Sierra

A hoof stomped the damp dirt, spraying mud against my face and church shirt. I looked up at Sierra’s toffee-colored face. I was crunched up on the ground, and she towered above me. She lowered her head and nuzzled my shoulder with her velvet nose, smearing molasses on my shirt. My mom would be mad. We had just returned from the junior-high youth group, and I had raced out to the barn as soon as my mom parked the car. Some of the girls had taken my Bible, a gift from my Grandma, and burned it over the campfire. Although I was accustomed to such experiences as the dorky, home-schooled farm kid, I needed an escape from the yelling and swearing that I knew would soon ensue inside our house. In the barn, I only heard Sierra and her foal crunching their hay and the singing of the barn swallows. Sierra’s colt trotted up beside me and began his daily attempts at eating my hair, which blended in with the chocolate stall boards behind me. His short breaths tickled my neck, and the scent of honeydew surrounded me. Horses’ breath had reminded me of honeydew for as long as I could remember. His relentless pestering forced me from the ground, and I climbed onto Sierra’s cottony back, safe from the foal. I laid on her back and listened to her deep breaths, my hair mixed with her white and black tail. These moments were worth the many months I spent baking bread and mowing lawns to buy her. Here I felt like a young bird hiding away in its mother’s nest, watching the world from a secure and stable place. Here nothing could reach me. I stayed in this position until the owls started screeching, and then, I knew it was safe to make my way to my bedroom.

The next morning was chilly, but the sun was rising above the hills; it would be hot soon. I grabbed my faded, torn tee-shirt and raced to the barn. The hens had been sitting on their eggs for almost three weeks now. I had heard peeping the afternoon before. After much coaxing with corn, I lured the brooding hens from their nests and peeked at the green and blue eggs. A few eggs were pipped, but no chicks had hatched yet—they should break free by the end of the day. I turned the water on and flung the hay over the fence, covering Sierra and the foal. Sierra didn’t shake the hay off and whinny at me like she typically does. She must be tired from the late night, I thought. I shut the water off and went about gathering up the good eggs, cracking a couple in the process. The sooner I finished my chores and school, the sooner I could return to the barn.

It was around seven when I finally broke free from the house, my mom yelling after me as I once again headed for the barn to see if the chicks had also broken free from their oval prisons. The goats were bleating louder than usual; their cries reaching all the way to our backyard. I would see what was going on with them after I checked the hens. I lifted the latch on the barnyard gate and squeezed through, adding another tear to my shirt. Turning around, I held up my hand in preparation for the onslaught of Sierra and foal. My hand met air. I scanned the pasture and saw Sierra in the lower corner–she was on the ground with the foal standing over her. I sprinted towards them but slowed a few yards away, not wanting to startle her. She was lying with her head extended and legs stretched out. Her side was shaking with her breathing. I placed my hand on her neck; it came away damp with sweat.

The neighbor girl leaned over the fence on the other side of the pasture, asking if the chicks had hatched yet. I shrieked for her to run to my house and get my parents. She took off as I ripped my shirt off, grateful for the tank top I chose to wear that morning. I stretched the shirt under Sierra’s head and strained against it. She had to get up.

“Come on, girl. You can do it!” Sierra opened her eyes and pulled her front feet under her. “That’s it—you’re doing it, girl.” She lifted her front half from the ground, sitting like a dog. Then her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the dirt. Her left hoof caught my bare shin, and my blood mixed with her sweat trickled down my leg.

“No, girl, you have got to stand up!” I fell to the ground beside her, my hands sinking into her tri-colored mane. I heard shouting from the barnyard; my dad’s thunderous voice startled the colt and he darted behind Sierra. His size-fourteen boots appeared in the corner of my eye, his breathing drowning out Sierra’s. Before my dad could catch his breath, my mom joined us with the vet on the phone. The vet would come as soon as she could, but she told us to get Sierra up and keep her moving until she arrived.

“She is just fine. We’ve just got to get her up, then she will be right back to normal.” My dad’s words would have been reassuring if not spoken as if he was shouting at his football team after a loss. With my parents’ and the neighbor girl’s help, we got Sierra to her feet. I walked her, encouraging her forward step by step as the sun sank lower in the horizon and the air grew cooler. Sierra pressed her head against me, leaning on my shoulder from time to time when she faltered. My feet began to blister and bleed, and the foal soon stopped following us around the pasture, but we kept on. Then, when the sun had fallen below the hills, she shook and lifted her head from my shoulder. The foal perked up and pranced over to us. She nuzzled his back and let him nurse. I sank to the ground and watched. I faintly heard my mom on the phone with the vet updating her on Sierra’s situation. The vet said she would still come and make sure everything was okay.

Once my mom hung up, she came and sat next to me on the grass, offering me a Werther’s candy. We both leaned back and looked up at the emerging stars, listening to the sound of the owls and geese. The birds’ chorus was interrupted by a thud and squeal; Sierra had fallen. We pushed and pulled until the vet’s headlights illuminated the pasture. The grass was torn up around her, and our skin was damp and shining in the lights. The vet stuck a needle in Sierra’s neck, saying it would ease the pain and help get her back on her feet so she could do some tests. We did get Sierra back on her feet, but this time her head hung so low that her nose touched the ground. Her tail fell dead against her hind legs, not flicking the mosquitoes or gnats away. The vet listened to Sierra’s stomach and chest, then turned. Her white face shown in the dark like that of a lamp without its shade. I couldn’t look at her face, so I fixed my eyes on Sierra who stood motionless a few feet away from me.

“She has a severe case of colic. We would need to bring her in and perform surgery immediately.” The vet paused, avoiding my eyes.

“Then let’s do that. I will pay for it. Come on, girl. Let’s load you up.” I reached for Sierra’s halter.

“Wait, honey.” The vet’s voice faltered, and I felt my body chill as though someone had dropped me into an icy lake. “The chances of her making it to the clinic are extremely slim, and she would be suffering the entire time. Even if she did make it there. . .” Her voice faded and all I heard were a few words about her heart rate being too fast and euthanasia. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Sierra’s head was inches from mine; somehow, I was on the ground again. Her labored breath blew my disgruntled hair from my face. I leaned my face against hers, and she let out a gentle nicker. I knew I was sobbing by the tears streaming down our faces and the erratic jerking in my chest, but I couldn’t feel it. My parents were grabbing my arms and trying to pull me away. As I was being lifted from my mare, I wrapped my arms around her neck and buried my face in her mane. Heat hit my face, and I felt the wall of numbness melting away with each second I clung to her. When I couldn’t hang on any longer, I fell and was dragged along with the colt out of the pasture. It was as though a bomb exploded within me and left my interior in shambles. Breathing, hearing, and seeing tangled together within me. Sierra lifted her head and tried to follow, but she tripped and tumbled to the dirt, never to rise. My ears struggled to translate the sound, but the thud traveled through the ground and up into my bones.

It was outside of that pasture, with Sierra’s lifeless form on the other side of the fence, that my dad did not yell or swear but just held me and my mom silently. We stayed here, with the foal, until tints of blue streaked across the sky and the birds’ song changed tunes. What I, for so many years, found in Sierra—peace, comfort, acceptance, and companionship—I then found traces of in my family. Losing Sierra reminded my family of how valuable we were to one another. Although I lost Sierra, I gained a renewed family and an incredibly special bond with her colt, Sapphire—named after the color of the sky that early morning when we finally sat silently in one another’s presence.