Joey

by Jennifer Bleakley

  “Go ahead. Give him a good rub. He likes that,” she encouraged, answering his unspoken question.

  The boy’s fingers splayed on Joey’s back, the dirt under Ethan’s fingernails matching the color of Joey’s spots.

  “Will he get to stay here forever?”

  “Yes. This is his home now.”

  “That’s good,” he mumbled.

  Squeals of delight drifted from the round pen where Gabe was engaging in some of his antics. The former party pony thrived on laughter. The louder his audience laughed, the more animated Gabe would become, pulling back his lips in an exaggerated smile and purposefully disregarding his trainer’s commands. Sarah glanced at Ethan. The boy had lowered his head, and his shoulders were drooping. He looked defeated.

  Joey craned his neck back, trying to sniff Ethan.

  Ethan froze. “What’s he doin’?”

  “He just wants to say hi.”

  Ethan stepped in front of Joey and stretched an index finger toward Joey’s head. His finger hovered over the horse’s spotted forehead for several heartbeats before he gingerly touched the horse’s face. One by one, each of the boy’s fingers made contact until his entire hand lay flat against Joey’s forehead.

  “Are you sure he’s really blind?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Ethan stared into Joey’s black eyes, then pulled his hand away and waved it in front of Joey.

  “Can you see me?” he whispered.

  Joey’s sigh sent a stream of air rushing out of his nostrils.

  Ethan stepped next to Joey and leaned his head on Joey’s neck. Joey didn’t move. Sarah stood transfixed by the boy and horse together. The image caused an unidentified longing to well up inside of her.

  Joey flicked an ear in her direction, and then Sarah heard it—muffled crying.

  Ethan’s head was bowed, his hair hiding his eyes, his forehead pressed against Joey’s neck.

  Suddenly, Ethan’s body tensed at the sound of children approaching. Sarah, not wanting to interrupt or embarrass Ethan, signaled to Barb that the group should move on. Barb took one look at Ethan, nodded, and moved the group to a different paddock. A few kids lingered behind the group, whining over missing the two “polka-dotted” horses. As Sarah stepped forward to ask Ethan if he would like to move farther back into the paddock, Joey turned his large head, effectively hiding the boy’s face from view.

  Sarah couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Joey is creating a shield around him. The horse’s strong, protective embrace broke through the last bit of control Ethan had. He threw his arms around Joey’s neck and sobbed, his body shaking. Joey never moved. He stood fiercely and firmly, providing refuge for the weeping boy. Two deeply wounded creatures were giving and finding solace in one another. How much Sarah longed to join them.

  Eventually Ethan’s tears subsided, and he rubbed the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes. Sarah wanted to offer the boy a way to collect himself before heading back to the group. Of course, the wind chimes!

  “Hey, Ethan,” she called out, “before I get you back to the group, will you help me hang a few wind chimes back up?”

  “Sure,” he said, keeping his eyes averted.

  “Thanks. It will only take a minute.” She began collecting the chimes from the ground.

  “Why are there so many wind chimes in here?”

  Sarah recounted Joey’s accident and explained how the wind chimes had helped him learn his boundaries so he didn’t get injured like that again.

  “I guess the feeders accidentally knocked these down when they pushed the wheelbarrow in here this morning.” She motioned to the top of a fence post. Ethan secured the chimes on the twine still hanging on the post and then ran his fingers through the chimes.

  They hung two more chimes before heading back to the gate.

  As they walked, Ethan kicked at rocks and chewed on his lower lip. Sarah could almost feel the tension begin to rise in him again.

  “Are you okay?” Sarah asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “I’m fine,” he answered curtly. Sarah heard him take a deep breath. “Do you . . .” he started and then went silent again. “Do you . . . oh, never mind. It’s stupid.”

  Sarah stopped at the gate. “Hey, look at me,” she said gently. “Nothing you could say or ask me would be stupid. I’m not here to judge you. Trust me.”

  She could see the conflict in his eyes. He glanced at the large white cross on the other side of the ranch. Almost a full minute passed before he spoke.

