Chancey of the Maury River (7 page)

Mother touched Mrs. Maiden’s shoulder. “Thank you, Isbell, for taking the time to point this out to me. When you say this might be something serious, might you mean cancer?”

I did not hear Mrs. Maiden’s answer, though I felt an unspoken affirmation pass between the two women.

Mother was not deterred. “I know you’re right that there are tests — X-rays and such — that I ought to order before I buy Chancey —”

“That’s right,” interrupted Mrs. Maiden. “There’s a reason for those tests. You don’t want to buy a horse that’s lame or terminally ill, or in any way unsound.”

Often, Mother pauses for so long in her speech pattern that others become uncomfortable and speak their own piece before she has finished speaking. Mother seems aware of her awkward cadence, and I have never observed her to rush herself or stop others from talking over her.

Mother waited for Mrs. Maiden to finish and then continued, still speaking slowly and thoughtfully. “Of course, you’re right. But you know and I know that Claire and Chancey have found each other because they need each other. You’re the one who brought them together! Even if Claire never gets to ride him — if all she does is come here and groom him — that’s fine by me. I mean, Isbell, Claire has all but stopped stuttering — have you noticed that? She still stutters when she’s really nervous, but she’s so much more confident and relaxed with Chancey. Besides, what will happen to Chancey if we don’t buy him?”

“I don’t know. I —”

This time, it was Mother who interrupted. “Yes, you do. You and I both know the answer to that question. Here’s how I look at it: the worst case is that we buy Chancey and he turns out to have health problems that are impossible to treat and we keep him comfortable until we have to put him down. Is that the worst?”

Mother did not flinch, as I did, at her statement. I have known only one horse who was put down, for a severely broken shoulder. At the time I did not understand that compassion drove that act. I know better now. I understand that a life of extreme, constant pain and forced restriction of movement is no life for a horse. Still, I preferred not to think of being put down.

“Yes, I suppose that’s the worst. You have to consider how heartbreaking that would be for Claire,” said Mrs. Maiden. But Mother had already considered all that needed consideration.

“Again, Isbell, the way I see it,” she repeated, “buying any horse will lead to heartbreak for Claire sooner or later. Whether she loses Chancey to cancer in six months or old age in twenty more years, it will break her heart. Besides, you’ve seen Chancey with Claire; he’s got a lot of life left in him. Don’t you agree?” Mother leaned into me and brushed her face against my neck.

“Smell him,” she invited Mrs. Maiden. “He smells so good.” Mother breathed in a long inhale.

Mrs. Maiden laughed. “I’m not going to smell him, Eleanor! You’re just like Claire! She always smells him. ’sakes, he smells like a horse!”

Upon hearing Mrs. Maiden call her “Eleanor,” I considered whether I ought to refer to Mother this way myself. She was not, after all, my mother and she did have a perfectly suitable name for a woman with equal measure of strength and grace. She leaned into me and kissed me in what was becoming her customary kissing spot, near my poll. She breathed me in again.

“Chancey doesn’t smell like just any old horse. He smells like our horse,” she said. I dismissed the notion of calling her “Eleanor.” “Mother” it would be.

Horses can detect truth easily because truth is conveyed with not only words, but also with body and heart. Though admittedly, I had not a heart connection with Mother, as I’d had with Claire from the very instant of our meeting, I never doubted that Mother could, herself, see that Claire and I were our very best selves together. Though no money or paper had changed hands, without further inspection or deliberation, I joined with Mother and Claire.

Mrs. Maiden negotiated my permanent transfer. For some amount unknown to me, the right to call me personal property passed from Monique to Mother. While the papers bound me to Mother officially, it was Claire to whom I now belonged. Neither Claire, nor I, needed a piece of paper or monetary exchange to seal our commitment.

