Sonrise Stable Read online

  As she watched and waited, it became clear that the animal wasn’t stalking her at all, just wandering aimlessly in the snow. When it stepped out from a cluster of trees into a small clearing, Grandma gasped. “Oh, no!” She released her grip on the stick, and it fell to the ground. She switched the flashlight back to her right hand and aimed the beam straight ahead.

  The foal? How could that be? It’s too soon. But that’s what stood before her, struggling to maintain its balance on the icy ground. Where was Jet? She would never leave her baby. Grandma could feel the fear rising in her throat. She went to search in the direction the foal had come from. Her heart sank when she found Jet, lying strangely still in the snow.

  “No!” Grandma yelled and snapped the light off for a moment. Her knees suddenly felt so weak, she was afraid she might fall. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “What happened?”

  Moving closer, she discovered a second lifeless form—a dog, or coyote, apparently trampled to death. She sank down into the snow beside the pony and stroked her neck. “Oh, Jet, you were protecting your little one, weren’t you? I knew you would be a good mother.”

  She would have stayed there beside Jet, crying, but she could see the foal shivering in the cold wind. Born a month early, the baby was mostly legs. Grandma stood and scooped it up in her arms, pressing her head firmly against the foal’s neck. She closed her eyes. Was she too late to save this little one? Why had she let herself fall asleep in front of the fire?

  Chapter 5

  Scamper

  With her arms wrapped tightly around the foal, Grandma struggled to keep the flashlight focused on the ground ahead of her feet. She didn’t want to trip over something in the dark again. Her arms and shoulders soon began to ache. Ignoring the pain, she didn’t stop until she reached the back of the barn. Grandma leaned against the sliding door for a moment to catch her breath. The foal was quiet in her arms. She hoped it was still alive. Nudging the door with her foot, she slid it open far enough to walk through. Once inside, she headed straight to the tack room, kicking the door shut behind her. Her arms were stiff, as if they were locked around the foal. She leaned over and forced them to release their grip, gently setting the foal down on the wood floor.

  When she flicked the light switch on, she had her first good look at Jet’s baby—a handsome black-and-white colt. “Oh, you’re beautiful.” She pulled two towels from the foaling kit prepared weeks earlier and rubbed the colt’s coat to warm him. To help hold in his body heat, she draped one of the towels over him like a horse blanket.

  From her experience raising Kezzie years before, Grandma knew the foal needed milk soon. She reached for the barn phone. Between her nerves and the cold, it was difficult to make her fingers work properly. Finally she was able to punch in the correct numbers. After she had spoken with her veterinarian, Dr. Rings, she leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor. She prayed that the vet would arrive soon. Then it was just a matter of waiting.

  The foal folded his spindly legs and dropped down next to her. Grandma wrapped her arm around him and pulled his head onto her lap, stroking his soft coat. Now that she had time to think, her tears started again and dropped onto the foal’s neck. Time seemed to drag by like a movie played in slow motion. She checked her watch every few minutes. Why isn’t Dr. Rings here?

  Grandma stood and began to dial the vet’s number again, but she was interrupted by a vehicle honking outside. “She’s here.” She held out her hand to the foal. “You stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m so sorry about Jet,” Dr. Rings said after Grandma explained what had happened. “Let’s see what we can do for this little guy.” She went out to her truck and returned with a large plastic bottle and a bag of powdered milk. Grandma moved the foal into the barn aisle where there was more room.

  It only took a little coaxing before the hungry foal discovered how to drink the replacement milk from the bottle. When his tummy was full, he looked up at them with white, milky foam covering his tiny muzzle. His large brown eyes seemed to ask, What now?

  “Okay, little fellow, let’s move you into your new home.” Grandma put one hand under his head and pulled, while the vet pushed gently on his hindquarters. They guided him into a clean stall with a fluffy bed of fresh straw.

