Joey

by Jennifer Bleakley

  “I will,” Kim assured her. “I just want to check on Joey one more time.”

  Kim slowly made her way back to paddock two, taking in the peaceful atmosphere of the ranch. Horses lingered over hay boxes; others grazed on winter grass. As the wind picked up, Kim pulled her hat down lower. The air definitely had a cold bite to it. A hot shower suddenly sounded like heaven. But first, she needed to make sure Joey was okay.

  Kim stood outside the fence. Speckles was near the hay box, his ears moving like a sonar device, his eyes wide and searching.

  Well, he sure seems to have calmed down, Kim mused. Then she turned to watch Joey. He was still by the water trough. Has he moved at all since I left him thirty minutes ago? Then it hit her again. Suddenly, she saw the ranch with fresh eyes—Joey’s eyes.

  Eyes that couldn’t see.

  How was this going to work? How was he going to find his way to the hay box? To the shelter? What was I thinking?

  Everyone trusted her to make wise decisions. They believed this would all work out because she said it would. But now, staring at a horse who couldn’t see her, she suddenly felt overwhelmed.

  Trust and worry. Worry and trust. Kim closed her eyes. In her mind, she could still see the pasture, the feedbox, the water trough, the woods, the fence—all the things Joey couldn’t see.

  Kim opened her eyes. She would have to show him.

  “Don’t worry, Joey,” Kim called out. “I’ll be right back.”

  The ranch was quickly becoming cloaked in the darkness of twilight, so she didn’t have a lot of time. Kim ran to the tack shed to grab Joey’s halter and lead line. I have to help him get his bearings.

  “Here you go, boy,” she said. “We’re going to go for a little walk.” Tugging gently, Kim led Joey away from the water trough and toward the gate.

  “That’s the gate,” she explained. “That’s where you will come in and out.” She then turned left at the gate and walked the fence line with Joey toward the back of the field. She knew it was silly. Joey couldn’t see or understand what she was saying. But it didn’t matter. She needed to do something, needed to try to help him “see.”

  “Over there, on the other side of the fence, are Shiloh and Essie,” she said, pointing toward the curious equines, watching from their pasture. “They will be nice neighbors.”

  When they reached the back of the field, Joey’s ears flicked in the direction of the highway.

  “Those are just cars,” Kim reassured him. “They’re noisy, but they won’t hurt you. As long as you stay inside this fence, you’ll be fine.” Kim suddenly wondered if Joey had ever been close to a busy road before. Would the nearby traffic frighten him?

  He seemed okay. “Maybe you should keep a safe distance from the fence for now,” Kim cautioned. Then she began counting the steps from the back of the field toward the oak tree in the center of the paddock.

  Fifty.

  “Fifty steps to the tree, Joey,” she said. Then she headed back to the water trough. “And one hundred steps to the water trough.” Off in the distance, a horse whinnied. It was Spirit, a gorgeous buckskin gelding with an ebony mane and tail. “Oh, that’s Spirit over there,” she explained. “He’s a good horse, although sometimes he can be a little grumpy. But he’ll be a good neighbor too.”

  Was any of this helping? She wasn’t convinced that it was, but frankly, she didn’t know what else to do. And so she continued to give Joey the grand tour of paddock two, stopping every couple of yards for him to pull at the grass.

  Speckles, keeping a close eye on the pair, had wandered over to the other side of the paddock to introduce himself to Shiloh and Essie over the fence.

  Kim couldn’t shake the fear that Joey wasn’t going to be able to adjust. She chastised herself. I don’t know how to take care of a blind horse. All the phone calls in the world with Tom, all the online articles and vet conversations couldn’t have prepared her for this moment—standing face-to-face with the blind horse she was now responsible for. In many ways, she was as blind as Joey.

  As she unfastened his halter, she prayed out loud. “Lord, I truly believed that you wanted Joey here. But now . . . it all feels too hard. Too frightening. Lord, you’re going to have to see us all through this.” Joey’s nose touched her shoulder. Kim reached up and stroked the velvety spotted muzzle. “Please, God, take care of Joey. Please keep him safe.”