Early one morning, Mother came out to the barn and brought me in from the field without Claire being present. For once, I welcomed the chance to spend the morning in the barn. Our pasture had so trapped the moisture rising off the Maury River that the day already felt very much like the sticky days of summer to come. Flies of every sort and size had turned out in grand numbers to celebrate the return of their kind of weather.

In order to best understand my conditions and needs, Mother had arranged for a collection of professionals to assess my health. Mother and Mrs. Maiden accompanied the experts, with Mother taking copious notes during each examination.

My day began with the dentist, who examined my teeth and then gave no more an exact accounting of my age than I could have determined myself. The dentist explained to Mother that my teeth showed greater depth than width, a triangular shape, and spacing in between. He deduced from these findings what I already knew — that my age was reliably between twenty and twenty-five years, give or take.

“I’d estimate he’s about twenty-two,” the dentist told Mother.

With that assessment, my official age became twenty-two. Finding no trouble with my teeth, other than their having grown a bit too long, the dentist left for his next appointment with a promise to return soon and give me a proper teeth floating.

I next stood for the veterinarian, whose exam took quite a bit longer than the dentist’s. I very much liked the manner of the young doctor. He appeared to have a genuine affection for horses and took several minutes to speak to me before beginning his examination. I learned from Mrs. Maiden that his name was Russ, and his family had kept horses for his entire life. I thought to myself that it must have taken an awfully large horse to comfortably carry a man of such girth and height. I suspected that even as a boy he would have been most at home atop a broad draft horse, such as my new friend Mac.

Doctor Russ’s first order of business was to measure me from ground to withers. I recall this precisely because by this time into my residence at the Maury River Stables everyone but Mrs. Maiden had grown accustomed to calling me a pony. Doctor Russ measured me twice and spoke my height out loud, for all to hear. “About fifteen hands,” he determined, and made a written note on his clipboard. As the line between pony and horse is drawn at fourteen hands two inches, I was happy to hear that all could now definitely put the matter to rest.

Doctor Russ was pleased with my weight and overall health. He patted my neck. “All right, Chancey. Way to hang tough, boy.” He turned to Mother. “Everything this guy’s been through? Being abandoned with no supply of food or water all through the fall and winter? I think his weight is fine. He’s remarkable — extraordinary, really. But that’s an Appy for you, right, Chancey?” He patted me again.

I decided that I liked the intelligent Doctor Russ very much. He seemed a good measurer of horses and quite educated in the distinctive biology of the breeds. The doctor encouraged Mother and Mrs. Maiden to continue generous portions of feed, with the addition of electrolytes to encourage me to drink water.

The constant pain in my haunches and stifles was easy enough for Doctor Russ to diagnose. Without much effort at all — just by feeling me and lunging me through my gaits early in the morning — he gave my pain a name: arthritis. He did not seem concerned that this disease presented any imminent danger, but he gave Mother specific instructions as to its proper management. He told her that I was to be stretched and thoroughly warmed up before riding. Doctor Russ also explained to Mrs. Maiden that for pain treatment I would need a daily supplement added to my grain and a stronger medicine on the days when the pain seemed most severe. The matter of my eyes was determined to be somewhat more complicated, and much more serious.

Mrs. Maiden showed Doctor Russ the growths that she had noticed on my first day at the Maury River Stables. He nodded to her as if he had already intended to tackle this problem. I remained quiet and cooperative. The vision in my left eye had decreased to near blindness; I still could detect some movements, but only from changes in light and dark. I could feel the blindness reach also for my right eye, though not nearly to the same degree as had already occurred in my left.

Doctor Russ explained that he preferred to draw tissue samples to determine the nature of the growths. Mother consented for the doctor to take his samples immediately. I did not move. He proceeded to apply a numbing agent in both eyes, so that I would feel nothing when he inserted his needles. Drawing upon my Appaloosa genetics, I calmly accepted the discomfort, for I knew that no one around me wished me any harm. Doctor Russ removed a stick from his bag and then disappeared into my blindness. Though I could not see him or feel the stick, his presence so near my eye did agitate me.

