…I shiver in the shadow of the
truck, close my eyes and wait for it to come.
My only regret is that I don’t get to see my wife’s face or hear my
son’s voice call for me one last time.
But then something very close by sounds like my son and, come to think
of it—the truck should’ve crushed me by now.
So slowly I open one eye.
Then the other.
And I realize the semi-trailer has
stopped in mid-air.
It’s just hangs there.
Without a sound.
I shake my head to clear it but my
senses have come back to me now—and still I can hear my son against the frantic
whinnies from the horses still inside the transport compartment.
And then the trailer slowly moves
back and descends, revealing the cable suspending it from the underside of the Sky Fox.
The craft sets the trailer down gently, the top hatch opens and my wife
emerges with our smiling son in her arms.
“What took you so long?” I ask
her with a relieved grin. “Couldn’t find
the right thing to wear?”
“Careful.” She warns, bending down to strap our son back
into his seat. “Or I won’t risk dinner
to save your butt next time.”
I wipe the sweat from my brow, or
more accurately, rub it into the fabric of my cowl, “who says there’s gonna be
a next time?” I mumble to myself. Then I rise from the dirt, walk over to the
trailer and swipe at the lock securing the door with my claws. The lock THUDS
to the dirt and I peer inside. “You
good?” I hear my wife ask as I inspect
the horses who, to my surprise, appear to all be alright, despite the few cuts
I noticed earlier. A heavy sigh escapes
me as I can’t help but think about how much worse this all could’ve turned out.
And then I see him—the one who I
spoke to earlier—Royale With Speed. He’s
bigger than I thought and more beautiful than I could have imagined. The sun glistens off his perfect coat and his
black eyes gaze into mine, filling me with a calmness I never feel when wearing
this damn costume. I move forward, past
the others who all sense that I’m the end to their suffering. I reach out and place my hand on Royale’s
muscular neck. Somehow he manages not to
cringe at the touch of a human, after all he’s been through I couldn’t have
blamed him if he had. He moves his head
up and down, moving the air around to get as much of my scent in as he
can. He still can’t decide if he can
trust me. His huge nostrils sink in and
out with each strong breath. His tail
whips from side to side, swatting at flies.
Then he neighs softly and pushes his long face against my chest—it’s a
gesture easily read without my invention.
Most of the time, if you care enough to just try, it’s not really
difficult to understand animals—but most humans don’t see it that way. No matter what our race, creed or religion,
most of us are too hung up on appearances—if something doesn’t look like us, we
can’t imagine them being like us—sharing thoughts or emotions. It’s a god complex that has allowed us to
accomplish many things as a species: our rank on the food chain, for example. But it’s also given us the belief that we’re
the only ones that matter and that we aren’t responsible for what happens to
the rest of the world in our wake because it’s all here for our use anyway—so
damn the consequences.
A full minute has passed since the
horse nuzzled me and I still can’t take him eyes off him, somewhere in the
distance, my wife asks me again if I need any further assistance. I smile and breathe for the first time in
almost a minute and I finally respond with a nod of my head, “yeah, I think
we’re good.”
“Alright then, I’d better get going
before our quiches burn.”
“Hold on.” I shout, my voice echoing inside the metal
compartment. I tilt my head at a button
on the far end of the unit, a well-placed Fox Star depresses it and the locks
keeping the horses in their stalls release.
I tell them to follow my wife home.
They all accept and the Sky Fox leads them through the woods towards the
green pastures they’ve worked all their lives to find.
All but one. But somehow I’m not surprised that he’s
decided to stay.
Royale With Speed’s head thrusts violently
up and down and he snorts angrily. A
sudden smile spreads across my face as I stroke the animal’s back,
understanding his unmistakable body language, “well old boy, what do ya
say? You up for one last run?” The slow, determined echo of his hooves
against the metal floor of what, only moments ago, had been a horse hearse, is
his only response as the exquisite equine brushes past me and exits the
trailer. “Well then.” I say to myself, wondering if talking to
myself is going to become some odd habit.
“Giddyup.”
Hooves cut tracks in the dirt as we dash through the
undergrowth. Leaves and random foliage
leave green streaks across Royale’s pure white coat as he tears through dense
thickets of saplings without slowing.
