Special note to readers: In the story that follows, the horse’s memory of the moments after her birth are the recollections of an older horse looking back. A number of people have taken exception to the possibility of a foal being capable of remembering its birth. The truth is, it is a well established fact (in the horse world) that foals do retain eidetic memories from those early moments. Horse owners have come to call it ‘imprinting.’
Horses do not think like humans at all. They are all about sight, sound, smell and touch. Senses we puny humans fail miserably in by comparison. They are large creatures with a short life span that reacts largely to eidetic memory and instinct. Things that are taught to a new born foal in captivity within the first moments of birth help to make training easier later. If you halter a newborn, ( yes, they make foal halters) at a later time, when you want to properly halter train them, the job is easily done, because their eidetic memory has recollection of the halter on the day of their birth. If you pick them up, they remember the experience of being handled. If you use a floppy towel to help dry them they recall that experience later when you want to blanket and saddle train them.
Things taught in the first hours of birth help new foals survive in the wilds with all the confusion of the wild herd, especially in the advent of accidentally being separated from their dam and needing to get back together with her. Newborn foals do not mistake other mares for their mother.
There has been criticism of this concept and people telling me they couldn’t read the first chapter, because they believe this is erroneous on my part, when in truth it is a well documented fact. I have not had one horse person question it. I believe it’s because personal experience has taught them this truth. So I decided to make this clear for non horsey people in the hope that it doesn’t disrupt a person’s ability to see and feel the images that follow.
As for telepathy among horses, there are many people who believe horses can transfer pictures or mental images back and forth. To my knowledge, there is no valid documentation on this concept, so I would ask for your indulgence in the suspension of reality for the sake of literary fun.
Chapter 1
My special moment of birth took place at dawn, in a warm box stall, during the wintery second moon of a new year. Looking back, there are several things I can remember about that day, and no matter what things came to pass afterward, nothing could ever diminish the experience of being born. The precious moments after birth are when every sensation of sight, sound, smell and touch leave everlasting, imprinted images on all Kindred. Those first impressions form the basis out of which personality, character and courage grow.
I can remember the day clearly. I landed with a soft thump in a spongy bed of fresh straw, too shocked and dazed to know what came before that precise moment. I lay legs sprawled all akimbo quivering with shock and cooling wetness, struggling to understand what had just happened. My sensitive ears flickered in automatic response to all the sharp whinnies from excited horses that were stalled up and down the barn row. Unknown to me, at that moment, the scent of birthing fluids spread the news of a new arrival faster than Kindred telepathy and joyous neighs trumpeted with what was considered to be a wonderful community affair.
I was stunned and confused about what I should do, if anything, and then a gust of warm breath from my mother’s nostrils whooshed up my sputtering nose. Her breath blew over my wet face as she introduced herself with the gentle lick of her tongue. In the aftermath of those first traumatic moments I instantly knew I belonged to my mother and she belonged with me!
My vision was clear, but every direction I looked there was nothing familiar to me except the sounds and smells of my mother. I suspected it was much nicer where I’d been before I hit the ground. Being wet in the straw confused about what to do and too uncoordinated to accomplish anything that might come to mind, I felt bereft of comfort. Weak and wobbly, I did manage to sit up on spindly appendages folded beneath me. With each tender attentive lap of my mother’s tongue my body nearly fell over; a body made of muscles and bones that were so weak and unfamiliar, I had no idea how to use them.
I lay upon lumpy legs, not even knowing what they were for, while my heart beat life through my brand new body. All I was capable of doing was to lie quietly and savor my mother’s gentle attention. Each pass of her tongue helped to dry my coat as much as the clinging straw. Before long her licks turned to gentle nibbles, especially around my hips, and as confusing as everything was a clear picture popped into my head. I suddenly saw that the lumps beneath me were actually stilts I was supposed to stand up on, in the same fashion my mother stood upon hers. Instinctively, I knew there was something very important I was supposed to do, I just wasn’t sure how to accomplish it.