  She paused for a moment, waiting for a flood of peace to overtake her, or for some kind of sign or reassurance to appear from above. But the only thing that pierced the silence was Speckles whinnying in the distance.

  Worry and trust, she thought. You’ve done plenty of worrying. Now it’s time to trust.

  Kim gave Joey’s nose one more stroke.

  “You’ve had a long day, Joey,” she said. “Get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Speckles,” she called out to the other Appaloosa, still standing at Shiloh and Essie’s fence. “Look after Joey tonight, okay?”

  Kim lingered at the gate for a few minutes more, watching as Joey and Speckles were enveloped by the darkness. Another gust of wind made her pull her collar tight around her neck as she turned and headed back toward the parking lot.

  CHAPTER 4

  SARAH STEWART WAS the first to arrive at the ranch the next morning, a half hour early for her shift. Being the newest feeding volunteer, the twenty-eight-year-old wanted to make sure she had plenty of time before the others arrived to review everything she had learned during her training the week before.

  Hearing soft nickers coming from different pastures made Sarah smile. It had been a long time since she had been around horses—too long. She stood near an oak tree that had shed its leaves months earlier, and breathed in deeply. The crisp air enhanced the scent of sweet hay and horse manure wafting in her direction. Many people found the smell of manure unpleasant, but for her, it was the smell of love and safety. It was the smell of home.

  A gust of wind whipped her ponytail into her face. She pulled her gray cap lower over her ears and tucked her hair into her jacket. The temperature hovered around forty degrees, but the wind made it feel much colder. Suddenly regretting her decision to be at the ranch so early, she decided to go to the feed shed to get out of the wind.

  The building was locked. Sarah had forgotten to get the combination from PJ, the woman who had been training her. Well, it’s either back to the car, where I can crank up the heat, or take a fast-paced walk around the property. She opted for a walk. Gotta get my steps in before I need to leave for my paying job.

  While Sarah had never seen herself working as a receptionist at a dermatologist’s office, it was the only job she had been able to get when she moved to Raleigh eight months ago. It might not have been her dream job, but it paid the bills and she liked her coworkers. And the later start time allowed her to spend mornings volunteering at Hope Reins, the one place she could be around the animals she loved most in this world—the only ones who had never betrayed her.

  Sarah headed to Hope and Josie’s enclosure. The diminutive pair trotted eagerly to her, then began clamoring for her attention by pushing each other out of the way, anxious to receive breakfast. She patted each one over the low fencing.

  “Sorry, you two; just a little longer. It’s coming,” she assured them.

  She left the two minis and walked at a brisk pace along the fence line. Horses beckoned her to stop with enchanting nickers and gentle stomps. But when they realized that Sarah had neither hay nor treats, the equine welcoming crew pulled their heads back one by one.

  Sarah glanced at her phone. Fifteen minutes before the rest of the team arrives. Must keep moving.

  She slowed when she came to paddock two. The field had been empty the last time she was at the ranch, but now two horses were there. That’s right! Yesterday Kim went to pick up new horses. Sarah stood watching the two Appaloosas from a distance. They looked so similar and yet so different.

  Sarah remembered Kim mentioning that the one named Speckles h
ad a brown head and a white-and-brown body. He was standing by the hay box—toward the front of the enclosure. When he turned his black almond-shaped eyes in her direction, his look seemed menacing. As she studied him, he bobbed and thrashed his head in an intimidating display. With a name like Speckles, I thought he would be sweet, gentle, and easygoing. The horse, snorting and stomping in front of her, was anything but.

  In the middle of the field, the other horse was standing perfectly still as if he were sleeping. Joey, the blind one. If only humans could sleep like that! she marveled.

  Sarah continued on, passing the next field shared by the buckskin Spirit and Gabe the Shetland pony. Gabe was one of her favorites; she loved the party pony’s huge personality.

  Checking her phone again, Sarah noted the time. The others would be arriving any minute now, so she began retracing her path back to the parking lot.

  As she came upon paddock two, she noticed that Speckles was now grazing near the fence at the far end of the pasture. But Joey was still in the same spot in the middle of the field.