The landscape flashes and bounces by like I’m on a tilt-a whirl. I barely feel the breath of the beast
carrying me, this is nothing to him.
Running was what he used to live for.
And in that moment it becomes clear to me that Royale With Speed’s day
had not passed as his former owners had believed. Despite his age, his strides are long and
smooth, I barely feel the jarring ride, even as we trample over uneven ground
littered with rocks and sticks.
His grandfather would’ve been
proud.
I feel a jolt and realize Royale
With Speed has sped up. I look ahead and
see the tractor, despite its strong lead, it has stopped in a clearing—the
drivers probably wondering how they’re going to explain what happened to their
boss. So Royale and I decide to do them
a favor and make it so they won’t be able to form complete sentences for a
while.
The horse lowers his head towards
the ground.
I hang on tight as we near the tree
line.
And we erupt through the ferns like
a volcano of muscle and revenge. The
thug pulling out his hair outside the rig sees us and tries to get back inside
but the driver already spotted us and the engine rumbles to life. The truck starts pulling away down the
logging trail and the guy outside clings to the door handle for dear life. Royale barrels ahead, intent on not letting
the two escape. The driver shifts his
gears but he’s not fast enough and Royale gets right up alongside the rig,
rears up and then kicks the clinging goon into the side of the truck, breaking
a few of his ribs and leaving a nice impression of him in the door. I push off the horse’s muscular back and take
his place on the door. I look back and a
cloud of dust conceals what Royale is doing to the fallen man. Serves
him right. I think to myself before bashing
out the window with my elbow. The driver
picks up his gun to cock it and I grab ahold of the roof of the cab and pull
myself in just as he pumps the action. “You
know it’s really not safe to shoot and drive.”
I tell him as I grab the muzzle and push it back into his face, breaking
his nose. Then I toss the gun out the
window as the driver tries to figure out what to do with the blood oozing from
his face.
The truck comes to an anticlimactic
stop in a knoll of ferns just a little off the beaten path of the old logging
trail—the fight having drained from the driver like—well—blood from his nose, I
suppose. I pat the thug on the shoulder
then we leave the truck. We make it back
to the spot where we left his partner and Royale. The other thug is laying bruised and broken
and covered with blood and dirt.
But he’s alive.
I tell Royale I thought he’d killed
him, that I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.
<Of course you wouldn’t
have,> he knickers. <You’re human. We so called “animals” don’t feel the same
need for revenge as humans do.> All I
can think about the whole way back to the house is how lucky we are that that’s
true. Because if animals did feel the
need for revenge—and if they ever tried to exact that revenge—mankind has much
to answer for and we would surely loose that fight.
We supposedly have intelligence but
animals have strength.
And as a scientist who survived
public school—I can tell you which one usually wins on the playground.
In my driveway back at the house, Royale rejoins his herd
who have already taken to my property. All
twenty of them pace around in the driveway, it’s a wonderful sight that I’ll
never forget. Their coats shine and
their manes bounce, their spirits are lifted and I can’t believe how good they
already look after only forty-five minutes of being out in the open air with a
little bit of fresh grass in their bellies.
My wife steps outside the house, the aromas of the dinner she’s made me follow
her and I can’t wait to sit down to a nice, warm meal. The horses all look at her and she stares
back, smiling.
And at that moment I remember—she’s
always been fond of horses.
“So what are we going to do with
all of them?”
And then the horses are looking at
me, their long mane hair blowing in the warm breeze. “They can stay here with us—if they want to.” I say, not thinking about anything other than
that meal. My wife puts her hands on her
hips and gives me a stern look. Royale
trots up along beside me and wuffles something softly into my ear, I nod in
understanding then rephrase my last remark.
“…I mean of course—if it’s alright with you, my dear.” Then my wife smiles satisfied, and with one
sharp nod of her head, goes back inside to set the table. The horses disperse, heading out into the
trees in search for more grass. Royale
heads off with them, probably to find a nice, soft spot to lay down and rest.
He’s had a long day…they all…we all
have. And it frightens me to think about
how close these beautiful creatures came to never seeing another sun rise. But that thought is tossed away like a fly
buzzing too close to the tail section of a horse.
Their story couldn’t have ended any
better…
Their freedom returned.
Their bellies full
And their spirits unbroken.
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