Chancey of the Maury River (8 page)

As yet, Claire and I had not begun working together under saddle and certainly we had not started a course of training, as I was recovering from Monique’s unintentional, but now evident, neglect. One result of my abandonment in the field was that my feet were so badly overgrown that I had none of the balance required to carry out a rigorous training program with Claire. Even in the field, I had begun to use great caution to avoid stumbling.

When my old farrier, John, showed up, he was a very welcome sight, as was his corgi, Katie. She is a pleasant and encouraging assistant who stays near her owner and never frightens me or disrupts John’s work. I have observed, on multiple occasions, that people and their animal friends occasionally reflect one another physically and often also in manner. This was true of Katie and John the Farrier, both reddish in complexion and friendly in countenance.

John the Farrier was deeply committed to his trade, and so comfortable was I with his easy rhythm and solid support of my body weight that it was my habit to sneak in brief naps while he attended to my feet. My bowels had relaxed considerably from Doctor Russ’s visit, and I settled right down while John got to work. Mother took great interest in the farrier’s craft, and as he began, she offered her assistance to hold me.

“Nah, you won’t need to hold Chance. He’ll try to fall asleep, so just don’t let him fall down on me. He’s a good boy. If you ask me, he’s as good a horse there ever was. I’d trust Chancey more than any horse I know, except for my own, of course.” John the Farrier, I knew for certain, rode a Thoroughbred–quarter horse cross, called an appendix, for I had galloped a field or two on the trail with that red mare.

Despite John indicating that it was unnecessary, Mother held me anyway. She cooed at me the entire time, and while I appreciated her attentiveness to my care, I was sorely lacking sleep and had hoped to get some shut-eye while the farrier worked. Being new to the gelding field, Dante was intent on testing me throughout the day and night, and consequently I was exhausted.

On this visit there was only one old shoe for John to remove, for I had seen to remove the other three on my own when constructing my path through the barbed-wire fence to the river. John clipped all four of my feet and filed them down to perfection. Katie was delirious with joy at the size and volume of my hoof clippings and, being quite the little scavenger, made off with a generous helping of them before choosing one to chew while she watched her master complete his job. John gave me only two new front shoes and told Mother that we could add shoes to my back feet later, if needed.

After he finished, John asked Mother if he could turn me out himself. I was delighted to walk a bit with Katie and John. John praised my purple accessories and let me graze the fence line.

“Chancey,” John told me before opening the gate to the gelding field, “you’ve found a good home here. I think you’re going to be real happy.”

I nickered good-bye to John and Katie and hoped that by the farrier’s next visit he would see for himself evidence of my happiness. For despite the news that a cancer was likely growing inside my eyes, I knew that something even stronger was now growing inside my heart.

The return to a regular feeding schedule, the added pain supplement, and, I believe, the companionship of my new friends all served greatly to restore my health. Our only remaining worry was the condition of my sight; the doctor’s test confirmed the presence of cancer in both my eyes, a cancer directly related to my absence of pigment and prolonged exposure to the sun.

How many days did I stand in my field in the full sun, feeling it well on my withers and loving that feeling? Yet every day the sun and my eyes waged battle with one another. Undoubtedly, I will someday lose this battle, for no being on this earth is stronger than a star. Knowing the cause of my encroaching blindness, I thought I began to feel my cancer stretching its roots deeper into my eyes, and beyond, with every ray of sun that touched me.

Though no one had offered any hope of improved vision in my left eye, all believed that with aggressive treatment, the remaining vision in my right eye could be preserved for some time. We would need to prepare for a lifetime of surgeries to remove any future carcinomas should they return, as Doctor Russ predicted. To have the malignancies removed, I was to be transported away from the Maury River Stables, beyond the blue mountains and into another valley farther away, in Albemarle County, where cases such as mine were handled every day.

It was an act of true compassion when Mother suggested that Mac accompany me to Albemarle. Claire did not want me to be alone. Mother consented to pay the trailer fee and all lodging costs for Mac to board with me at the hospital that was to save what remained of my sight. Mac gladly agreed to travel with me. I could think of no one besides Mac who would give me greater comfort, except of course Claire herself.

Mother withdrew Claire from school on the day I left the blue mountains for my surgery. Claire did not seem afraid for me and of that I was glad. She spent the morning preparing us for our departure. Claire made a big fuss over Mac and me, grooming us both and treating us to more stud biscuits than was customary. Mrs. Maiden and Mother couldn’t help but fawn over us, too. Claire readied the trailer by mucking out dung from a previous trip, filling the hay nets with plenty of fresh hay, and stringing the nets side by side in the trailer, should we feel like eating along the way. When the trailer was ready for us, Claire clipped the lead rope to my halter and walked me inside. Mother followed behind with Mac.

Claire had drawn a picture for me, too, which she had secured to the wall of the trailer. The drawing showed the peaks of Saddle Mountain grandly filling the page, with two friends standing in the saddle between the peaks. The friends — a girl and a horse — nuzzled each other face-to-face. Claire pointed out to me the shape of a heart rising between the two. Then she made Mrs. Maiden promise to keep the picture with me in my room at the hospital. Claire nuzzled me. “When you feel scared over there, just look at the picture and remember me and Saddle Mountain. We’ll be here when you come home.”

Mother had wet eyes; Claire did not, but stood smiling and blowing me kisses until Mrs. Maiden shut the trailer windows, leaving only a sliver of light visible to me.