Apparently satisfied I had a fundamental understanding of what was expected of me, my mother sighed warm air over me and began eating hay. I had heard her chew hay for many moons, but the hollow grinding sound now filling the immediate area was different than before, a more distant rumbling approximation of what I’d heard from inside her and it made me feel set apart from her. What used to be a soothing vibration filtered through a warm cocoon of water inside her body was now a harsh grinding sound. It was familiar, but no longer quite so comforting. Still, I rested contentedly pondering the wisps of hay that twirled in the air with each puff of air from my nostrils.
Breathing was new to me. I couldn’t remember breathing before and it didn’t exactly hurt, but neither was it comfortable. I drew in a big breath, mostly because I could will it to happen and that fascinated me. Unfortunately, I had snuffed up a bit of straw dust and it tickled the inside of my nose so much it made me sneeze. The surprising action was so violent; I bumped my nose hard on my bent knee and began shaking my head to be rid of the sharp discomfort.
At that moment my mother’s interest was drawn to the water bucket in the far corner of the stall. I worried as I watched her smoothly stride away from me for a drink. In an instant, that vague yet important duty nagged ferociously at me again. I was expected to be at my mother’s side! It was both my duty and instinctive need to stay close to her side at all times. There was nothing else as important as the impulse to never leave her side.
The lumpy legs I lay upon jerked under me as if they had a life of their own and, spindly though they may be, I needed to be striding confidently beside her. I just knew I must be ready to follow her to safety, no matter what the circumstances. My life could depend on whether I was able to stop lazing in soft straw and get myself upright as I saw my mother able to do.
From somewhere deep within, I summoned the determination to put my best foot forward, which turned out to be my left front leg. It unfolded easily in response to my only wishing it to do so and just as easily it was followed by my other front leg. The results of my efforts gave me new perspective on an already familiar view. I decided that perhaps I could do this after all.
It looked like I was getting somewhere without much struggle until I discovered that still under me, somewhere to the rear, was another set of legs to deal with. I willed them to move and they did, just not with the same ease as the front ones. They seemed ensnared in some kind of hopeless tangle. Still, I pressed on pushing down on them and they splayed out to the sides, sliding on straw too slippery to hold them in place. My body shook and wobbled so that stability just wasn’t possible. I moved my front feet to try to compensate and suddenly it felt like my back end was impossibly light. It rose up in the air, causing me to take scrambling first steps forward and I pitched down into the straw right onto my head, then rebounded back until I was once again lying on lumpy legs. It was the same as before, just facing a different direction. Such was my first attempt at standing. Another picture popped into my head, admonishing me to always keep my front legs together when starting to rise up and to use the back ones to push up onto the front ones, keeping them together as well.
I wasn’t sure where I was getting the good advice from, but one thing I was sure of, it sounded easier to do than it actually was. Head lifted from her bucket, a long string of drooled water dripping from her mouth, my mother nickered a deep throated sound of encouragement. It was comforting to me, a recognizable voice I had heard for the many moons before I was born.
It was time to try again. Front legs out together, that was the drill, a good boost from the ensnared tangle in the back and if done right, they too would come together to accomplish my goal of all four legs propping me up in the correct stance. It did happen, almost as perfectly as I was instructed, but apparently there was more to just getting them under me. Once I was up in the air, there was the matter of balance. I wavered, standing tall for one or two breaths then went flying forward onto my nose and right shoulder. My uncomfortable fall was followed by more head shaking. Information given by my mother, how one leg further out front than the other causes imbalance, was less helpful after the fact. Apparently hooves, something I had four of, but hadn’t exactly seen yet, were meant to stand exactly side by side.
Now she tells me, I thought, having decided it was my mother’s instructing ideas that were popping into my head about what I should and shouldn’t do. I did wonder how that could be and thought hard about a question to try asking her. She told me with thoughts that just came into my head, “I can send you pictures, thoughts and gestures commonly used by our kindred and we can make sounds as well.” That was exciting! I wondered what I could do. The answer came to me like magic. “I can see your pictures, at least for now.” My mother had answered. “Think hard about the things you want to share. Your pictures may not come to me instantly, but I will get them.”
I moved one front leg, this time making a conscious effort to notice what my foot looked like. It seemed like a hard, round, stumpy end at the bottom of my leg and then I saw a problem. They weren’t flat! There were soft folds of flaps dangling from my hooves, something odd hanging from the bottom of them that I was certain my mother didn’t have, and they were bound to cause a problem with my balance.
