The snow crunched underfoot. My breath blossomed like pewter flowers in the still air. I wiped a tear with my glove. It’s only a damned old horse. That’s what Ben Jensen had said at coffee yesterday. I hadn’t slept. I inserted the needle into the rubber top of the bottle and loaded the syringe.
“Doc Hagen said this stuff was painless," I had told my wife.
“Painless for whom?" my wife had asked.
The barn door creaked open. Old Jack turned his good eye toward me. He said hello like he had for two decades with that chuffing sound in his throat. His winter coat was matted with cockleburs. He tried to step toward me, but faltered.
I put the syringe on the window sill and pulled an apple from my pocket.
“Jimmy told me to tell you goodbye, old buddy."
I offered the apple. Jack wasn’t interested. I dropped it in the straw and removed a box of sugar cubes.
“Here, eat them all."
Jack munched one halfheartedly, as if he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
“Jimmy’s an attorney in Houston—calls himself James now—you wouldn’t know him anymore. The truth is he could have come, but—"
I scratched Jack’s forehead and brushed my hand across his ribs. Even Jack’s thick winter coat couldn’t hide those protruding ribs.
“Charlotte sent her love. Her kids are in school."
I slipped a halter over Jack’s head. For two decades he had followed me like a puppy, but the last few weeks Jack walked only when necessary.
“Remember Jimmy’s birthday party. How many kids piled on you—six maybe seven? Didn’t they laugh? And Char’s friends in the sleigh? You love the sleigh, don’t you, boy?"
I wiped another tear.
“Mary’s in the house. She just couldn’t come. She said you would understand."
I tugged the halter rope. Jack emerged from the barn into the gray January chill. He shivered and chuffed.
“I’ll never forget the blizzard. Jesus, it was snowing so hard. I couldn’t see five feet, but somehow you brought me home from the north pasture. You saved my life, Jack."
I stopped near the sleigh. Jack nuzzled the frayed seat where for more than twenty years our children had sat behind him.
“Let’s get hitched up, old friend."
I backed him into the shafts. I went to the barn for the harness. When I returned, Mary was there. Her tear-streaked face resting against Jack’s.
“I had to come," she said. “I had to."
We harnessed Jack and hooked him to the sleigh. Jack would die with dignity. It was the least I could do.
He looked at us and chuffed again. “Why don’t you climb aboard?" Jack was asking.
I went to the barn, got the syringe and returned. I removed my glove. Mary put her arm around my waist. Just before I injected the fluid, I felt her bare hand on mine.
We injected him together, then gave him a final hug.
“Thanks, Jack," she whispered.
We stood back and clung to each other.
Mary looked into my eyes.
“It’s only a damned old horse," she sobbed.
Marty RicKard Bio
Marty RicKard attended William Penn College, Iowa State University and University of Southern Mississippi, from which he holds a BS degree in journalism and photojournalism. He also has a Masters Degree in photography, in addition to the Craftsman, CPP, and A-ASP degrees. Marty spent two years as a technical writer for White Motor Company, and has worked for the Charles City Press, Mason City Globe-Gazette, and Davenport Times-Democrat. He was owner of the weekly New Sharon Star, where he was twice named Iowa Master Columnist for his article, which was syndicated in twenty Iowa newspapers. For more than a decade Marty’s regular column appeared in the Professional Photographer magazine. He has been published in many other magazines and newspapers, including Writer’s Digest, Writer Advice, Golf Digest, Resource Magazine, Picture, Range Finder, and Darkroom. In addition to his writing credits, Marty has won numerous photography awards, has lectured in 48 states, and has traveled internationally as lecturer, and judge. He was one of thirty from the U.S. to participate in the first cultural exchange with China in 1986. He currently is a regular columnist for Lens Magazine, and a full-time writer of fiction and poetry. He is the author of two poetry books and one volume of short stories. He is an entertaining speaker. |
