still in my hand. The wind slammed the door behind me and I spun, breathless, to find Gran already dressed and in the living room.
“It seems we had the same idea,” she said, “but you should have waited-”
“The baby’s coming!” I gasped, interrupting her.
She brightened. “Oh! Go wake your father. I’ll go out straight away.” I took the stairs two at a time and crashed through Dec’s door without knocking.
“Dec! The baby’s coming!” I yelled.
“Mmpf.” A muffled grunt. Dec woke up like a hibernating bear — slow and grumpy.
“Gracie’s having her foal!” I ran over and jumped on the end of his bed. “Get up! Come to the barn!”
His eyes snapped open. “Okay, okay.”
I leaped down and ran back to the barn, hoping that Gran had found another flashlight. I skidded around the corner to see that she had done better; she was holding a large, battery-powered lantern that we used in the tackroom at shows. She handed it to me.
“I’m going to check on her,” Gran murmured. “Hold the light up but stay in the doorway.” She opened the door and I got my first good view of Gracie. She was lying prone, with her head stretched forward and one foreleg pawing the air. Gran went to her head, murmuring softly all the while. At her approach, Gracie stiffened suddenly. She raised her head.
“It’s all right, dear, we don’t want to disturb you,” Gran soothed. She kneeled down and stroked Gracie’s face. After a minute Gracie let her head drop back into the shavings. Gran made her way slowly to Gracie’s tail. She moved it aside, but nothing was visible yet. She had just rejoined me when Dec came hurrying in.
“Well?”
“Nothing yet,” Gran said calmly as she shut the stall door.
“Shouldn’t we leave that open in case we need to get in there fast?” Dec asked.
“Very little should be done fast at a foaling. It’s more important that Gracie feels as though she has some privacy. It will make her feel safer.”
That made sense. In the wild, a mare would look for a private spot away from her herd when it was time to give birth. And because it was an extremely vulnerable time for mother and baby, Nature had arranged to make the birth of foals relatively quick. Labor was short, foals could stand soon after being born, and run alongside their mothers, however ungracefully, within hours.
“Oh! I have to call Stephanie,” I exclaimed. Then I clapped a hand over my mouth, remembering that I should be quiet.
Dec and Gran exchanged a look. “We can’t ask a pregnant woman to drive through a windstorm at three in the morning,” Gran said.
My brow furrowed. “Well, I’m going to get my phone so I can video it for her, at least.” I jogged to the house. It was surprisingly dark without the security light from the barn’s roof. Once in the house, I hesitated. Okay, Stephanie was pregnant, and the weather was bad, but she’d waited for this foal for eleven long months. In her shoes, I’d at least want to be informed and have the option of attending.
I used the kitchen phone, which was so old it worked even when the power went out, unlike our cordless ones. Stephanie didn’t answer her phone, which wasn’t surprising, so I left her a message before retrieving my cell phone and jogging back to the barn. I was already tired and nothing had happened yet. And nothing did, for what seemed like a very long time. We stayed in the aisle and waited, trying to be unobtrusive when we glanced into the stall. Dec went and got us chairs from the viewing lounge.
“I thought foaling was supposed to be fast,” I said, worried. “Shouldn’t we call the vet?”
Gran shrugged. “It’s her first foal, and she’s not straining noticeably yet.” She glanced over at her son, leaning back with eyes closed in a folding chair that seemed too small to support his wide frame. “I was in labor with Declan for thirty-six hours.” She said it as though it was a fond memory, and I shuddered. I couldn’t imagine it, nor did I want to. Dec’s eyes had opened, and he looked even more uncomfortable than me.
Gran shook her head at the pair of us. “Don’t worry, the vast majority of mares and foals do just fine on their own.”
Gracie made an unh sound deep in her throat, and we all shot to our feet.
“Oh!” I exclaimed softly, remembering to keep my voice down this time. There, clearly visible despite the dim light, was a tiny foot. And then I blinked, and it was gone. I turned to Gran in alarm.
“It’s all right,” she whispered, patting my shoulder. “She’ll push it out again.” I pulled out my phone and began recording, and Dec held the lantern up so that the near half of the stall was softly illuminated. Gracie seemed beyond caring what we did, completely focused on her internal struggle.
The hooflet reappeared, followed by another. We let out a collective breath. A properly positioned foal is born like a diver, with its two forelegs extended and its head resting on its knees. Seeing two hooves was the first sign of a normal delivery. The head came next, just where it should be, and then, in a rush, the body slid out. We waited. Both of them, mother and baby, lay without moving.
“Are they okay?” I said uncertainly.
Gran was watching the foal intently. “As long as the foal’s breathing, they’re fine. Gracie’s just resting.” I stared at the foal and was rewarded by an upward jerk of its ribs. It was clearly breathing. A minute later, the head moved, the little nose turning upward as the baby struggled to raise its head.
