The 365 Day Challenge

Day 2

The horses whinnied and swung their heads in the stalls. They flicked non existent mosquitos with their tails and pursed their bulbous lips. They were annoyed by the evening chill and the warm elation still coursing their veins. Only tomorrow, and their wait would be over. The journey would begin. The dark night was already upon us, promising a blanketed sleep. Nights were turning colder rapidly as August progressed. Father spoke of warmer days to come, yet no one could be certain. Ema passed her hand over the noses of the three horses in wait, soothing them. Dutchmen was the largest horse, his back rising to just below her shoulder. He was such a rich shade of black it almost appeared blue, but the majestic midnight blue was poisoned with dark grey dapple spots. The spots were on his rump and spread to his lower legs. His mane was thick and grey, kept unruly because it suited his nature. He was a leader. Fierce and wild as any stallion in the west, once he turned past his young age of five, perhaps he could overtake Chevrolet's power. Chevrolet still remained the wiser in this case, Dutchmen had manners to learn. Sport was the second horse in line. Sport was a deep, auburn red and a very lively young thing. He was much more limber than Dutchmen yet stronger than Lite. He was friendlier than Dutchmen and loved to ride freely. Pulling the large caravan wasn't his forte, yet his determination gave him success. He was a lovable creature, very mild and willing. Dutchmen's brute force gave him the upper hand, but Sport had the cheerfulness required for a happy and healthy team. Also five years of age, he kept his mane cropped short and often wrapped in white banding, the way a race horse is banded. His skinny legs burned black at the ends to form hard, ebony hooves. They made a very pleasant clicking noise and everyone was proud of Sport, as he was himself. Lite was a little younger than Sport and Dutchmen, just turning four, and he had a lack of confidence. Perhaps the older stallions had frightened him into thinking they were a challenge to him. He believed he was nothing in comparison to them. He shied away at the lightest touch and it took many moons to build a trust with Lite. But you would not regret it. Lite's heart bubbled over with hidden emotions and he showed you a great deal of respect and compassion once you took the time to know him. He was the easiest horse to work with, obediently cooperating with your every command. He was a sweet, tawny palomino horse, not very tall and not very muscular. He listening to you carefully and carried out your demands with less force than Dutchmen and less determination than Sport, but belief instead. He believed in the ones he trusted, so he believed in himself. These three made up the team carrying the caravan tomorrow. It was a shame that they came out seldom to take the family traveling. Most of winter and spring they lazed in the stalls and fields, waiting. The white washed caravan tempted them and the moments of summer and autumn came, arousing them to run and do their jobs dutifully. They were only three horses, an uneven team. The leader of the team, Chevrolet, was perhaps grandest of all. He was twenty five years old, a knowledgeable and aged stallion with the power of a steam train. He was the tallest horse, his back raising level to my ears. His mane was pure white, matching his ivory coat. He was scrubbed nearly raw daily with a bar of harsh green soap to keep his coat shining. Not a speck of mud could touch a horse with such grandeur. He kept his head high and you rarely saw his milky blue eyes. His enormous black hooves pawed the ground regally. Unlike the other stallions, he was used year round. He was Papa's horse. The gentle mare, Audi, was Mama's and Volks was the poor lame colt they kept out of pity. But Chevrolet was by far the most marvelous. He was a combination of Dutchmen, Sport, and Lite. He had twice the strength and courage of Dutchmen, friendliness and zest like Sport, and the cautious air and careful steps of Lite. His raring head would lead the three horses pulling the caravan off, flicking their tails and clip-clip-clopping goodbye to the mare, Audi, and lame colt, Volks. The rest of the family would sit in the caravan, watching their horses carry them as if they were royalty themselves. Put short, the horses were a large source of Ema's family's pride.