Macadoo of the Maury River Read Online Free PDF

because of you? Your wish came true, and now you must let your work be your joy, my darling.”
    “What if I don’t want to? I don’t think I like the Belgian way.”
    Mamere flicked at my heart with her tail. “My precious child, I am right here, always. You are made from me; I am always a part of you. Be brave.”
    “Oh, Mamere.” I blew onto her. “I will miss you.”
    For the last time, I found Mamere’s breath and returned her one of mine.
    “Turn away, now, my favorite son. Walk on,” she urged me. “Wherever you go, that is where you are needed. You are a Belgian born to serve, born to heal, and to bring a gentle peace to those in need. Remember who you are and you will never be forgotten. Walk on, son.”
    The sun touched Mamere’s poll and crowned her with its golden light. John Macadoo slipped my halter over my head and loaded me into the small trailer that Poppa and Izzy had brought. I had hardly arrived at John Macadoo’s before I departed, bound for a different farm in Virginia.

I arrived at Cedarmont Farm, home to Izzy and Poppa. Poppa led me toward the barn downhill from the house. While keeping a loose hold on me, he opened the gate and turned me out, alone in the paddock directly behind the barn. Tall grass and white clover filled the small pasture.
    “Here you are, Macadoo. This is your field for now, just until you get comfortable at Cedarmont. I call this the salad bar, but don’t overeat in here with all this grass!”
    From my small field, I could see the house and the barn, both painted white. I couldn’t see other horses but heard them eating and kicking and clanging their grain buckets against the barn walls. Were they Belgians, too?
    I stood atop the boulder in my paddock. Cedarmont Farm covered the earth for as I far as I could see. Fields to run in and downy blue mountains to gaze upon surrounded me. I had been given a new home by a kind sir and a small child.
    But, it was a home without Mamere.
    Withdrawal is not the natural state of horses. Equines need to belong. We are whole when we are part of the whole. But, without a herd — or Mamere — I withdrew.
    I had never grazed or stood without Mamere nearby. Even breathing was hard without her.
    I paced the fence line up and down, calling and whinnied for her, and it did no good. I refused the grain and hay and water the boy and the old man offered me. And I left the salad bar untouched.
    The coils inside a horse are many, and the tangles know the fastest way to bring a horse down. I dropped to my knees and laid down.
How could I go on without Mamere?
    “Is he colicking, Poppa? Help him!” Izzy cried.
    Poppa walked to me. In his limp, I saw that he knew something of pain, too. He dropped his cane and knelt beside me. “Let me help you,” he said. He lightly pressed his hand on my belly. “Hard as a rock. Here, Izzy, use my phone to call Doctor Russ. Your colt’s bowels are twisting, and nothing can get through. I’ll get him moving until the vet arrives.” Poppa and Izzy led me around and around the field.
    “Why do we have to keep him walking, Poppa?” Izzy asked.
    “He’s in extreme pain. If his intestines are tangled, they’ll remain that way if he stays down. Keeping him walking gives his gut a chance to untwist and let everything pass.”
    Finally, the tangles did subside. Doctor Russ, the vet, arrived, just as my stool started to move. The doctor put his bare ear to my side. “Lots going on in there. That’s a good sign,” he observed.
    “What do you mean?” Izzy asked. “Can I hear, too?”
    Doctor Russ handed Izzy an instrument made for listening. “Try my stethoscope. Now, move it up and down your colt’s barrel. What you’re listening for is silence.”
    “I hear gurgles and growls.”
    “Yes, sir, that’s what I hear, too. I didn’t even need the stethoscope. That’s the sound of a happy horse. No distress in there. Now, if you didn’t hear any of those loud noises, know what you’d be