My mother, having picked up the worried picture from my head that I thought something was seriously wrong with my feet came over to sniff and see what all the fuss was about. She assured me that all baby Kindred were born with flaps on their feet. “Your little legs are much stronger than you think, the flaps kept your hooves from having sharp edges that could damage me when you were inside. They will wear off as soon as you walk a bit.”
In the way of our kind, sharing pictures with my mother let me know she thought I was amusing. I blinked my long baby lashes and attempted to shake my head and neck as she did. Where one day, there would be a long flowing mane to flounce with such a shake, now there was only wispy, flimsy, newborn fuzz – no matter, I was learning to do all the right things in the way of our kind.
Lying there in the straw, looking at the culprits that caused the most trouble, I could see my back legs were just angled opposite of my front ones. They felt awkward and tangled up, but it was mostly a feeling, not a true problem. With a shaky heave and a push in all directions, I rose into the air quite successfully and there I was, standing on all four. My body swayed unsteadily, but I was standing like my mother.
In her pride, she whickered softly, so soft I could see her nostrils moving with the sound she made, but it was more like feeling a vibration than actually hearing a sound. She also gave me another caressing lick. Unfortunately, my success at standing was so precarious that just the swipe of her tongue sent me careening toward the wall beside me. I willed my legs to move, to recapture my balance, but they only skittered stiffly in the straw. Quite out of control, I crashed into the wall and ended up nearly upside down.
Just when I thought my new world was strange enough, a part of the opposite wall began moving, disappearing really and I could see there was a whole other world beyond the wall. I marveled when the newly created space was suddenly occupied by two odd scented creatures. They stood there looking at us while we looked at them.
My mother neighed softly to them, a friendly sound, but then she moved to stand between me and the opening, a gesture that wasn’t lost on me since I could see the protective picture in her mind. In order to see them, I had to peer up under her belly to get a good look. I noticed that one was tall and senior, like my mother. The other one was shorter and not as developed looking. They neighed a soothing, incomprehensible noise to my mother. It was meaningless gibberish to me at the time, but she seemed to regard them in a friendly way and so I felt no fear as she slowly moved aside to let them see me.
“It’s a filly Dad and man is she beautiful! She has that shimmery look like when the moon looks golden, ya know what I mean?”
“Yup, hum, Golden Moon. That would look good on her papers.”
“Yeah, I like that.”
The short one’s neigh was softer then, I think it was meant only for me. He sank down to my level on bended knees and I thought, with some amazement, two legs! Two legs had to be easier to manage than four. Even though he had odd pods at the end of his legs, instead of nicely tapered hooves, I thought he was a fortunate creature.
“Hi there, little Goldie.” I pricked my ears at him because his neighing was kind of nice and after having made a mess of falling down so much, nice sounds were comforting. “You’re the one, little girl. You are definitely the one.”
I had no idea what his neighing meant, but in the manner of my kind, the picture of a bright golden moon, high in a dark night sky, came into my mind. That was really interesting. I had yet to see such a thing as a “moon” and yet the picture of it popped into my head with perfect clarity. Apparently I could also get pictures from creatures who were not Kindred. I gathered that these creatures thought me to be this nonsensical, round ‘moon’ thing. I thought them to be creatures possessing little or no common sense. I was just born and already capable of seeing that I was all angles and this moon thing was nothing like me at all.
“She’s the one I want, Dad! You promised that when I found the right foal, I could have it for my own. Golden Moon is the one I want, please?”
The tall one came to me slowly, touching my mother’s sleek coat, murmuring softly, as they approached.
“I can’t believe the beauty Silver sired, Pop! Looks like she’ll be a true palomino with a flaxen mane and tail an’ everything. It’s totally weird, since Midnight is black and Silver’s grey.” The short one, still on his knees, inched his way closer to me, one knee moving forward followed by the other.
It hadn’t occurred to me to try walking on my knees. Perhaps that was an easier way to start out. While I pondered that notion, his unused upper leg reached out to pet my rump. The touch was so soft and gentle, the feel of it made my skin shiver and twitch involuntarily. When I didn’t flinch away from him in fear, he began petting and stroking me and it felt every bit as nice as my mother’s tongue. I lay there, luxuriating in the pleasurable feeling.