  Grandma hung a heat lamp in one corner, out of the foal’s reach, to provide extra warmth. Kezzie, in the adjoining stall, seemed puzzled. Pushing her head over the divider, she stared at her new neighbor as if to say, Who are you? And where is my buddy, Jet? She made a loud, snuffly sound through her nostrils, which sent the foal scampering around his stall.

  Despite her sadness and fatigue, Grandma smiled at the foal’s antics. “Scamper. That’s a good name for you.”

  She suddenly remembered Rosie, and an incredible pain washed over her. “Oh God, I don’t understand this myself. How will I explain it to my granddaughter?”

  Grandma stood watching the foal long after Dr. Rings had left. Finally, she trudged back through the snow to the house where she gathered a cot, a sleeping bag, and an electric heater. She returned to the barn and set up camp in the tack room.

  The vet had stressed the importance of offering the foal milk frequently during the first week, to imitate the nursing pattern he would have had with his mother. Grandma set her watch to alert her every hour throughout the night so she could check on Scamper and see whether he wanted his bottle. She settled in and managed to get some sleep before the next feeding.

  ***

  Early the next morning, Grandma rolled over on the cot, exhausted. What was that noise? It sounded like an airplane. She pushed herself up and listened, forcing her eyes to remain open. Was it only a dream? As her mind cleared, she realized it was the sound of the big front door of the barn sliding open. She stumbled to the door of the tack room, opened it, and leaned out. Her eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the light.

  “Grandma?”

  “Rosie?” Grandma blinked again. “Kristy? What are you doing here?”

  “Mom? You scared me! I didn’t expect to see you at the barn this early.” Kristy walked down the aisle toward the tack room. “Rosie said you were tired from checking on Jet overnight, so I thought we’d come and cover the morning shift for you.”

  “Mom! Mom!” Rosie shrieked. “Jet had her foal! Come and see!” She started to run toward her mother, then turned and went back to the foal’s stall.

  “Grandma, where’s Jet? Why isn’t she with her baby?” Rosie opened the stall door. She placed one arm around Scamper’s neck and stroked his forehead with the other. The foal found one of her fingers and began to suck, thinking he had found his breakfast. Rosie laughed with delight. “He’s trying to eat my finger!”

  Grandma walked over and wearily sat down on the tack box, tears streaming down her cheeks. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Rosie, would you come here for a minute?”

  “Aw, but I want to play with the baby.” Rosie reluctantly stepped out of the stall, gently pushing the foal back enough so she could close the door. She looked in the stall to the left of Scamper’s. “Where is Jet?”

  Grandma patted the tack box, motioning for Rosie to sit beside her. Kristy sat on the other end. As Grandma explained the events of the night before, all three held each other and cried.

  Finally, Rosie was able to speak. “Why, Grandma? Why did my pony have to die? It’s not fair.”

  Grandma brushed away more tears. Would they never end?

  She had cried so much the night before, she couldn’t believe she had any tears left. “Rosie, I won’t pretend to understand why this happened. But I know God can use the painful things in our lives for good.”

  Grandma closed her eyes briefly and silently prayed for words that would help Rosie understand. “The Bible says that God knows when a sparrow falls to the ground. God created Jet, and He loved her as much, or more, than you and I did. You know the verse John 3:16, right?” (1)

  Rosie nodd
ed slowly. Jemimah jumped into her lap, and she absently stroked the cat’s head.

  “When it says ‘God gave His only Son,’ it’s talking about when Jesus came and lived as a man on earth.”

  Rosie’s tears slowed, but Grandma sensed she had no idea what this had to do with Jet.

  “Jesus died on the cross to pay the penalty for our sins. He gave His life for ours, so we could have eternal life. Why would He do that for us?”

  Rosie shrugged.

  “That’s what the ‘For God so loved the world’ part of the verse is about. Jesus came because of God’s amazing love for us.”

  Grandma continued. “The animal that attacked Jet was what some people call a coydog, part coyote and part dog, probably starving after the hard winter. Being part dog, they are less fearful than coyotes. Since the foal was weak and helpless, it probably went after him first. When Jet tried to protect her foal, it attacked her. Do you see now? Jet loved her baby so much; she gave her life so he could live.”