  “Do you believe in God?” he mumbled, his eyes immediately focusing on his shoes.

  Wow. That was not what she was expecting. Of all the questions he could have asked, of course it would be that one. How was she supposed to answer his question? How did you explain to a wounded kid that you weren’t sure what you believed anymore? That you’d been dealt a pretty bad hand in life and weren’t really talking to God at the moment—that he had totally let you down?

  It was pretty clear that Hope Reins was founded on Christian principles. Kim talked a lot about God and Jesus and hope. Sarah knew how she should answer. She knew how she would have answered once upon a time. But now? She chewed her lip as she considered Ethan’s vulnerable question. Say something, Sarah commanded herself.

  “You know what . . . I think I do.” Hearing those words from her own lips emboldened her. She gave a decisive nod. “Yes,” she clarified. “I do.”

  The two said good-bye to Joey and exited the field. Sarah didn’t want the door of communication to shut completely yet, so she led Ethan to a nearby picnic table and motioned for him to sit next to her. To be perfectly honest, she was mad at God. For years, she had struggled with abandonment issues, betrayed by the two men in her life who should have stuck around. No, she didn’t actually doubt there was a God. She just wasn’t sure he cared about her that much.

  Now it was her turn to ask the question. “Do you believe in God?”

  “I don’t know,” Ethan admitted. “I think I used to when I was little. My real parents . . . they took us to church a few times, and I kind of liked it. They had snacks and games and stuff. But now, I’m just not sure. I guess maybe God’s real, but not the way I used to think he was.”

  “In what way do you think he’s different now than when you were little?”

  Ethan picked up a piece of hay off the bench and tied it in a knot. “I used to think God was nice and that he wanted to help us and stuff, but . . .”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. How many times had she asked God why he hadn’t prevented her father’s accident? Or his betrayal? How many times had she begged God to save her marriage? Her stomach cramped up with a wave of fresh pain—and fear. What if Kim and the others found out about her past, about the things she had done to try to numb the pain, and hurt those who had hurt her? What if they discovered her lack of faith? Her pretense? Would they condemn her? Want her to leave? She couldn’t imagine having to leave this place. I can never let them know about my past. I need to keep it together and convincingly play the role of the good Christian with a strong faith.

  Yet, suddenly she wished that she did have a strong faith, so she could offer the boy some thread of hope.

  “Honestly, Ethan, I don’t know why God allows certain things to happen. In fact, I’ve asked those same questions many, many times.” Unsure of what to say next, Sarah found herself silently praying for the first time in years. God, this boy needs you. I know I haven’t talked to you in a long time, and I’m sorry about that, but would you . . . She paused, glancing at Ethan. His shoulders were bent, his head low. God, will you please help me know what to say? Help me help him somehow. Amen.

  And then she waited for an answer, a sign . . . something.

  A hawk soared high above the trees. Squirrels chattered along a branch. A horse neighed from the far pasture. But no words were spoken from above. Sarah suddenly felt foolish.

  “Thanks.”

  “Thanks? For what?” Sarah asked,
bewildered.

  “For being honest,” he said. “Most adults just tell kids what they think we need to hear. I like that you were honest and said you don’t know.”

  Sarah was dumbfounded.

  As they walked back toward the Hope Reins office where they had met an hour ago, Ethan shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “I hope I can come back here sometime.”

  “What!” Sarah answered in an overly dramatic voice. “Come back to the horse place? I thought horses were just for girls.”

  Her words were met with a lopsided grin. “Well, most of them are.” He shrugged. “But Joey . . . he’s pretty cool.”

  Just then, Kim rang a loud cowbell, signaling it was time for the group to gather around the fire pit for closing time activities. Sarah pointed and whispered, “Go join the others.”

  To her utter surprise, the boy complied.

  Something powerful had just happened. Was it possible that God had used a blind horse to touch a hurting boy’s heart? Did God care about such things? Maybe he hasn’t forgotten about me after all?

  Sarah turned back, looking at the fields where horses grazed. I love this place. The peace. The hope. The . . . healing. Each one waiting to be found.