Mother detected that my anxiety was growing. To her credit, she stayed by my side throughout each step of testing. Had she not been aware of my apprehension, from her own intuition, my involuntary and violent expulsion of loose stool provided evidence aplenty. Involuntary expulsion is a natural tendency for horses in a heightened state of worry.

The compassionate Doctor Russ did not linger a moment longer than necessary. He swabbed both of my eyes quickly, placed the samples in a small tube, and then spoke candidly to Mother and Mrs. Maiden.

“I hesitate to diagnose this before the lab results come back. You can see for yourself that Chancey has something growing on both eyes. Those are tumors. They may be benign, or you may be looking at a horse with cancer. I can tell you this: whether it’s cancer or not, Chancey’s going to need surgery. Even so, one or both of the tumors will return in time,” he predicted.

Doctor Russ left the decision to Mother. “How would you like to proceed? Do you want to wait for the lab results or have me go ahead and schedule something with the eye clinic?”

Mother did not seem at all surprised, nor did I detect any increased anxiety from her. She did not stutter, nor did I hear Mother’s stomach rumble, as my own had been since the doctor’s arrival. She remained standing near me with her hand calmly resting on my neck and hesitated not a moment before answering.

“If the tumors need to come off, then let’s do it. Go ahead and schedule the operation,” she consented.

I greatly appreciated Mother’s aggressive pursuit of treatment on my behalf. I felt that blowing on her was too ordinary, too common an expression of appreciation. I wanted Mother to understand that my gratitude was sincere, so I licked her. I licked her hand because it was closest to my mouth. I tasted no lingering essence of peppermint or stud biscuit even, only skin. Mother startled before collecting herself.

“Oh, Chancey,” she said. Her eyes misted. “Sweet boy.” She patted my neck.

Doctor Russ then explained that he would arrange for the operation to take place in Albemarle County at the hands of two eye surgeons. Until then, I did not even know that a special eye doctor existed for horses. Doctor Russ explained that Mrs. Maiden and I would need to make a trip over the blue mountains to an eye hospital for horses, where I would be expected to spend two days before coming back to the Maury River Stables. My anxious stool erupted up again, despite my best efforts to remain calm. Mother kissed my poll.

Mrs. Maiden, having known Doctor Russ and used his services exclusively at the Maury River Stables for a number of years, then asked for the doctor’s frank opinion. When Mrs. Maiden inquired, he more willingly speculated a prognosis than he had with Mother earlier in my exam. He did not withhold his belief that my eyes showed cancer, explaining that the shape of the tumors and my lack of pigmentation both contributed to that opinion.

“If this is cancer, do you think surgery will take care of it?” Mrs. Maiden asked.

“Ehhh,” he exhaled. “Don’t ask me that.” Mrs. Maiden and Mother kept silent and waited for his response. Finally he answered: “Depends on how far this thing’s advanced. Might be nothing to worry about, or could be we’ll need to do more than surgery to keep from losing the eyes. Let’s keep the fly mask on him — that’s for sure.”

Mother agreed to do just that and relayed again her intent to offer me the best care within her means. Doctor Russ left plenty more instructions for Mother and Mrs. Maiden. Most important to me, other than my eyes, my arthritis, and still being somewhat underweight, he pronounced me perfectly fit to serve as Claire’s first horse.

“Chancey’s got some health challenges, no doubt about that. But if we take good care of him, Chancey’ll make a fine first horse,” were the wise doctor’s exact words. I took satisfaction that he again made a point of calling me a horse, not a pony.

The doctor and the dentist were new acquaintances of mine, and I had liked them both just fine. Now it was time to turn our attention to my badly overgrown and sore feet. I hoped that the farrier would be just as amiable. Farriers are a transient lot, more transient even than horses. I have heard Mrs. Maiden say that there are as many as forty different farriers working around the blue mountains.