  Sarah’s stomach suddenly tightened.

  He should be moving. Grazing.

  Something felt wrong.

  Sarah was slightly nervous about being in the same field as Speckles, but she needed to investigate Joey’s odd behavior. When she opened the gate, Speckles raised his head at the sound of the metal latch opening and closing, his ears tracking her every move. Thankfully, he stayed where he was at the back of the field. Sarah slowly walked toward Joey, softly calling out his name to avoid startling the resting horse.

  “Hey, Joey,” she said. “You awake?”

  And then she saw them—numerous superficial cuts and scratches, and a deep, bloody gash on his thigh. The cuts and scratches covered his legs, and the ragged four-inch gash seemed to take up his entire right thigh. His ears were up, but he gave no indication of even hearing the volunteer.

  What happened here? Sarah surveyed the enclosed field. Everything looked normal; everything was where it should be. Sarah glared in Speckles’ direction. Did you have anything to do with this? Without thinking, she reached out to touch the injured horse, but caught herself and pulled back, fearful that her touch would cause more distress than comfort. Sarah kept scanning the surroundings. And then . . . she noticed something.

  Toward the back corner of the paddock, where one side fence connected to the back fence, several slats hung askew. When she ran over to investigate, Sarah found a tangled mess of electric wire fencing broken and jumbled up on the ground. In a split second, everything became painfully clear. Joey must have run into the fencing and gotten tangled in the wire.

  Sarah’s stomach lurched. The broken wire stuck out like lethal spikes—spikes that would have repeatedly pierced Joey’s skin as he became more and more terrified. She sprinted back to him, peeling off her coat as she ran. She balled up the garment and threw it toward the gate before slowly approaching the statue-like horse, gently extending her hand to let him know that he was not alone.

  “Oh, buddy,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” The sight of his open flesh wound made her slightly woozy even though she had treated many wounds when she had been on an equine health and wellness team years before. She looked away momentarily and concentrated on slowing her breathing. “I’m so sorry you got hurt.”

  Joey’s ears flicked ever so slightly, and his tail swished—twice. Sarah’s heart leaped at the reaction.

  She pieced together the likely scenario from the injuries and the evidence on the ground. It was obvious that once tangled, Joey had tried to break free. And while he did indeed break free, the wire put up quite a fight. As Sarah imagined him thrashing about in the dangerous wire, she got sick to her stomach. No wonder he didn’t want to risk moving again.

  Sarah held her hand in front of Joey’s nostrils, cautiously touching his nose. The horse released a forceful breath before pressing his muzzle ever so lightly into her hand.

  A sense of protectiveness like she had never felt before welled up inside her. “You’re safe now, Joey,” she whispered, leaning into him. “You’re safe.”

  Unsure of what to do next, Sarah stood with the horse for several minutes, stroking his nose and talking softly to him. The adrenaline that had powered her sprint across the field slowly dissipated, and a chill shook her body. Sarah left Joey’s side just long enough to retrieve her coat from the ground where she had tossed it. She zipped it up and thrust her hands deep into the pockets to warm them up.

  “All right, big guy. The others will be here soon, and they’ll know what to do. But how about a little walk for now?”

  Just then, she heard a car door slam in the distance. “Oh, thank God!” she said out loud. The other feeding volunteers were arriving.

  “Joey,” she said, with a feigned lightness to her voice, “wanna follow me?” Sarah clucked her tongue, and Joey took one step forward. “There you go, Joey. Good job. Nice and slow.”

  The horse took another step, and blood oozed from the cuts on his legs. What was I thinking? I probably made it all worse. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sorry.”

  “Good morning, Sarah!” PJ’s cheerful voice came from the direction of the parking lot.

  Sarah tried her best to keep her voice calm as she replied, “PJ, Joey’s been hurt.”

  PJ, who was short in stature but large in personality, darted toward paddock two, squeezing herself through the fence slats. She raced over to Sarah and Joey and gasped when she saw the wounds.

  “What happened?”