The tall one petted my mother’s face, murmuring to her as he touched. “Midnight, you are quite the surprising mare. Who’d have thought you’d foal such a flashy filly? I’ll have to make sure you and Silver see more of each other.”
“Yeah, Dad, how’d this happen?”
“Pretty simple, really. Somewhere, back in the lines of dams and sires, both sides had to have had a chestnut colored horse. Dunno why, but it’s always the chestnut gene that takes over if it’s doubled up. Never fails, the foal always turns out some shade of red.”
“But this one’s a palomino.”
“Put it this way, palomino isn’t a breed, it’s a color variation. Palominos are really just chestnuts that inherit the flaxen mane and tail gene. With Silver being a grey, she probably got it from him. I’d say this little filly is going to be something extra special. Even her baby coat has rich color, instead of being all washed out. Lots of people would like ta own this filly when she’s weaned.”
I saw a strange expression change the man’s face. I couldn’t tell if he was happy or not.
“Bet a few phone calls would start a bidding war.” He said crisply, with hidden emotion I didn’t understand.
“Aw, come on, Dad. You said I could have whatever one I wanted out of this year’s crop. Don’t think about money this time, please? I gotta feeling about her. She’s the one for me, okay? Please, can I have her? She isn’t just pretty to look at; I really do have a feeling about her.”
Suddenly the sire’s expression turned happy and he made a sort of chuffing noise. “Heh, he, okay, okay, but don’t whine when every time you turn around, somebody’s trying to buy her from ya.”
“She won’t be for sale! I’ve been waitin’ for Goldie.”
My mother rubbed her head up and down the front of the tall one’s chest and I knew then, when the picture of a stately stallion popped into my head, that all the unintelligible neighing was about me and my sire. As I mused over the quick picture I’d seen of this fearsome sire, the tall man reached down in a swift motion and lifted me up in the air without warning. I was so shocked by his apparent strength, unusual scent and unpredictability that I just lay limp in his arms at first. After a moment I struggled some, wanting to be away from the confines of his arms and still he held me fast to him with unbelievable strength. There was nothing I could do except give in.
“Might as well get this outta the way.” He said with resolve. “The sooner we imprint on her baby brain that we are stronger and always in control, the easier it’ll be getting her started off thinkin’ the right stuff. Good, it didn’t scare her much. Fearful horses are a problem, but I think she’s gonna start right off knowing everything is just fine with us bein’ in charge. I used to hate watchin’ cowpokes in Gramps time bustin’ their pant seams trying to break the spirit out of a horse they let get too headstrong. They couldn’t be bothered keepin’ ‘em naturally gentle from the start so’s all they had ta do was teach ‘em without pain and fear. Makes just as useful an animal, but I think Gramps hired hands landed on their heads a few too many times.”
He set me down gently on my wobbly feet, helping me to stand with the guidance of his strong hands and I was able to get my feet squarely underneath me without further assistance.
“Look at that, Pop, she’s a strong one too.”
“Seems so, but she’ll still be struggling ta get it all together for a while yet, so let’s get outta her way.”
“But she’s not sucking yet. Can’t we stay and help her get to the milk?”
“Nope, out with you, boy. I know she’s flashy and she’s caught your heart, but she needs to expend her limited, newborn strength getting to the milk on her own. Struggling against our interference will jus’ use up her remainin’ strength and make matters worse, so out with you. Midnight’s got milk, I checked, and this filly isn’t her first foal. They’ll work it out better on their own.”
“Are you sure, Pop? I don’t want anything to go wrong.”
The tall one spun the short one around in a circle and pushed him out the door saying,. “You stay on this side of the split door. For now you’re a spectator. Watch all you want, but let the little one find her legs and milk on her own. You know we don’t get in the natural way of things unless we know we have to. Once she’s got the basics figured out, you can do all the pettin’, gawkin’and cooin’ ya want, but mind yer chores too.”
“Dad…” The short one whined and it made his father frown, after which he wagged one long, meaningful finger at his colt.
