New Life

It was in the still of the morning, even now. Something had roused him from sleep, something that was now compelling him to leave the quiet gatehouse to cross the courtyard to the small barn that sheltered their horses at night. Petal needed him to be there. That's all he needed to know. He had not even needed to check the closed-circuit camera that his father had installed the week before, for him to be able to watch over her. Without a second thought, he had pulled on his work jeans and a thin t-shirt, slipped his feet into a pair of trainers--his mama called them "sneakers"--and slipped out of the house for Petal's stall.

These horses were special horses, his father had told him. They were descendants of those who had been brought from the Bavarian Alps, generations before, the "tinker's horses," the "vanners," who had pulled the caravans before motorized vehicles became the rule. They were small, tough, possessed of intelligence that other horses seemed to lack. For that reason alone, he knew that his father's horses were even more valuable than the warmbloods that belonged to the owner of the school, housed by the estate, and held safe within the modern stable beyond the rise of the hill. He knew that some of the students at that school called their horses "scrubs" and "unruly ponies." Gaje! What did they know? The other horses might be nice to look at, but so were theirs--and they could work!

Johann picked up his pace, spurred on by concern and by irritation. The cobblestones were already damp with dew, signaling night's impending transformation into day, although dawn was several hours away. It was the time of night that he liked best, the time when he and nature and time and God all seemed to be present, touching, aware. Normally, he would have stopped, even for just a moment, motionless, with arms down at his sides and his face raised to the sky, breathing deeply of the night air.

But not now, not when there was a mare in need. And so, not just any mare was in need. HIS mare was in need. The mare with whom his father had entrusted him, a descendant of the all-but-blessed Blume, the mare that had once pulled his Oma's vardo through the Alps. This mare, with whom he'd been entrusted, would link him to his past by producing for him his own foal, one born within days of his thirteenth birthday, that he would raise and train and be responsible for until they both reached adulthood.

The barn was quiet, its occupants rousing only slightly at Johann's approach. His papa had always said that he was a natural horseman, calming them just by his presence. The tips of Petal's ears were visible over the edge of the tall, wood panels of the stall, moving, weaving, at his approach. Wulfrich, the nondescript rough-coated farm dog that had adopted Petal as her pregnancy progressed, rose to his feet from his straw bed next to the stall. A gentle wave of budding anxiety lapped at Johann's feet as he bent to pat the dog's head.

"Es ist in Ordnung, Wulf," he said, "Entspannen."

The dog seemed to take him at his word, bowing his head for one more pat before relaxing once more in the straw. Petal was visible to him now, he could see her pacing as the foal announced its arrival in the rippling contractions along her flanks. The contractions were still deep, moving the foal into position for birth. Petal had been in labor for at least a short time. Her coat was slick with sweat. She had lain down several times in the straw, from what he could see, before getting up and pacing between contractions. He had seen the same dozens of times before, between horses and goats. All seemed normal to him. He had time to put the birthing kit on a stool outside the stall, to prepare a bucket of fresh water mixed with molasses that would provide Petal with energy after foaling.

When all was finished, Johann took his position in her stall, present, if needed, but not intruding on her space. Petal approached him after a moment, pressing her long face against his chest. She let out a deep sigh before she left him to pace the perimeter of the stall once more before lying down in the straw again. She stayed settled only long enough to nip at her flanks and to unenthusiastically push the straw away from her bulging abdomen. He sat next to her and brushed her long, rusty forelock out of her eyes, before deciding to braid it, as he had braided her mane and tail the day before. Petal relaxed into it, finding comfort in the familiar activity. He allowed her to lean into him, sensing that she was seeking comfort from his presence. It was very close to her time.

For the next hour, both boy and horse rose from the straw and settled down in it in turns. Finally, Petal sank to her knees, then fell onto her side with a groan that seemed to begin at the very rim of her hooves. Her abdomen rippled from ribs to flank as the foal moved into birthing position. Petal placed her head in the straw, waiting for the correct moment to push. She rose to her feet again when that moment did not come, making another circuit around the perimeter of her stall.

Johann was not yet worried. His father had been preparing him for this moment for years, allowing him to assist with births of both goats and horses for as long as he could remember. At first, he had stood in one corner with his eyes squeezed tight shut, trying to block the sights and sounds and feelings from pressing in on him. Over time, he'd begun to understand what was normal and what was not. Now, he could look past the byproducts of birth at the miracle that was a kid or a foal and feel pride that he had even played some small part in it coming about.

After another hour, it was this familiarity with the experience that told him all was not well.