There was a lull, although the foal continued to move occasionally, reassuring us. About twenty minutes later Gracie seemed to decide it was time for action. She gave a concerted push, then heaved herself to her feet. She turned around slowly and stepped toward her baby with her head lowered, blowing softly through her nostrils. She nuzzled the small wet face before inspecting the rest of the baby’s body. Then she gave a low nicker. It came from deep inside her chest — right from her heart, I thought, because it was different from any other sound I’d heard her make.
Dec’s heavy arm went around my shoulders. “Now that’s a beautiful sight.”
I nodded, unable to speak. From the husky tone of his voice, I knew that Dec was touched by the moment also. It surprised me a little.
My phone was dying, and Dec left to get his. We didn’t want Stephanie to miss seeing the foal stand for the first time.
“Your mother and Dec wanted to have a baby, you know,” Gran said. Her white hair was resting against the stall bars, and she didn’t look at me. “They were trying. You could have had another brother or a sister.”
I had vague memories of my mom saying something about it. I wondered why Gran would bring it up after all this time, but then supposed it was a consequence of watching the birth.
By the time Dec got back, Gracie had licked the foal all over and was nudging it gently with her nose, encouraging her baby to get up.
“What time is it?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
“Four-twenty,” Dec said. If the foal didn’t stand within an hour or so after being born, we’d have to call the vet, because it was important for it to nurse shortly after birth.
The foal seemed to know something was expected of it. It had rolled onto its chest with its ridiculously long forelegs stretched in front of it. We couldn’t tell what color it was in the dim light, only that it was dark. It braced two of its wobbly stilts and gave a little heave with its hindquarters. Gracie whick
ered her encouragement, and the three humans held their collective breath. The foal pitched face-first into the shavings. It gave a startled snort, which seemed to startle it further, as if it never expected that kind of noise to come out of its own nose. It lay there, eyes wide and legs akimbo, for a minute. Gracie moved to her baby’s rump and gave it a nudge. The foal made another effort, then another, and suddenly scrambled to its feet and stood there, swaying. I suppressed a cheer.
“It’s a boy,” Gran said quietly.
There was a new determination on the colt’s face as he took his first shaky step, looking like the world’s cutest daddy longlegs. He tumbled to the ground, but regained his feet more quickly this time and stood, legs stretched wide. Gracie moved so that she was alongside him, nose to tail, and that was all the encouragement he needed. An ancient instinct came to guide him, and he bumped his nose along Gracie’s belly until he found what he was looking for. He started nursing.
I turned to Gran, beaming. “He’s okay now, right?”
“The signs are all good. He’s a fine, sturdy little fellow,” Gran said, dabbing at her eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Gran.” I was somewhat in awe of her. She’d been so calm and steady throughout the whole thing. “How do you know so much about foaling?” I knew there had been very few foals born at Shady Lane.
“I’ve told you my father used to raise horses back in England,” she reminded me. A wistful smile accompanied the memory. “He bred some very fine eventers. Dec’s horse Corin was the great-grandson of my father’s favorite mare.”
I was somewhat stunned that I hadn’t known this and ashamed that I hadn’t shown enough interest to ask. Gran wasn’t the type to talk about her history unless prompted. I resolved to ask from that point on. There were pictures in the house of a younger, slimmer Dec competing all over North America on an almost-black horse.
I turned to Dec. “What happened to Corin? Why did you stop riding him?”
“My dad sold him so that I’d focus more on school.”
I gasped. He said it so matter-of-factly, but I wasn’t fooled for a minute. No wonder he rarely talked about Corin and had given up riding so abruptly. To have your dream pulled out from under you like that had to be heartbreaking.
“That’s awful,” I murmured.
“That’s life, Téa. Things change.” He strode down the aisle, ending the conversation, but was back a minute later with a bucket and a handful of other supplies.
“Some lukewarm water and electrolytes for Gracie,” he explained, “and iodine for the colt’s umbilical stump.”
After that was attended to, Gran went to make Gracie a warm bran mash. “It will help keep her gut moving until she’s eating normally again,” she explained. “Why don’t you go in and meet the new addition?”
I looked up at Dec, who smiled and waved me into the stall. I went to Gracie first and stroked her neck. The hairs were stiff with dried sweat.
“You were amazing, sweetie. He’s beautiful,” I murmured. Then I went and knelt slowly in front of the foal. He pricked his ears — surprisingly big on his tiny face — and regarded me with interest. He had milk on his lips and large, intelligent eyes. He blinked his impossibly long lashes and tottered toward me.
“Hi.” I smiled as he pushed his soft little nose against first my cheek, then my hair, sniffing deeply. I stroked his coat, which was fluffy where it had dried but still damp in places. We gazed into each other’s eyes in wonder. I couldn’t believe how utterly enraptured I was by this little creature I’d just met. The colt’s weariness quickly overcame his fascination, and he collapsed into a tired heap on the shavings. I gave Gracie one last pat before quietly closing the stall door.
