by Diana Stone
After I’ve cleaned up the horses and put them out to pasture with dinner, Eric comes back, leading his happy horse. They’ve both had a good training ride. Man and horse looked content. I invite him to finish the end of the bottle of wine. “It won’t keep until tomorrow, there’s too much air in the bottle. You’re welcome to have it.”
“You don’t take a swig after everyone leaves?” he queries.
“Nope, I limit my intake. No need to over-do a good thing,” I laugh holding up the bottle for him to decide.
“Good for you,” he smiles. “You’re self-disciplined.”
I give a somewhat un-ladylike grunt. “Oh yes, I’ve always had that problem. My ex was always trying to get me to loosen up. He said I was too straight-laced, but it’s just the way I am. I’m happy following the rules and walking the thin blue line.” The Thin Blue Line as they say in policework.
“I’d love the wine, but what does that say about my self-discipline?” he asks with a grin.
“I don’t hold others to my standards, you can do what you want. But I will judge you,” I laugh.
“I tell you what, how about I skip it this time, and next time I’ll bring a little something to eat with it?”
“Sounds like a plan. When are you returning?”
“I’ll try to make it here 3 days a week, I’m ramping up for next month. We’re entered in the Wine Country 25 Miler in Santa Ynez.”
“How fun, I did a 28-mile endurance ride when I was in high school. We came in 13th,” I reminisce.
“I didn’t know you had those riding skills, we must talk it about it another time. I need to get home. I have work I need to finish since I played hooky this afternoon.”
“Life intrudes doesn’t it?” I wonder what he does. I’ll ask another time. Women always ask since a career is important to the status of a man. We all want to know what kind of provider he is, or has the potential to become.
We say our goodbyes and I wander up to the house in search of dinner.
I’m sitting down at the kitchen table watching the sunset over the vineyards. I’m satisfied with my day and my life. My phone dings a text from Jack. I’d forgotten all about him. This is what I read… “Having a great time, occasionally thinking of you.”
“Occasionally thinking of you.” That’s a blow to my ego, though I already figured it out.
For the next few hours, I’m watching happy sitcoms on TV. No other texts, so I guess this is the only one for the next few days. The last one was, let’s see… four days ago. They’re getting more spread out. All I can think is that he’s lost whatever interest he had for me. I’m done with waiting. I won’t wait for the idiot to decide that I’m worth his time. I don’t chase and I won’t grovel. It will be interested to see how long it takes before his next text. Will it be another four days or will it be longer? This may be his way of weaning me off. I’ll turn this into a scientific experiment. It’s his loss, not mine.
25
The Wind
Why is it that the normally incorrect weatherman is always correct about the wind? A miserable gale has been ripping down the canyons since last night. The hay blows away as fast as the horses grab a bite. I’ve had to double feed them, so they have something to eat. This morning I’ll make a trip to town to get alfalfa pellets. It will give them food that doesn’t blow away. It’s a slow drive. Blowing clouds of dirt reduce my visibility and downed tree branches partially block the road.
Only the hardiest visitors are in town. They’re probably from out of the area. Anyone who lives within fifty miles knows about the wind and rescheduled their day trip for a nicer time.
And only the hardiest of the hardy come to ride today. The few who brave the weather actually enjoy it. For the guys from the east coast, this is a definite change of weather. One guy, yelling over the howl of the wind, says it feels like the old west. I can see his point, with the dust and tumbleweeds blowing. The horses have their heads down as they trudge into the wind, their manes and tails whipping across their bodies. I have a bandana tied across my mouth, and I’m using sunglasses to protect my eyes. I even put fly masks on the horses though there isn’t a self-respecting fly in sight. They help protect the horse’s eyes from the dirt. When the guys first saw the horses they laughed. They think it makes them look like bandits.