  “It’s not exactly the same, of course,” Grandma added. “But what Jet did for her foal helps me understand what Jesus did for me—for all of us.”

  Grandma watched Rosie turn this over in her mind. “I kind of understand, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “I know. It will hurt for a long time.” Grandma nodded sadly. “Jet made many children happy by teaching them how to ride. Maybe someday the story of her death can do something even better if it helps them understand what Christ did for us on the cross.”

  “I don’t think I could tell anyone about it,” Rosie said slowly.

  “It will take time.” They sat together quietly for several minutes, then Grandma broke the silence by blowing her nose on a damp wad of tissues retrieved from her coat pocket. “I named him Scamper. He needs to be fed every two hours for the next few days. Will you help me take care of him?”

  Rosie shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “You can stay here with Grandma for a few days,” Kristy offered. “I mean—if you feel up to it.”

  Grandma stood up, feeling her age for the first time in her life. Her back ached as she returned to the tack room for Scamper’s bottle. After cleaning it and mixing a fresh batch of milk, she held it out to her granddaughter.

  Rosie sniffed and raised her hand to take the bottle. “What do I do with it?”

  “He knows what to do,” Grandma said.

  Rosie nudged Jemimah off her lap and shuffled toward the stall. Grandma slid the door open. Scamper butted the bottle and eagerly began to drink.

  “Tip it up so the milk comes out more easily,” Grandma said.

  Rosie smiled briefly through her tears as the hungry little colt energetically attacked the bottle she held with both hands.

  Over the next few months, Rosie and Grandma spent many hours at the barn caring for Scamper. Each day the time between his feedings was gradually extended. As he grew stronger, they taught him to drink his milk from a bucket instead of the bottle. He also began to nibble at small bits of hay and grain.

  Jet was buried in the back pasture beside her mother, Ebony. Rosie and Grandma remembered with sadness and joy the pony they had loved so dearly.

  1 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

  Chapter 6

  Early Training

  “Grandma, he looks so funny.” Rosie laughed at Scamper, who had a jacket draped over his back. “Why did you put your coat on him?”

  “I’ve never seen it in any horse-training book, but I did this kind of thing when I trained Kezzie years ago. One day he’ll be asked to carry a rider—”

  “Me!” Rosie grinned.

  Grandma nodded. “If he becomes accustomed to carrying things now, a saddle won’t be a big deal to him when he’s grown up.” She removed the jacket and held it near Scamper’s nose. The foal sniffed it all over and then blew out of his nostrils.

  “Here, assistant trainer.” Grandma held the jacket out to Rosie. “Take this and rub it all over him.”

  Rosie took the jacket. She loved the idea of being a horse trainer. Maybe someday she really would be one, like her aunt, Julie. She let the heavy fabric flop over Scamper’s neck, back, and down his legs.

  “That’s it,” Grandma encouraged her. “He needs to get used to being touched all over by people and objects so he won’t be afraid of saddle straps or actions like a rider removing a coat.”

  Rosie looked into Scamper’s eyes. The colt seemed puzzled by this new development, but he wasn’t afraid. He stood quietly in the aisle while they worked with him. Over the past three months, he had grown to trust Grandma and Rosie completely.

  Rosie paused and absently stroked Scamper’s neck. She was surprised to feel her eyes fill and a tear spill over and drip down her cheek. Would she ever stop crying about Jet? She quickly wiped her eye, not wanting Grandma to notice, but nothing seemed to escape her grandmother’s attention.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh Grandma.” Rosie sniffed. “I love Scamper, but sometimes he reminds me so much of Jet that it makes me sad. I miss her so much.”

  Grandma pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to Rosie. “Yes. That’s a night I wish I could forget. But when I feel sad, I try to replace the bad thoughts with happy ones.”

  Rosie draped the jacket over Scamper’s back again. “How do you do that?”