Though I could only see slight glimpses of her, I could hear Claire running beside the trailer all the way down the drive. “Bye, Chancey! Bye, Mac! I love you both! Come back soon!” Claire’s words did not stumble once.

I whinnied a loud good-bye and hoped she could hear me, too. I’m sure that Claire stood at the end of the drive waving at us until we were long out of sight. I did not have enough time to say a decent farewell to Claire and Saddle Mountain. The narrow road switched over and back onto itself, and soon nothing of Saddle Mountain was visible. I had lived every day of my life standing within sight of it. Even on the days when its peaks hid under a blanket of fog or behind a blinding white snowstorm, Saddle Mountain and I stood together.

As Mrs. Maiden drove farther away from the Maury River Stables, I lost my breath and could not find it. For many miles, I strained to see something familiar out the window slot. My nervous bowels began to rumble. Mac nickered to me, “You’re okay, Old App. The mountain will be here when we return, and so will your girl.” I found my breath and sniffed Claire’s drawing of us; it still smelled of Claire.

The surgery at Albemarle required only an overnight stay. Again my strong Appaloosa breeding aided me in recovering quickly. Of the surgery itself, I remember only that the nurses spoke very kindly to me just before I felt as if my legs had stopped working and I were going to fall down.

Mac’s presence soothed me greatly, for when I first woke up from surgery, I could see nothing at all. The Belgian remained attentive, ready to explain the situation to me.

I feared I would never see again. “Mac, everything is completely dark now. Has the surgery failed?”

“No, friend. Your eyes are both heavily bandaged. I heard them say you’ll have the right eye; they don’t know about the left. But you will see Saddle Mountain and you will see Claire, very soon.”

“Mac?” I asked. “Are you an old horse? You look very young indeed, but you seem older than I am at times. Are you old?”

“Not very,” Mac replied. “The dentist says I’m eight.”

“I think you are older than your teeth, Macadoo. How did that happen? What brought you to the Maury River Stables? Were you abandoned in a field, too?”

“Get some rest, Old App. We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you’re well.”

I did rest. Mac stood watch over me until Mrs. Maiden came to drive us back to the Maury River Stables. With bandages still on both eyes, I finally returned home. Claire greeted us at the gate, just exactly as she had promised she would.

Upon my return, Claire threw herself enthusiastically into leading my recovery and treatment. Her concern for my comfort never waned; Claire remained as attentive to me as she had been from our first meeting. She checked with Mrs. Maiden to be sure that my medicine was administered properly. She took her role as my friend and caretaker very seriously, and as much as anything, I believe this is what eased my suffering. My eyes healed quickly, and soon enough Claire and I were ready to take our first lesson together, and indeed, our first ride, too.

First Claire took extra time to stretch me, just as Mrs. Maiden had shown her. She leaned her small frame into me, lifted a foreleg at the cannon bone, and then ever so slowly stretched it out fully until I took the leg back from her. After completing each of my legs this way, Claire wrapped both her hands firmly around my tail, braced her legs, and pulled with all her strength. I, in turn, pulled my weight forward, until Claire released her hands.

During our first lesson, we did not jump or practice dressage tests. Instead, Claire asked to practice our flatwork bareback. “I’ll feel Chancey’s rhythm better if I’m riding free, Mrs. Maiden.”

Mrs. Maiden obliged, “Excellent, Claire! Riding bareback will strengthen your legs and core, too.”

I, too, preferred carrying Claire without a saddle, as it was easier on my back and joints.

In our first lesson, there was no guessing as to what would come next, or what was expected of the other. Claire asked for a working trot and a working trot I gave her, right away. Claire naturally rose to the trot precisely in time with my outside shoulder. She touched down lightly on my back and without the slightest bounce. Together we two moved in delightful tandem. Claire needed no stirrups, no saddle, no whip, or no spurs. Claire needed only to be Claire. I will say that for the entirety of our first ride I thought only of Claire and what she might ask of me next. I found a new energy, a new appreciation, and a new joy in riding with Claire.

I kept my focus on Claire and tried to forget about the cancer in my eyes. Thanks to the skills of my Albemarle surgeons, my cancer had been halted for the time being. I maintained sight in my right eye, giving me a fair line of vision of nearly 180 degrees, as I had learned from Doctor Russ’s follow-up examination. I am faithful to the belief that, had my tumors been allowed to grow unchecked, I would have quickly succumbed to complete blindness. Though I could feel that the cancer remained hidden within me, I could also feel that it had been driven away for the present. In any event, our training had to take into consideration the near total darkness in my left eye.

While neither Claire nor I were beginners, we knew we would have to work hard if we were ever to compete together. Most of my career as a school horse had been spent teaching novice riders only the very basic skills. By the time Claire and I joined, she was already an accomplished horsewoman, as she had learned to ride on Daisy. From the time she was five years old, as Mac relayed directly to me, Claire had spent as much time as possible with horses.

For the first time in my twenty-two years, I felt a sense of purpose in training with one student devoted solely and only to me. Mrs. Maiden set for us a goal of showing in the late-summer series of local hunter shows. Though Claire and I were both experienced, Mrs. Maiden insisted that we start out together in the most elementary of classes — Short Stirrup Walk-Trot. With her undeniable talent for persuasive argument, Claire secured an accord with Mrs. Maiden that if we worked on our equitation without complaint, we could also compete in a jumper class over two small fences. With several months available to train, Claire and I were confident that we would be ready by the end of August.