We’re having the wine tasting in the barn, rather than at the new picnic tables outside. The wind is knocking against the walls, but it’s snug in here. The three men are having a blast and doing their best to pick me up. I’m not pickup-able and I graciously say no. I make it a joke and tell them I have a boyfriend who won’t share. It’s not the total truth. Actually, it isn’t the truth at all, but it keeps the peace. I have to admit, my ego is feeling pretty good right now. It’s all good-natured and they drive away happy. I’ve kept happy clients.
The rest of the day entails feeding and making sure the poor horses have enough food and water. It’s very dehydrating, and I think this is colic weather. Sadly enough, almost any weather can be colic weather. But, I won’t go there.
I finally drag my dusty body to the house and see that Eric sent me two texts. I hadn’t heard them due to the wind. “Yesterday Calypso got ripped up by the corral roof. I had the doc suture him up, but he isn’t doing well.”
An hour later he sent: “You’re good with horses, do you have any ideas. He really looks bad. The doc gave him pain meds.”
I have an idea, so I skip the texting and go straight to a phone call. He immediately answers.
“Hi Eric, I’m so sorry I didn’t hear your text. I was leading a ride in this awful wind.”
He explains the situation. Calypso’s corral roof is made of corrugated aluminum. A corner worked loose and flapped all night. It snapped the spot welds, then tore off and flew into him. He’s cut all over. Some are superficial and some are really deep. The vet has him saturated with DMSO to keep down the inflammation. He’s on Bute for the same thing. I’ve been running the cold hose on him as well. He’s a wreck. I may take him to the hospital. But I don’t know what more they can do.”
“I’m sorry, he’s such a neat horse. What a shame,” the poor thing. “I want to run an idea past you… are you open to weird things…?”
I tell him about the vortex; about how Jack’s horse was close to death. He recovered after a visit, and is now doing fine. I describe what happened when I went there. I only had insight, but Jack had a sore ankle and came out healed. Does he want to try it with Calypso?
“I love my horse, I’ll try anything.” That’s a good horseman’s response. We’re willing to do anything to help our horses.
“Let me text Jack and see if it’s okay. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”
I don’t get a reply from Jack, but that’s normal. So I call his office and leave a message. Now what? I made my courtesy calls, now I’m heading over to his property. I doubt I’ll be in trouble, and I don’t care. This is an exception, and I didn’t promise to stay away. I recall sidestepping the promise.
“Hi Eric, I’ve left messages, no one answers. So I say screw it, let’s go!” I give him directions to Jack’s barn. He’ll trailer Calypso over there, then we’ll lead him up the canyon.
I arrive first at Jack’s. I find Rafael, the barn manager, in the nice snug barn. Their Thoroughbreds are munching hay as the wind rages outside. Ah, the delights of wealth. I can hear the wind driving bits of dirt and sticks against the outside the barn.
I turn on the charm since I’m asking for permission or at least leniency. He remembers me from a few weeks ago when I came here with Jack—that’s a good sign. I explain that I tried to get hold of Jack and his office staff; and that we are bringing an injured horse to see if the vortex will help him. I make sure he knows about the drama of the sheet metal cutting Calypso. Any horseman would say yes, and Rafael is no exception. I told him I will take all responsibility. If Jack is upset, he can say that he didn’t give me permission, and I went on my own.
We hear the
crunch of gravel as the rig pulls into the yard. We both rush outside to see how Calypso looks.
Oh hell! He looks worse than I imagined. I’m surprised he isn’t in the hospital. His legs are bandaged and have medication stains from the DMSO. His mane and tail are stiff with dried blood that wasn’t completely washed out. There are huge slices across his gray coat. He has wounds that have been sutured but are badly swollen and fighting against being held closed. His whole body is swollen. But it’s his attitude. He looks awful, like his spirit has gone.
“He looks terrible. Is he on Ace or something? He’s so depressed.” This is bad.
“He’s getting worse. He’s on pain medication, but he isn’t tranquilized. Over the last hour he’s been going down-hill,” he admits. “I hope to hell your vortex works like you say.”
I turn to Rafael standing beside us. “You can see this is an emergency?” I plea.
