Saturday, March 13, 2004

I am 12 years old. We just got home from a poker ride. We picked up my new horse this morning, a shining white Arabian mare. My hearts desire! We unload the horses from the trailer and I am stroking the rabbit soft fur of her neck. Big Russ is coming up the road in his truck, his dogs in the back. Our dogs run out to chase his truck, forgetting in their excitement the frequent training they received about staying out of the road. A car is heading down the hill in the opposite direction, dangerously speeding along the narrow gravel road. They pass at the intersection of our driveway. Rambeau doesn’t come back into the driveway. I run to the road and see him laying there. I scream for my mom and run to his side. She is up at the barn, and comes running at the panic in my voice. She dispatches me to call the vet and my dad arrives as I have them on the phone. He assesses the situation. Rambeau is in shock, and he cant move his back legs. Dad tells me to come say goodbye to Rambeau, and goes into their room to retrieve his gun. We hurry back to the road and I kiss Rambeau’s face. I caress his ears, and tell him I love him. I kiss him above his eyes, kiss his beloved muzzle. My mom walks me back to the horse trailer. I wrap my arms around my new mare’s neck. When the shot rings out I scream. I bury my face in her mane and sob uncontrollably. My best friend, childhood companion of 10 years, is gone.

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