Moving On

1

Tuckersville, Tennessee, 1999

Lauren Guthrie woke with a start, jumping out of her cozy bed and nearly falling with her legs tangled in the covers, before her feet managed to find the floor. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told her it was just after two in the morning. She was right on time. Not bothering to change out of her flannel pajama pants, she pulled a hooded sweatshirt over her head, shuffled down the hall, and then headed downstairs to the mudroom at the back of the house. She slipped into a warm chore coat and pulled on her muck boots, reciting in her heart a silent plea that everything would be all right in the barn. She had to be sneaky. Horses were funny that way, waiting until all was quiet and still before bringing their newborns into the world. May, Lauren’s sorrel mare, had been acting agitated all afternoon, with her teats full of milk, pacing along her pasture fence, and pinning her ears at the other horses. Usually she was laid-back and quite friendly. Lauren had high hopes for this foal, as May was one of her favorite broodmares. As a team, she and May had won a good chunk of money in cutting competitions over the last five years. Though not enough to pay her full college tuition, it had been enough to cover the difference that her scholarships did not. This coming spring, it would be a year since she graduated with honors and an agricultural business degree. What college did not teach her about running the family business, she had already learned from her parents. The hardest part about going away to college was having to be away from the farm. Besides missing her family, she was often homesick for the horses, the fresh air, and the work that she had to leave behind. It was unlike her to allow someone else to do her chores, feed and care for her mares, and keep track of the daily goings-on around the farm. It felt so good to be there full time now. She had her own house on the opposite side of the farm from the home she grew up in. With white siding, black shudders, a bright, red entry door, and a wrap around porch, it was a charming guest house. A spacious living room opened up into her modest kitchen. A half-bath, mudroom, guest room, and a small office completed the downstairs. Her bedroom and full bathroom were upstairs in the loft. Though not more than thirteen hundred square feet, the little house was perfect for Lauren. She’d painted the walls with relaxing hues and furnished the place with Western décor. This was definitely her space, and she appreciated the privacy and freedom this house afforded her. She stepped out into the chilled darkness of the night. The nearly full moon sent out enough light to guide her down the well-worn path to the barn. The old building was built extremely solid with rough hewn timbers and boards. The cracked, faded paint that used to be white, showed the beating borne of time and weather. She used to nap in the hay as a kid. At times, she and her sister, Kate, would hide from their friends and cousins in the dusty hayloft. Though time had changed its appearance, the smells in the old barn remained the same: sweet grass-alfalfa hay, leather, and horses. These scents greeted her as she slid the huge aisle door open. When the doorway was just wide enough, she squeezed inside as quietly as possible. Lauren could hear the welcome sounds of May nickering, huffing softly, and a faint suckling sound. Relief washed over her as she peeked into the foaling stall to see mamma and baby curled around each other as the foal gingerly nursed. On long, gangly legs, the foal was swishing its fuzzy tail, indicating that it was indeed getting a full belly. After grabbing a small bottle of iodine from a shelf, Lauren opened the latch on the stall door, slid it ajar, and went inside, closing it behind her. First she went to May. “Good girl, May Mama. Look at what you did.” Though she patted May on her neck, the mare was more preoccupied with her foal. Lauren reached out to touch the little rump where May was nuzzling it and worked her way around until she was standing beside the foal. Reaching underneath its belly, she doused its umbilical cord with the iodine. She discovered that the foal was a colt. He was sorrel just like May, but he had one white hind sock and a blaze down his finely featured face. He realized that she was there and peered around his shoulder to look at her. He stretched out his whiskered muzzle and smelled her and then went back to his mother for more milk. Not wanting to spoil the moment any further, Lauren scooped up the placenta and left the stall. She put the heavy afterbirth into a garbage bag and tied it tightly shut. They always kept the afterbirth bags refrigerated in the vet room for a few days in case the need arose later for diagnosis of disease or defects. It was a cold February night, but with the body heat from May and a couple of other horses in the barn, the colt was warm and nearly dry. Lauren checked on everyone else before leaving the barn, closing the door, and walking back up to her house. I have so much to be grateful for, she thought as she looked up at the stars in the sky. The house felt warm as she entered via the back door into the mudroom. Shucking off her boots, coat, and sweatshirt, she went into the kitchen and flipped on the light above the sink. She grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water. She took a few swallows and eyed the clock on the stove: 2:45 a.m. Still time to sleep a while before the alarm goes off. She thudded up the stairs and melted back into bed. She said a silent prayer of thanks for the safety and health of May and her new colt before sleep overtook her.