“Si, yes, I’ll take you to the vortex. I have lights, it will make it better for you,” he runs off to get the ATV started.
The headlight flickers in the blackness as we push into the raging wind. Calypso shows his royal blood by following his friend, step by painful step. It is the longest half mile I’ll ever walk. I hope this works. I hope I’m not stressing this poor horse beyond his limits. He’s in pain and digging deep within himself to obey Eric. His nostrils are flared wide, taking in more oxygen. His body is sweating from exertion. He can only do this because of his fitness. With these wounds, no other horse would make it.
“I hope this isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had,” I yell.
“Hope not,” he dryly replies.
Eric is coaxing and speaking to his battered horse as they stumble through the sand. We frequently stop to let him rest. The horse seems to understand that he has to keep going. He willingly starts forward again after a minute of rest with his head low.
Rafael gives a shout. Up ahead I see the dark entrance to the vortex. We’re finally here!
26
The Vortex Again
“Eric, we’re here!” I shout with relief.
He’s worried, and I can see the frustration on his face. I know he thinks this is a horrible mistake. I have a feeling he is angry with himself for listening to me, for taking a chance. He believes he’s going to lose his horse.
A horse transforms a human. We are mere mortals until we sit on their back. Then we become superior beings. They make us proud, we are an extension of their power and beauty. That’s why the Bedouins keep their horses in their tents, that’s why rulers and queens ride them, and that’s why I have two of them.
Rafael turns off the ATV but leaves the headlight pointing into the vortex.
The wind is whipping down the canyon blowing sand into my eyes. I turn to Eric and try to put on a reassuring look.
I approach and step through the entrance into the peaceful realm. It’s obvious the wind hasn’t invaded this inner world. It’s still and peaceful. The water is gently bubbling up in the center, moisturizing the ground and the air. My face and lungs appreciate the moisture. I don’t know if I feel relief for having arrived, or if I feel something more. It’s too early to tell.
Turning to Eric and Calypso, I stand aside and swing my arm toward the chamber in a welcoming gesture. Eric is not giving me eye contact. That’s a bad sign.
They walk into the moist sand and stop. The horse is panting. His sides are heaving. His head hanging low. He has enough spirit to keep his muzzle off the ground, but he looks exhausted.
Minutes pass, and more minutes. The light from the ATV goes dim. Rafael turns it off to save the battery.
Eric is still speaking softly to his horse. I don’t want to intrude. I find my way over to the log that I shared weeks ago with Jack. Here is where I felt insight into my future. But that doesn’t seem to have worked out. I sit and wait, as my eyes become accustomed to the darkness. Over there, stand the man and his horse, hoping for a miracle. How long will it take? Will anything happen? At least it’s quiet and calm in here.
Calypso puts his muzzle down to the damp sand and moves it around with his lips. He looks like may lie down. Oh no. Don’t give up. Don’t.
He takes a deep breath and slowly lowers himself to the ground, lying flat out with his whole body on the damp sand.
Most people have erroneously been told not to let their horse lie down when he is sick. The idea is that a piece of intestine may flip across itself. However, the latest information is that it’s fine to let them rest, just as long as they’re not rolling and thrashing.
Calypso lies still. Soon he stops panting. His breathing relaxes into long deep breaths. He sighs and relaxes his body into the cool sand. Long minutes pass. Eric sits next to him, gently touching him, running his fingers through his mane, untangling it. Calypso occasionally gives a deep sigh, drawing oxygen into his lungs, hopefully healing himself.
He lies there for what seems like several hours. I look at my phone to check the time, but it doesn’t work in here. Maybe the magnetic pull is doing something to the satellite signal. I’m just sitting quietly, not tired, but exhausted… if that makes sense. I’ve shifted the responsibility for the life or death of this horse onto myself. If I hadn’t almost sworn that it would work, I bet Calypso would be in the hospital now; hooked up to IVs and alive. He’s alive now, just barely. How will we get him back to the trailer? I’m screwed. I’ve ruined everything. Hold on, this isn’t about me, it’s about him. Eric is still sitting next to him. If he dies, I bet he’ll sit next to the body for days. How do we get his body out? Oh no, Jack will be pissed off. I don’t even want to think about that. When Eric told me about the accident, I should have said how sorry I was, and just kept my mouth shut about the vortex.