  Sarah pointed to the back fence and explained her theory. The entire time she talked, she kept her left hand resting lightly on Joey’s side to stay physically connected to the animal. It seemed to be working. After a few minutes, Sarah felt Joey’s body relax ever so slightly.

  PJ pulled out her cell phone to let Kim know what had happened. Sarah stayed with Joey, talking to him and trying her best to keep him calm. He shifted his weight back and forth between his injured back legs, and kept craning his head toward the gash on his thigh. Unable to reach the source of pain, he leaned his side into Sarah. She stood firm against his weight, wishing that she could make the pain go away.

  “Kim is calling the vet and is on her way here,” PJ said, crouching down to assess the injuries.

  Joey pawed at the ground.

  “Are you okay to stay with Joey for a few minutes while I go tell the others what’s going on, and they can start feeding?”

  Sarah nodded as PJ jogged away.

  “I gotcha, boy,” Sarah said, tracing a large black spot on his side. The plum-sized spot tapered at the end, making it look like a large raindrop. “You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered into his neck. “I’m not going to leave you.”

  Ten minutes later, PJ was back. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a large carrot, breaking it into thirds. Joey eagerly took the treat and seemed to be coming out of his trancelike state. How long was he standing here? Sarah wondered. He had acted on his natural instinct to run from a dangerous situation, and that had freed him from the electric wire, but at a painful cost. So he froze where he thought he was safe from further harm. She watched Joey take a tiny step toward PJ in trust.

  Before too long, Sarah saw Kim’s car pull up, followed by another vehicle. It must be the vet.

  “Is he okay? What happened?” Kim asked as she threw open the gate, with Dr. Ryan Gallagher a few steps behind her. Sarah pointed to the pile of mangled wire in the back corner of the pasture.

  “Oh no, I didn’t even think about that,” Kim moaned. “How could I have missed that?”

  Relieved to have others more capable than herself tending to Joey, Sarah stepped away, opening up space for the vet to inspect the injured horse.

  Dr. Gallagher, a recent graduate from the North Carolina State University College of Veterinary Medicine, practiced at the veterinarian hospital on campus. He and Kim had met one day when they were walking their respective dogs in the neighborhood. As they talked, the two of
them discovered a shared love of horses. When Kim mentioned what she was doing at Hope Reins, Dr. Gallagher generously offered his services.

  He had been their go-to vet ever since—a double blessing because of his proximity to the ranch and his obvious love of animals. However, Kim soon discovered that keeping horses healthy was not cheap. When they had to take Essie to the animal hospital for the first time, Kim walked out owing $1,700.

  Here in the pasture, Dr. Gallagher slowly circled Joey, inspecting each cut and abrasion. From his bag he pulled out a bottle of saline, a handful of sterile packed dressings, a tube of antiseptic, and a roll of self-sticking gauze. After carefully putting a halter over Joey’s head, the vet clipped on a leather line and handed the end to Sarah.

  “Just hang on to him for me,” he said. “This might get a bit of a reaction from him,” he added with a wink. His quiet confidence put Sarah at ease. Kneeling beside the horse, Dr. Gallagher began cleaning Joey’s wounds. The vet was right—Joey did react, raising his legs and attempting to move away. Joey’s sudden movement, combined with the human activity inside the pasture, agitated Speckles, who was now pacing along the east fence line. Sarah held Joey’s line firmly.

  “Easy, Joey. The doctor is just trying to help you,” she said softly to the distressed horse. “It’ll be over soon.”

  Dr. Gallagher wrapped Joey’s back left leg in gauze, which was tricky to do with a stomping target. “This leg definitely took the brunt of the damage. Nothing too deep, but we want to guard against any infection.” When he finished, he stood up and thoroughly flushed the large gash on Joey’s thigh before applying a generous amount of ointment. “The laceration should begin to scab over quickly. Keep flushing it with saline a few times a day and applying this ointment, and it should heal without any trouble.”

  Seeing Kim’s concern, he patted Joey’s rump. “He should be just fine. Thankfully, most of the abrasions are superficial. He was actually pretty lucky. It could have been much worse.”