August 15th.
I am born.
I am thrust from the safe embrace of my mother's womb into the cold dirty reality that will be my life. My mother nickers to me in relief, labour is almost over and she has a flashy new filly to show her herd. It is a colourful herd, the stallion is brown tobiano. There are many colours scattered through the group, but my colours are new. I have thrown back markers of the Clydesdales that are our distant ancestors. My mother licks me clean and nudges me to my small feet, I stagger around like a marionette before getting my balance and searching for her udder so I can have the first drink of my life.
There is nobody around to check me over and make sure I am healthy. There is nobody around to check that my mother safely passes the afterbirth. There are no people, we are free in the desert, and know nothing of the boundaries enforced by fences and walls. I am one of the lucky ones, many of our herd lost their babies early, and many more will lose their babies or their lives during and after giving birth. It is the way of life, and I was soon going to realise the harsh reality.