What about Jack? So much for him and his promised words… “I’ll text you and send pictures.” Yeah, right.
Thinking about that reminds me… where’s my insight? The vortex isn’t working. Is there something I’m not doing? Am I so rattled that I can’t relax into a state of allowing, or whatever it wants? I’m sitting and sitting. I would be biting my nails or smoking if I did either of those. I’d be eating too. I’m hungry, now that I think of it.
It’s hard to know what to say to someone in a situation like this. “I’m sorry for your pain.” That sounds terrible since I’m responsible. No, I’m not responsible, the metal came from his shelter. It wasn’t my fault; I didn’t build the roof. Why didn’t he watch out for that? Who welded the roof? Maybe he’ll sue the builder for vet bills. But then they’ll point to me and say it was my stupid idea that killed the horse. Damn it, I didn’t want to. I was trying to help.
“Can you feel that?” Eric’s voice shocks me out of my tirade.
“Uh, I’m not sure.” That’s a good answer when I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“I feel like I’m floating, but I’m sitting down. Wait a sec, it’s peaceful. Is this what you were telling me?”
Maybe I have too much adrenaline to feel it. I don’t feel anything. Why not, what’s going on?
“That’s what I felt last time, but I’m not feeling anything yet,” I tell him. Yet… hopefully the word is correct.
I’ll try to calm down and hope the vortex is finally doing something. It may not work if I’m in a dither. Zen, Zen come on Zen!
I take deep breaths and try not to think. Deep breaths, deep, deep. Breathe out like the gym-rat girls do, through pursed lips. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, out.
I think I feel a little lighter. Keep breathing. In, out. Yes, I do feel a little something. Please, yes, be something. I need it to work.
“Wow, you were right. I’m getting clarity,” Eric whispers.
Clarity—how can he feel it when I don’t? Maybe because I’m yelling at myself, and he isn’t. Fine, I’ll stop yelling and just be quiet. If I can.
Calypso takes in a deep breath and snorts it out. Then he starts scratching his neck back and forth in the sand. This is good to see. Wounded horses
don’t attend to their sneezes and itches. They only feel pain.
I’m feeling slightly more relaxed. I’m afraid to leave the reality of a sick horse and my part in it. I don’t dare believe. But okay, I’ll try.
A little breeze picks up, gently swirling. I remember that’s a good sign. I’m feeling more peaceful and I’m calming down at last. I take a deep breath and allow the vortex to do its work.
The three of us remain still and silent. We three are in our own worlds.
The scent of sage fills the space. This time it’s even stronger than the last.
I’m getting fleeting thoughts. They come and quickly go. My thoughts are telling me that Jack has free will. He’s exercising it, including going in a different direction than I want. I’m not getting any insight as to what the two of us will be. I assume it means that the future can be changed; it isn’t written in stone. I feel Eric has a big part in my future. I also see Calypso back at full strength with lots of laughter and fun. This isn’t soul-mate stuff, it’s just enjoying life. I know I need to enjoy my life. I’ve been on such a quest to find the right man, but I need to settle down and love what’s right in front of me. I shouldn’t pass it over for a mistaken dream. There really isn’t a perfect man. Don’t get myself all wrapped up in an emotional situation. Have fun, just have fun. If I were a kid, the fun would be climbing into tree houses, playing tag, and swimming in a pool shouting Marco-Polo. This is what I need to do. Go for the fun and the adventure. Skip the soul-mate stuff. Jack has his own plans. Too bad guy; go make your Port without me.
A while later, Calypso moves, indicating he’s going to stand. The gray rolls up onto his sternum. He looks around, then in one smooth athletic movement, powers to his feet. He shakes himself like a dog; the sand flies off him in wet clumps.