Even after what seemed like an entire day (but what he knew to be only a couple of hours), Petal was still restless. Worse, she was biting at her flanks and pressing her head against the wooden walls of the stall. Johann had seen his father check mares for their foals' presentations before, although he had never done it himself. Loathe to call his father to take on the responsibility he had been given, Johann brought the birthing kit in from outside the stall door, put on the nitrile gloves that were left for such an occasion, and smeared lubricant on them.

"Es tut mir leid, Petal." He moved her tail to one side.

"Sorry," he repeated, before starting to fish around for evidence of a problem.

Petal sank to the floor of the stall, he followed her motion as best he could without falling on top of her. Her body bore down around his hand and forearm. He hadn't expected her contractions to hurt quite so much--he could only imagine what she was feeling! He closed his eyes against the pressure, trying to imagine what should be there, as opposed to what his hand would find. After several minutes, he had to take a break. It was almost too much for him to push against her, to do what he needed to do. Papa had made it seem easy. He forced back frustrated tears, put a bit more lubricant on his glove, and tried for a second time.

This time, he was able to find the foal's shoulder. It was facing outward, where the head and nose should be. Following the body forward, he determined it to be the right shoulder, with a properly extended foreleg. The foal's neck was craned to the left, its left foreleg folded under its body. Johann took a second break, now hot and winded himself. He gave Petal a drink of molasses water, reassuring himself that she wasn't in distress before getting himself a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the tack room. Feeling fortified for another attempt, he slicked back his tousled hair and returned to Petal. Wulfrich wagged his tail and whined in apparent support as Johann went past, inside the stall.

"One time," he bargained with himself. "One time and then I get Papa."

It was the best decision that he could make and still live up to his father's expectations--and his own expectations for himself. He gloved up--again--then lubricated the new glove and apologized to Petal for a third time. The foal's body remained as he remembered it. Given that he was using his left hand, it was going to be a bit of a task to turn it to the front. Once again closing his eyes to envision what was going on inside the mare, Johann felt around the front of the foal for the left leg. After several attempts he manage to hook it with a finger, then move it slightly toward the front of the foal's body. After several more attempts, he was able to gently grasp the foreleg, then unfold it forward. He felt the foal's body shift. Where it had once been firmly in place, there was a slight amount of give between it and the mare's abdomen.

Petal felt the positional change, too. She began to bear down once more. He wanted to yell at her to STOP, please, for all that was holy, she was ripping his arm off! But yelling would accomplish nothing other than stressing them both. He forced himself to be calm, both for him and for Petal. By some miracle, the mare stopped pushing.

Bringing the head around proved to be a bit more difficult. He had to crane his arm unnaturally, while pushing against Petal's contractions, to find the poll of the foal's head. Then, when he had found the poll, he needed to push gently down while pulling it away from Petal's abdomen, hopefully causing it to rest on both its legs. After what had to be hours (but proved to be only minutes, when he checked), the foal gave up its resistance and took its natural position in the birth canal. He guided the foal out as Petal pushed once more, praying that the foal's giving itself up to birthing position did not also mean that it had given itself up to God. He slid the wet foal onto the sodden straw. Its dark brown patches gleamed; its white markings were streaked with yellow from the placenta in which it had been contained.

It was breathing! The breaths were shallow, but there. Johan removed the bulb syringe from the kit and cleared the foal's mouth of any mucus, then toweled away the debris on the foal's coat before giving it back to Petal. Although exhausted, she immediately began to wash the foal. Johann offered her another drink of molasses water. She sipped from the bucket but was more focused on her foal than anything else.

Johann decided that he would get one more bottle of water for himself before checking on them a final time and heading back to bed. As he bent to pat Wulfrich, who had not moved from his position since the beginning, the dog leapt to his feet and ran toward the front of the barn. A soft noise coming from behind him, startled Johann. He spun around, only to find his father standing just inside the barn doors.

"Sehr gut, Johann. You did a fine job."

Johann's father brushed Wulfrich to one side before walking over to his son. He held Johann in a tight embrace before he released him and stepped back from him. His papa, Reinhart Wagner, had an uncharacteristic upward tilt to his lips. Johann could almost, perhaps, call it somewhat of a smile. He broke into a grin, causing his father to roll his eyes.

"Mostly a man. Still a boy."

The words held no sting. Johann knew that his father was bragging about him. The tone was more teasing than deprecating.

"Was it a colt or a filly? The camera angle was not good, we could not tell what it was."

The camera! Of course, his papa had been watching the entire time. Neither he nor Petal had been at any risk at all. His papa's question sank in, slowly. Despite all that he had done, he still did not know whether his horse was going to be a male or a female! He hung his head in shame as he told his father so.

"It's no matter," Reinhart said. "We shall go and find out together."

The two men walked down to the stall in silence, ready to welcome the new life that awaited them.