Anyone who has ever truly loved a horse knows how impermanent and unpredictable life really is. Statistically, horses can live to a healthy twenty-something. Sturdy ponies can boast even greater longevity.
Still, even a young horse can break hearts, slipping away far too soon.
My own special mare, a dear dam of twenty, has given us some beautiful babies and many years of kind companionship and righteous rides. Recently, the cycle of lymphangitis has given us several scares and more than a few emergency vet calls at the barn.
Last night was no exception. Lately, I’m almost leery of answering my cell phone, particularly when the caller I.D. reveals a call from a barn chum.
We know we are sharing borrowed time, so we will try to treasure it.
Photos c2010 by Nickers and Ink.
A Rhyming Ridge Too Close to the Bridge
The horn may sound, and hounds may bay;
Companions search for words to say.
We watch for hours at her side,
Awaiting yet the coming tide.
The fever strikes; the lymph nodes swell.
Perhaps the clock may only tell.
I cling fast to a fraying rope,
And in the melting mud, hold hope.
It breaks my heart to see her fall. –
Another close call after all.
c2010 by Linda Ann Nickerson
Posted for a variety of prompts:
Meme Express (“mud”)
Simply Snickers (“horn,” “hound” and “hours”)
Weekend Wordsmith (“rope”)
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