“I have just three words for you, worry wart … mind ...your ... chores!” Then I saw the sire do an odd thing. He looked at the son and deliberately closed one eye in a manner I was sure had some hidden meaning. I wondered if I could do such a thing, but I had no idea how to go about doing it or even what it meant.
The boy stayed there with his arms folded on the half door watching me. I don’t know what he thought was so interesting, but I had other things to think about. Standing alone on my own feet was quite the marvel. My newly discovered legs were stiff and with every attempted step I wobbled like I was about to crash back onto the straw. It wasn’t but a few moments before I did exactly that. The crash, in itself, meant nothing. The success of standing there under my own power had imprinted a tremendous milestone in my development, one that was now indelibly defined in my mind.
My mother was terrific! No matter how many times I crashed down to the straw, and there were several more crashes before I started mastering that activity, she nuzzled me with her wonderful breath and encouraged me to try again. It did seem to me that I must be going about things the hard way.
Having seen the boy on his knees, at one point I had raised up on mine and accidentally scooted across the straw on folded front legs. A huge pile of straw bunched under my face and over my knees, getting bigger as my body scooted along. Half way to the split doors where the boy was watching me, I had a giant ball of bunched up straw under my nose. There was this loud barking noise and I thought, until I looked up, that some new creature had come around, but then I saw that the boy was making the loud, unusual noise accompanied by an odd, squinty facial expression.
I looked up at my mother’s face and saw how her eyes changed to a soft look and how her ears repositioned. Our faces didn’t do all those scrunching movements and I wondered about that.
He’s laughing at your antics. You do appear rather silly, little one. I heard my mother say inside my head. Although the message she imparted to me was not reproachful in any way, there was something else I understood that my mother had not actually said. My actions amused the boy because they had a total lack of appropriate Kindred behavior and as such, it became humorous to him. I didn’t understand humankind laughter yet, couldn’t understand how something I might do would seem funny to someone else, but I did sense or feel from what my mother had imparted to me that I could avoid being the cause of his amusement by simply not giving him such a good show and so I resolved to do that instantly.
This time, when I stood with the resolve of accomplishment, there was more boy neighs from the split door. While watching over my every action, he seemed to neigh out constant unintelligible suggestions. I assumed he was trying to be helpful. At least he wasn’t laughing. I learned rather quickly how to tell the difference between the bark of laughter and his normal neigh.
I called the sounds he made neighs because it was what I heard Kindred all up and down the barn do, when they chose to call out. Of course, the boy’s neighs sounded nothing like that. The sounds Kindred made were sensible, musically long and easily understood, while the boy’s sounded short, choppy and completely incomprehensible. If I didn’t catch his occasional picture I’d never have a clue what he was thinking.
After my many tiring efforts, I wanted to just stay down in the straw resting or sleeping, but my mother had other plans for me. Each time I stood, she nipped gently at my hip and flank, then stood aside to me and stepped her hind leg back. I finally smelled her milk and sought to find it. Not gracefully at first as I was really tired, confused and inexperienced, but after sticking my nose in her armpit, under her tail and in-between her front legs, I finally discovered my milk bag and who would have thought it would be at the rear of things?
In another milestone, I had a hearty first meal of warm milk. A sleepy feeling of strength and goodness stole over me. I knew from my mother’s pictures that my first drink was blessed with both energy to grow strong and protection to keep me from getting sick. I didn’t know what sick was, exactly, but I got from her information that among Kindred, being sick was something very bad.
She let me know it was important that I drink as often as I could. Being so newly born, I needed things that only her body could give me and now that I could properly stand and knew where my milk bag was hidden, I had only a few commands to pay attention to: I must stay as close to her side as I could, unless I was sleeping, rise to drink my fill often, and always, no matter what, I must respond to her call instantly. My mother would take care of everything else.
After my first meal, my belly felt warm and very full, probably because I had no way to know when I should stop drinking and out of fear of becoming sick, I sucked as much as I could. Standing there beside her, my belly so full, feeling all warm and fuzzy headed, I practically fell asleep standing up. My nose drooped down toward the ground, and then slowly my legs just let me sink down onto the straw into a deep sleep.