  CHAPTER 8

  FOUR WEEKS AFTER her coffee date with Kim, Lauren sat on a mounting block inside the training arena, her head in her hands, silent sobs shaking her sore body. A frustrated Speckles stood on the opposite side, snorting and pawing at the dirt.

  She had been trying to get him to lunge, a basic training component where the horse walks or trots around the trainer in a circle while on a long lead line—a necessary skill so that the horse can get exercise without exhausting its trainer. She’d seen other trainers do it at Hope Reins dozens of times. She’d even lunged several of the other horses there. Yet whenever she asked Speckles to move, he reared up and kicked his back legs out at her.

  They had been at it for weeks, and she was no closer to getting him to lunge than when they started. In fact, he seemed to be getting worse. The harder she pushed, the more fiercely he pushed back.

  Maybe he’s simply untrainable. Or maybe he just doesn’t have the right trainer.

  As Lauren massaged her temples in an attempt to fend off the tension headache she could feel coming on, a large brown chin bumped her elbow. Lauren’s entire body tensed. And then, with a long chuffing declaration, a chin was gently lowered onto her lap.

  Speckles stood with his head in Lauren’s lap for several seconds before he shifted his weight and pulled his back leg gingerly off the ground. As he moved his leg, Lauren heard a distinct clicking sound. The sound—like that of a loud knuckle crack—sent shivers down her spine.

  Lauren carefully lowered her hands from her head so that she could see the horse. She didn’t move or talk—just observed. Speckles continued to shift his weight, each time lifting one of his back legs off the ground about five or six inches, his head never leaving her lap.

  After a few minutes, Lauren’s knee began to throb, and as much as she hated to make Speckles move, she had to extend her leg. Otherwise, her knee would lock, and . . .

  “Oh, my poor boy,” she gasped, looking into Speckles’ eyes. “Your legs hurt, don’t they?”

  She reached out hesitantly, barely touching the brown muzzle that looked as if it had been splashed with white paint in the middle.

  “You’re in pain, aren’t you, boy?”

  Lauren studied Speckles as if seeing him for the first time. He shifted again, and again she heard a click. His front legs appeared tense, muscles twitching. His lips were held together in a tight line.

  How had she not noticed it until now? The kicking, the bucking—throwing Barb’s daughter off. If Speckles was in such excruciating pain, of course he wouldn’t want to carry any weight, especially a rider. Of course he would want to avoid a woman who came in every day and wanted him to keep moving. You weren’t untrainable; you were suffering.

  It all made perfect sense now. Lauren had heard that Speckles had never been allowed to run or exercise at the stud farm. When the Equine Rescue League found him, his feet were in atrocious condition. Lauren might not have had a ton of experience with horses, but she did have a master’s degree in immunology and advanced training in biotechnology. Was it possible that Speckles was showing symptoms of degenerative joint disease? She racked her brain, trying to remember some of her previous training from what seemed like a lifetime ago. Couldn’t such a joint disease be brought on by a septic infection—like one that could happen from standing, immobile, knee deep in one’s own filth and muck for so long?

  Lauren moaned, frustrated that she hadn’t put this together before. Yes, she had been busy trying to learn all she could about horse training—shadowing other trainers, reading books, and even attending an equestrian training seminar in Rocky Mount.

  She had been so busy learning how to train a horse that she had neglected to study her horse. Lauren slowly stood up to bend and flex her knee. The pain had become excruciating. Again, she wondered how she had not seen it before. How many times had she lashed out at others because of her unrelenting pain? And when she couldn’t lash out, she retreated, as if she could somehow hide from the pain.

  “You big ol’ speckled monster,” Lauren said, a sudden protectiveness welling up inside of her. “You aren’t a bad horse. You’re just hurting.” She stroked his white speckled back. “I’m so sorry I missed that. Forgive me?”

  The horse exhaled, making a gentle whooshing sound.

  “Don’t you worry,” she said, placing one hand on either side of his face, like a parent consoling a frightened child. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.” She walked to the gate where she had thrown his lead line earlier, after he had reared up and kicked at her. When she turned back to the horse, she was surprised to find him walking toward her. Her throat tightened with emotion.

