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Ruby

for Alice

By Florence GrahamPublished 2 years ago 3 min read
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My name is Ruby; I am 26 in human years, 9.2 hands. For most of my life I lived with my mum and her family on the outskirts of a beautiful village. Ours were knitted into a patchwork of fields, all fronted by an army of ancient woodland. Twisting chestnuts, regal oaks, shining birch, inhabiting our perimeters. My friend and I spent our days grazing the pasture, shaking off the flies and taking cover from the rain. We would run, play, we were well looked after and happy. When he passed away I moved. I stepped into the box and that was it. My familiar surroundings never returned. A new home, this one was at a farm; a far busier environment than I had existed in before. My new fieldmate was a mare, Vita. There were sheep in the field next to mine, they were noisy and messy but I didn’t object to the company. Life remained simple, I had no obligations. In the wetter months I’d still get mud stuck to my fetlocks and my coat still split into darts, In the summer the flies still bugged me. I had enough attention paid to me; haircuts and pamper sessions to keep me comfortable, an occasional visit from a dentist or blacksmith. I couldn’t complain about the life I lived. I had my share of carrots, apples, pats and strokes. I especially liked being scratched on my chest between my front legs. Simple suited me just fine.

I had been wandering the pastures for a couple of years. Mum was here twice a week and would make extra appearances on days when I was getting fussed. I was always pleased to see her, I’d prick my ears and always be sure to greet her across the gate, she had been good to me and in tern I gave her my love.

After winter, things did not go back to normal. The crowds of people did not return and my mum stopped coming on her usual days. The sun rose and dropped many times before I saw her again, she looked different when she came to me. She wore a hat, her skin was pale and her face had no lashes or brows. I gave her the attention I always did, pushing my muzzle into her chest so she could scratch my head. She came less and less over the time that followed, although I missed her I was comfortable in my new home.

A time came when the sun had just finished reaching its highest point in the sky. A strange feeling came over me. A wave of loneliness enveloped me, despite the farm being the busiest I had known it. Something had changed. I missed the soul who had cared for me so greatly. I still hope sometimes that she will come back, however I know from the words uttered by those she once laughed with, that she won’t. They come and see me now, the words they wanted to gift to her, they gift to me instead. The troubles they face and the wins they celebrate are now shared with me, and with them I press my muzzle into their chests and close my eyes while they scratch my head. It is clear I am old, my joints creak and my coat no longer shines, my mum was young she still liked to laugh and dance, act and share. I know that soon I will be able to tell her about all the messages people have left me with but until then, I am grateful to hear them.

horse
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