chapter 4
fences
PRINCESS knew her world completely after a few hours. The bucket. The water in the bucket. The pink salt block. The grain dish. She knew straw. She knew hay and had chewed a strand of it and had watched her mother chew many more. She knew every board along the walls.
But later that day the world changed. The trainer came in the door—Princess knew the door—and opened a second door, completely new to her, on the other side of the stall. Light flooded in, more light than she had ever seen, light so bright it almost hurt. She blinked and stared, but her mother walked straight into it, disappearing in the hazy brilliance. She nickered. Come.
Was it safe? It must be. Her mother was out there. Princess gathered herself and jumped high over the line dividing dark from light, into a whole new world.
Air as warm as her mother’s breath. A breeze, swirling and tickling over her whole body, laden with new scents and sounds. Leafy trees rustling. Creatures in the air, swooping and chittering. And the rich, familiar voice: “Did you see that, Charlie? A jump worthy of a champion!”
Her mother was eating something on the ground, taking fast bites that made a ripping sound. With every bite, a sweet aroma came up. It made Princess hungry. She put her head down, stretched her neck and her upper lip. But she couldn’t even get close. Her legs were too long, or her neck was too short, or both. Finally, she spread her front legs wide. Then her neck was long enough and her nose found—
What was it? A fringe of something, tough and tickly. It was stuck to the ground. When she finally managed to tear off a few blades, they had no taste. She chewed with her baby teeth, and eventually released a flavor, sweet like the smell, but not as strong. Now she was really hungry. Time for a snack.
With milk on her whiskers, she felt braver. She wandered away from her mother, gazing, listening, breathing in the new world.
Suddenly her mother called, commandingly. Princess started and turned. She was many yards from the old mare, farther than she’d ever been.
Her legs jumped into action. She streaked across the grass. Amazing! This was what legs were for! They knew exactly what to do. Carry her in speedy loops around her mother. Fling up behind her, kicking at the sky. This was it!
Soon she was puffing. Her legs felt wobbly and weary. But how did you stop? Princess ran slower, slower, until finally she veered and crashed into her mother. The old mare chortled. Her breath smelled sweetly of what she’d been eating. Princess leaned there, resting, until something moving in the distance caught her eye. She flung her head up, watching the small shapes. They were far away, but her eyes were made for far-seeing. She could see them perfectly, and she knew what they were.
Foals! Like her! They chased one another, sweeping across the field in a large group. They reared and sparred with their long legs, nipped and kicked one another. Princess could feel it in her own legs, which knew how to do exactly what those foals were doing. That field, that herd—that was where she belonged.
I’m coming! She galloped toward them, while behind her a voice cried out, “Charlie! Stop her!” and another yelled, “Whoa!”
White blurs in front of her loomed larger, larger—SMACK! Something threw her flat on her side. A white board fence stood tall over her. Princess scrambled to her feet and galloped along it. Through the spaces between the boards she could see the other foals, paying no attention.
Now there was more fence in front of her. She swerved, twisting her head to look back—but wait, another corner, and now she was running toward her mother, toward the old man and the trainer, toward the open stall door.
She swerved again—and one more time all the way around the paddock. Then, finally, she understood. The fence surrounded her. High and strong, with no gaps, it kept her here, far from the other foals.
Princess stopped. Her sides heaved. She barely had enough breath to send a neigh shrilling across the field.
Here! her mother answered. Come here!
Princess tottered toward the old mare. So tired. Her legs collapsed her onto the warm, fragrant grass. After a moment she heard footsteps and voices. The familiar hands of the trainer slid along her legs, pressed against her chest. “She’s fine,” he said. “Not even a scratch.”
“Thank goodness!” Roland’s voice sounded weak. “Give me your arm, Charlie. I’d better go sit down.”
They went away. Princess took a long, sun-soaked nap while her mother dozed nearby, gently swishing her tail.
When she awakened, and after another meal, Princess walked to the fence and stared at the other foals. She couldn’t get there. Fences were solid, even though they didn’t look it, and they stopped you.
She and her mother were brought back inside. The world went dark, then brightened, and they went out again, and she came to understand the round of a day. The next day the trainer put a set of straps on her head and wrapped a lead rope around her rump. With these he made her move around the stall according to his will. Princess suspected she didn’t have to do what he told her. She was strong, wasn’t she?
But Roland stood at her mother’s head, watching every step. “Careful,” he would warn, just as Princess started to wonder if she really had to follow the guidance of the rope and straps. The trainer would release the pressure briefly, then renew it, and she would end up doing what he wanted.
A week passed; days in the bright paddock, nights in the stall, the halter and rope every day, the other foals in the distance.
“Shall I put them out with the others tomorrow?” the trainer asked one afternoon, as he and the old man brought Princess and her mother back to the stall.
“No,” Roland said quickly.
“Why not? It’s how we raise them.”
“True. It’s the healthiest way. But we’ll be showing her in a few weeks. I don’t want any scuffs and scratches.”
“We’ll be showing her all summer,” the trainer said. “Right?”
“That’s right,” the old man said and turned to go.
The trainer remained, looking over the half door. His wife joined him. “I’m almost sorry for the little thing,” the trainer said. “She’s too precious to him. He’ll never let her be a real pony.”
“Princesses never are real.” Her voice was hard. “My father used to call me his princess. It didn’t stop him from leaving.” She laughed, shortly. “Imagine! I used to think my name was Darling. I thought I was the best-loved little girl in the world.”
The trainer watched her profile, which looked sad and quite beautiful. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That happens to a lot of people.”
“A lot of people aren’t me!”
He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it. “I’m not an honest man,” he said. “I know that about myself. But I have a soft heart. I want to give you everything your father never did.”
“That’s sweet, Charlie, but I’ll look out for myself, too. That’s a little more sure.”