July/August 2023

Fire

It blazes Like an animal Trapped in a cage Its flames Reach up Grabbing the sky Its heart Is deep yellow Like the sun Darker fire Is uncontrollable Fire Points to freedom

Sandpiper’s Freedom

A determined mare makes a plan to keep her foal by her side “Mommy?” “What now, little one?” I shifted my hooves, looking down at my young colt standing beside me. I could hardly believe fifteen sunrises had already passed since he was born. He gazed up at me with large brown eyes, his short tail filled with pine shavings. “When are the humans going to feed us?” he inquired, flicking his small, fuzzy ears. “I’m tired of nursing, but I’m hungry!” “Patience, Jay. They’ll come soon, don’t worry.” I nuzzled his little black flank with my pale pink nose. Jay let out a dramatic whinny-whine and flopped to the floor, his beanpole legs bending in weird angles. I snorted. The barn door rattled. My white ears perked, and I stepped over Jay to peer out beyond the bars on the stall window. Sure enough, a human dressed in grey fabric coverings made her way into the barn and walked toward my stall holding a green bucket. I could already smell the food in the bucket, and I stomped my hoof in eagerness. But part of me was puzzled. I’d never seen this human before. What was she doing with my food, and what was the thin white paper with mysterious black markings doing in her other hand? Humans rarely brought papers to the barn—I’d most frequently seen them when my riders took me out to shows. The human reached my stall and wove her small fingers into the latch, unlocking it and sliding the door open. I sniffed her warily. She slapped my nose and snapped a harsh word, shoving me away from the door. Shocked, I neighed, kicking out with my front legs, but she dodged my flying hooves and stepped to Jay’s side, picking him up roughly around the middle. I neighed again and shoved her away from him with a sharp thrust of my head. She dropped Jay and flew backward into the pile of shavings. Jay’s eyes were wild with fear, and he ran to cower in the corner of the stall. “Who is she?” he whinnied. “What’s she doing here? Why did she try to take me?” “I don’t know, darling. I’ll take care of this.” I stepped forward grimly toward the human, but before I could do anything to her, three more unfamiliar humans in grey clothes swarmed in and grabbed hold of me, forcing a halter around my head. I reared, screeching in outrage, but they dragged me out the stall door and into the crossties in the aisle. I managed to bite two of them on the way, but that only earned me more slaps. Why had they made marks on the paper and attached it to my foal? I tossed my head, my tail high in agitation as I stared helplessly through the bars. The four humans had lifted Jay up and tried to stand him on his feet. He was too terrified to support himself, so they were holding him up by his middle. His eyes pleaded with me to come save him. “I can’t! I’m sorry! I can’t leave these crossties!” I tried to rear up out of the ropes restraining me by the halter, but I only succeeded in jerking my neck painfully. I whinnied again in distress. The other horses in the stalls were neighing and kicking their stall walls in panic, but there was nothing any of us could do. The humans surrounded Jay, blocking my view, but he didn’t cry out. They seemed to be inspecting him, muttering to each other and adding more black scrawls on the paper periodically. After a few minutes, they pulled out a cord with another piece of paper attached to it and scribbled four black characters on it. I watched, scandalized, as they tied the string around my little colt’s pastern. I pawed the hard ground with a hoof, snorting out the unfamiliar scents that had flooded my nose. To my surprise, the humans seemed satisfied, packing up their materials and pouring the food from the bucket into my trough in the corner. They made their way out again, and one came toward me. I pinned my ears, threatening a kick, and he shied away for a moment. But he was back again in an instant, grabbing the halter and unclipping me from the crossties, muttering anxiously. He frequently used the word that the humans called me—Sandpiper. I believe he thought it would calm me, but he was very wrong. My ears tilted backward, and my upper lip lifted in a flehmen from anger. I whipped toward him and bit his shoulder. He cried out in pain and jerked my halter towards the stall, dragging me inside. Jay got up to run to my side, but I gave him a warning look. The human took off my halter and left the stall hurriedly. I walked over to Jay, steadying my fast breathing. He was trembling, trying to bite off the piece of string on his pastern. “Calm, little one. We’re safe now,” I told him, but my neigh was strained and quivery, and I hoped he trusted my words more than I did myself. I nuzzled him, and he stilled. I lay down on the shavings, inspecting the paper on the string. There were four symbols on it: One vertical curvy line, a spiral-like shape, and two vertical straight lines. I had never wished more that I could understand the scribbles that humans made with their strange, black-liquid stick devices. Why had they made marks on the paper and attached it to my foal? A sudden sense of urgency followed that thought. I couldn’t stay somewhere my foal might be in danger. I didn’t know what the scribbles meant, but I’d seen other mares’ foals get tagged similarly, and the next day they were taken away and never seen again. I couldn’t bear to let that happen to Jay. I took a deep breath. “Jay, listen,” I