- Elaine the Not So Wild Mustang lives her life with the
utmost care. She's almost 20 years old and moves slowly and stiffly most
of the time.
-
- When she's startled, though, Elaine takes off like a
streak. Her survival instinct kicks in, and she's gone with the wind.
-
- The two things sure to send her running are angry nips
from her soul mate, Huck the Spotless Appaloosa, and the sound of something
heavy scraping along the ground. I always understood her reaction to the
nips - even love bites from a 1,400 pound Casanova hurt - but it wasn't
until last winter that I learned the reason for her other big fear.
-
- No, not from Elaine. Even after all these years, she
doesn't talk much to people. It was Huck who explained things one day
after she'd sprinted to the farthest corner of the corral while I dragged
a garbage can full of firewood to the house.
-
- Huck's ears flicked toward the garbage can. "You're
bringing back bad memories," he said. "Causing my girl pain."
-
- "How?" I said. "What happened?"
-
- "The sound reminds her of when she was captured.
A group of men dragged bales of hay into her herd's territory, and the
horses who went to eat it were roped and netted. They kicked and fought,
but in the end all of them, including Elaine, got dragged away."
-
- "I'm sorry," I said. "If I could pick
the can up and carry it to the house I would. But I'm just a human being
- "
-
- "And not strong, like a horse." Huck nickered.
It sounded like a laugh. "Maybe if you brought over some carrots
she'd feel better. I know I would."
-
- He laughed again.
-
- I thought about that conversation this morning as I brought
the horses their hay and saw only Huck, standing protectively in the wooded
part of the corral. Looking closer, I saw that he was beside Elaine, who
lay on her side.
-
- I slipped through the wire fence and hurried through
the cleared part of their area to the trees. Elaine's head rested on the
ground, her face angled toward me. I waited for her to blink. To lift her
head. To get to her feet.
-
- It didn't happen.
-
- Not even an ear twitch.
-
- Nothing.
-
- My chest started to tighten. A feeling of dread.
-
- I slowed down. Moved closer.
-
- Heard her ragged breathing. Still alive!
-
- But in a mode I've seen before with animals. The Near-Death
Mode. The peaceful acceptance thing where they're not thinking about life
anymore, just preparing for whatever comes after.
-
- Looking past Elaine, I saw why. Sometime in the night
she'd lain down at the back end of the corral. Probably she'd rolled around
a little - a horse's equivalent of a shower is to roll in the dirt - and
then tried to get up.
-
- Except that she couldn't get up. Because her hind legs
had gotten caught in the "barbless barbed wire" Gwen the Beautiful
had insisted we put in.
-
- Because of this, Elaine wasn't cut or torn, but she was
trapped. Probably had been all night.
-
- Long enough to make her give up.
-
- I walked around her. I wanted to get outside the fence
and see if I could move the wire, or her legs, or both, to free her. I
worried that she'd panic and kick at me and twist or break a leg. Maybe
her leg. Maybe mine. But she wasn't going to make it unless I did something.
-
- Huck watched me closely. Blew softly. Seemed to nod.
-
- Suddenly I heard barking. Two of our dogs, Decker and
Belle, had been in the trailer with Burl Jr. The New Groundskeeper. Now
they were out . and running into the corral.
-
- Huck reared.
-
- Elaine squealed --
-
- And in a burst of adrenaline forgot all about the fence
and the reason she was down. I threw myself to the side just in time as
Elaine rolled and leapt and kicked and pushed and - Yes! - made it to her
feet and ran, ran, ran as though she was young again, and sound.
-
- Huck charged at the dogs. They've never read Shakespeare,
but are smart enough to know when the better part of valor definitely
is discretion. Off they scurried, back to the trailer.
-
- When the dust settled, Elaine and Huck and the dogs and
I, and even the fence, were safe. Intact. Doing fine.
-
- A crippled old mare taught me a wonderful lesson today.
-
- Nothing's over unless you give up.
-
-
- Copyright C 2006 by Larry Brody. For permission to reprint
this column, please write to LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org.
-
- Author Larry Brody's weekly column, LIVE! FROM PARADISE!
appears on his website, www.larrybrody.com. He has written thousands of
hours of network television, and is the author of "Television Writing
from the Inside Out" and "Turning Points in Television."
Brody is Creative Director of The Cloud Creek Institute for the Arts,
the world's first in-residence media colony. More about his activities
can be seen on www.tvwriter.com and www.cloudcreek.org. He welcomes your
comments and feedback at LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org. Brody, his wife and
their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion County, Arkansas.
The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise reside in his imagination.
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