  “By remembering. You were too young to remember this, but the first time you rode Jet—you must have been about two—I led the pony and your mom and dad walked on either side of her. You held onto that saddle horn for dear life, but you had the biggest grin on your face. That’s when I knew we had another cowgirl in the family.”

  Rosie ran her fingers through Scamper’s soft mane as she listened. The foal’s hair was growing, but it wasn’t long enough to lie over yet. His fluffy black mane stood straight up.

  “Remember when she grabbed the carrots out of her Christmas stocking?”

  “And nearly ate the stocking!” Grandma smiled and nodded. “My favorite memory is that time we rode together last fall—with the leaves swirling around you two. I can see it clearly in my mind. I wish I had taken a photo then.”

  “I could draw a picture of that for you.” Rosie loved to draw, and she was getting quite good at drawing her favorite animal.

  Grandma smiled. “That would be great! Thank—” “Hey!” Rosie turned suddenly toward the foal. “What are you doing?”

  Scamper had pulled the jacket off his back and was chewing on one of the sleeves. Grandma carefully pried it out of his mouth.

  “Just like his momma,” Rosie said, “part billy goat.”

  Grandma scratched Scamper’s neck and hugged him. “He’s a good boy for his age. Because he’s an orphan and has spent so much time with us, Kezzie has to remind him nearly every day that he’s a horse, not a human. She’s made it clear that she’s first in the pecking order.”

  Kezzie put her head over her stall door and nickered.

  Grandma laughed. “See. She agrees with me.”

  A picture of Kezzie pecking Scamper came to Rosie’s mind, and she laughed. “Pecking order? She’s a horse not a chicken.”

  “You watch sometime when I feed them together, and you’ll see Kezzie’s version of pecking. In a herd, the boss is usually a mare. She’s called the lead mare. Each of the other horses in the herd will have their order after her. The lead mare gets to eat first, drink first, and stand wherever she wants. All the horses get out of her way when she moves around.”

  “That sounds selfish. Mom always tells me to put Jesus first, then Others, then Yourself. She says that’s what gives us JOY.”

  “Your mom’s right,” Grandma agreed. “The pecking order is important for horses in the wild, but it doesn’t work well for people. The respect the other horses have for the lead mare causes them to obey her without stopping to think. She’s always on the lookout and alerts t
he herd when she senses danger. So she has responsibilities along with her privileges.”

  Grandma continued working around Scamper, running her hand down his legs and picking up each hoof briefly. “Why don’t you grab a lead rope and get Kezzie? We’ll take them out to the arena and work on their ground manners.”

  “Are you going to teach him to say please and thank you?” Rosie respected her grandmother’s knowledge and enjoyed learning new things from her about horses, but she had also picked up a little of her grandmother’s sense of humor.

  “It’s very similar to that, actually. Scamper needs to learn to listen to and obey people. There are some things we can teach him while he’s young—like being led with a loose lead. He shouldn’t barge ahead and drag his handler or lag behind so he has to be pulled along. I’ll also teach him to turn whenever I turn, back up, and always keep a safe amount of space between us. At three months, he’s too small to do much damage, but imagine when he weighs nine hundred pounds. You wouldn’t want him stepping on your foot then, would you?”

  “No! Please teach him his ground manners!” Rosie hopped up and down on one foot while holding the other, grimacing with imaginary pain. She remembered how much it had hurt when Jet, who wasn’t a very big pony, had stepped on her foot once.

  Rosie ran to the tack room and picked up a lead rope. Jet’s saddle caught her eye. It looked sad and lonely sitting on a rack in the corner. She fingered the bracelet on her left wrist and felt the tears starting again.

  After Jet’s death, Grandma had saved some of the pony’s tail hair and had matching bracelets made for the two of them. The black, glossy hair had been braided and a silver cross attached at one end. God, I’ll never forget my pony, Jet, but thank you for Scamper. Please help me do a good job helping Grandma train him.