I stretched, noticing that I could see better as light began to filter through the windows, pulling me out of the fairy-tale fog of the past few hours. I was still wearing my PJ shorts and hoodie. The air inside the barn was warm but uncomfortably close, and since Alan hadn’t finished cleaning the stalls there was an ammonia smell. We normally prided ourselves on keeping the stalls clean and the odor to a minimum. Gran was especially insistent about it, and I’d heard her and Dec have several semi-heated discussions about the cost of shavings versus the horses’ health.
Gran returned lugging Gracie’s bran mash in a red bucket, and Dec quickly took it from her and went to feed Gracie, who stepped carefully around her sleeping baby to go eat.
Gran took in my appearance. “Let’s get ourselves some breakfast, and you some clothes.”
The thought of coffee perked me up. We were all tired, but it wasn’t the pale, dragging weariness I’d felt while I was in school. This tiredness came with the satisfied sense that, for this small moment in time, all was as it should be.
And then we stepped outside.
“Oh, my,” Gran said.
Dec passed a hand over his face. “Looks like it’s going to be a long day.”
The pale light of dawn revealed the effects of the windstorm. The main riding ring in front of us was missing several fence boards, and jumps were scattered around, some of them evidently broken. We walked around slowly in the early-morning chill, opening the rest of the barn doors to let the fresh air in. The calm that now prevailed was an eerie contrast to the scene: large branches were strewn everywhere, there were ragged gaps in the fencing, and litter dotted the landscape.
We checked the pasture that Jaden had built two years before, which luckily turned out to be intact. That was a relief because we had put the pasture horses in the arena overnight, with temporary water buckets and hay, but they couldn’t stay there for any length of time.
“I need some coffee before I can tackle any of this,” Dec grumbled. But as we rounded the corner of the barn we stopped dead.
“Uh-oh,” I said. Dec swore, a rare indulgence for him. The stately old elm tree that stood beside the shed had split and crashed through the shed’s roof. I couldn’t believe we hadn’t heard it, but then the storm had been awfully loud.
Gran patted his shoulder. “Come, now. We’ll all feel better after some food. We’re fortunate, really, that the only major damage seems to be to the shed.”
She was right, I thought. Now that the shock of the mess was wearing off, my happiness over the foal stole back into me.
I’d never been so glad to see a cup of coffee. Dec’s mood remained grim, but Gran and I chatted cheerfully over breakfast. We were just finishing up when the house phone rang.
“I just got your message!” Stephanie said breathlessly. “I was waiting for your call but I fell asleep. How-”
“Congratulations,” I said. “It’s a colt.” I was grinning from ear to ear.
Stephanie shrieked, and I could hear her yelling, “It’s a boy!” to someone in the background, presumably her boyfriend. “How is he? And Gracie?” she asked.
“Both fine. He’s a beautiful baby, Steph.” I swallowed, feeling emotional.
“I’ll be there was soon as I can. Thank you, thank you!”
There was a small, reluctant smile on Dec’s face when I turned around. “At least something good came out of last night,” he acknowledged. “Better put some clothes on, kiddo. We’ve got work to do.”
We started by feeding the horses, but someone had to keep an eye on the foal too. We had to make sure he passed the meconium — the first, dark stool — and that he continued to stand and nurse. Gracie, too, needed watching, so Gran took on that job, being the best equipped. After the horses were fed, Dec and I inspected the pasture and run-in shed more carefully before putting the outdoor horses back into it. Then came clean-up duty.
We got gloves, empty feed bags, and tools, and started picking up debris and fixing fences. Alan arrived, but he’d have his hands full with cleaning that day so he could only help Dec with the heavier lifting that I couldn’t manage. Dec’s eyes kept going back to the tree on the shed, but we both knew we had to get things picked up on the ground first so that lessons could resume and horses could be turned out. The
show horses that were very fit, like Hades, required daily turnout on top of their work or they could hurt themselves through sheer excess of energy. We had already made calls to cancel that morning’s lessons, but Dec planned to fix the main ring in time for the afternoon classes.
“We can do the smaller paddocks tomorrow,” he mumbled around the nail he held between his lips. I was holding a fence board while he hammered.
My heart sank. “Um... remember I’m leaving tomorrow.” I was headed for the big Quebec shows.
Dec turned and stared at me for a full minute. Then he turned back to the fence and started pounding again, noticeably harder. Guilt tore at me, but there was nothing I could do. The trip had been planned for weeks.
To my relief Stephanie appeared at that moment, her boyfriend hurrying after her. She waved gaily at me before being swallowed up by the barn.
“I’m going to go talk to Steph,” I excused myself. I took his grunt as assent.
I got to the stall in time to see Stephanie slip inside. She hugged her mare’s neck, neither one moving for a long moment. Then Gracie turned her head deliberately towards her foal, looking pleased with herself. As well she might.
Stephanie eased herself carefully onto the shavings next to the sleeping colt. He was lying flat on his side, his legs taking up a silly amount of space. She passed a hand lightly over the dark fluff of his coat, over and over, looking mesmerized. I craned my neck to look at Stephanie’s very tall boyfriend, who stood beside me. He seemed as happy as Stephanie and I snuck away quietly, smiling.