  “I know, boy,” she said, closing the distance between them and running her hand along his neck.

  “Trust me. I know.”

  Later that afternoon, Lauren shared her suspicions with Kim. The founder of Hope Reins couldn’t believe that she hadn’t put two and two together herself. The next day, Kim called Dr. Gallagher, who asked to see Speckles at the equine center at the university. Lauren, grateful that her own knee was feeling better, accompanied Kim and Speckles to the appointment. Not surprisingly, he wasn’t at all pleased to be put on a trailer. But the reward of a full bag of carrots was enticing, and Kim and Lauren managed to get Speckles in and out of the trailer. At the equine center, the women watched as Dr. Gallagher and his interns put Speckles through a battery of tests. By the looks on their faces, Lauren knew the diagnosis was not going to be good.

  “Well, we’ve got some answers for you,” Dr. Gallagher said, looking up from Speckles’ last X-ray. “Speckles has some pretty advanced arthritis and a locking stifle.” Responding to Lauren’s puzzled look, he explained. “His knees are getting stuck in an upward position, causing him to try to kick them back into place.”

  “So he isn’t necessarily kicking at us, but kicking against the pain?” Lauren asked hopefully.

  Dr. Gallagher momentarily pondered the question. “You know, I imagine it might be a little bit of both,” he said with a wink.

  “We’ve got to remember,” Dr. Gallagher said, “that Speckles came from a bad situation where he probably learned some bad habits. Add to that intense pain and fear, and you’ve got yourself a very difficult horse to work with.”

  The procedure room they were standing in suddenly felt cold. A very difficult horse. The words played through Lauren’s mind like a taunting echo. And yet, his diagnoses only confirmed the bond Lauren felt to the horse.

  Dr. Gallagher led them to the small enclosure where Speckles was being kept. The horse seemed oddly mellow.

  “We’ve got him on some pretty strong pain meds right now, so he should be just fine for the ride back. And I’m sending you home with two different medications. One is an anti-inflamma
tory, which he will take every day for several weeks, at which point I’ll come out and reevaluate him. The other is a painkiller to be used as needed.”

  Why does having a plan always help things seem better? Lauren marveled, feeling encouraged for the first time all day.

  “Oh, and given how bad his knees are, no riding. Light exercise should help the locking stifle, but the combination of the stifle and the arthritis will make riding incredibly painful for him.”

  Lauren glanced at Kim. No riding? Although riding was not the focus of Hope Reins, the ranch was dedicated to helping kids by allowing them to build a relationship with a horse. Riding was one aspect of that relationship. What would these new restrictions mean for Speckles? Would he still have a home at Hope Reins?

  I sure hope so, Lauren thought. Because she was committed to doing everything in her power to help the speckled horse.

  “Of course we are going to keep him,” Kim assured Lauren on the way home. “It’s not his fault that he’s in such bad shape. But we do need to figure out how to help him, how to work with him, and in what capacity he might be able to work with children—if at all,” she added.

  Lauren took Kim’s words to heart as a challenge. For the next two weeks, she visited the library, watched countless YouTube videos, and pored over multiple online articles to formulate a plan. A plan was a good first step. The harder part would be getting over her fears. She had been so shaken by her last training session, when his hooves missed her face by mere inches. And then, hearing Dr. Gallagher describe Speckles’ condition, Lauren was afraid of accidentally hurting him during training. She desperately wanted to help the horse. But how?

  The answer came in one of the instructional videos on lunging horses. The training used the elements of natural horsemanship. Lauren had never heard of that approach before, but it made perfect sense. Instead of using pain or force, it paired a horse’s natural instincts and methods of communication with the application and release of pressure, provided by her body and a lightweight fiberglass training stick. The idea was to provide a gentler approach to training, slowly infringing upon the horse’s personal space and then retreating, gradually increasing his tolerance. It seemed like it might be the best fit for Speckles. Lauren gathered as much information on the technique as possible.