She stopped recording and put the phone away. “Back up, baby. Let’s get that blanket off you for a second. You gonna be okay with that?”
He was fine with it, except that he kept swinging his head over to nibble at her beanie, her braid, her coat, her pockets.
The jerkwad she’d rescued him from had told her he was a ‘mean old cuss,’ or something like that. No, the jerkwad was a mean old cuss. Smoky was a sweetheart—whose spirit was strong enough he could fight back when somebody was shitty to him.
With the blanket off, she got some more footage—TikTokkers loved their trauma porn—then checked him over carefully for wounds, signs of illness, or any other indications of special needs to address. She’d call the vet out to do a full workup, but her practiced layperson’s eyes said the boy just needed some meat on his bones and some kindness on his heart.
With all that done, she covered him up again. He was too skinny to go without in this cold. Then she refilled his bag and water tub. In winter, her stock got a ration of feed as well as sweet alfalfa hay, but a starved horse got only hay for the first several days no matter the season. Anything more was carefully portioned treats for rewards and encouragement only.
As she closed Smoky’s stall, she heard the weary grind of Mrs. Hicks’ ancient Country Squire wagon. Leaving the rest of the animals to wait a little longer, she went out the side door and smiled as Mickey clambered out of the passenger side of his mom’s car.
“Hi, Phoebe!” Mickey called, trotting straight for her.
“Hey, Mickey!” she called back.
“Mickey! Your hat!” his mother yelled from the driver’s window. Mickey pulled the beanie in his hands over his head.
Satisfied, Mrs. Hicks waved at Phoebe. “Hi, hon! I gotta get back to town. I’ll pick him up at three, right?”
“Right. Sounds good.” She and Mickey stood and watched his mom turn around and drive away.
“Did you buy that big blue truck, Phoebe? It’s pretty. It’s blue like the Kansas City Royals. Royal blue!”
“It is pretty, like the Royals. I agree. But no, it’s not mine. That truck belongs to a friend. My truck broke down last night, and he brought me home.”
“Oh no! Your truck broke? Did it hurt you?”
“Nope, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Come on, you can meet Smoky. That’s the horse I rescued yesterday. And I haven’t fed anybody else yet, so we’ve got a lot of work to do this morning.”
“It’s after seven a.m., because I start work at seven a.m. and I been here”—he checked his digital watch—“for three minutes. It’s 7:03. We need to feed everybody right away!”
Phoebe hooked her arm around Mickey’s. “Let’s get to it!”
~oOo~
First thing, Phoebe introduced Mickey and Smoky. Though Smoke had shown a keen suspicion of men last night, and he was initially wary of Mickey, it took only a few minutes for him to figure out that Mickey was the best kind of people. Soon enough, the horse was giving Mickey kisses, nosing the tears from his cheeks. Mickey always cried when he met a new resident, especially when they were so obviously suffering.
“Hey, Mick?” Phoebe said when it looked like her ranch hand had no intention of moving anytime soon, “We got work to do. But after we get everybody going this morning, you can clean him up if you’d like. I’m going to see if Doc LeeAnn can come out this afternoon, so we need to get all the mud off him.
“Okay!” He patted Smoky’s neck and kissed his nose. Smoky kissed him back. Horses weren’t big thinkers, but they were excellent judges of character. “I’ll be back soon, Smoky!”
They left Smoky snug in his stall and finally got to the rest of the animals. Smoky, however, had decided he liked company, and he started shouting complaints as soon as they were out of sight.
The day was cold but clear, so everybody could have breakfast in the fresh air. They filled the hay racks in both big pastures, then led the horses and Klaxon (the burro) out to one, and the cows, alpacas, goats, and Puff the sheep into the other.
Her horse, Amos, a spirited young gelding, leapt into a run at once, bouncing and bucking in celebration of his freedom. The others trotted or ambled around in their usual ways. Titan, who led this weird herd, turned right around at the gate and nickered at her, as if he was reminding her they had somebody new to think about.
Smoky was doing a fine job of reminding everybody himself. He’d been yelling almost nonstop. Which did suggest that he was feeling more energetic and secure this morning.
“Go on, big fella,” Phoebe told him, stroking Titan’s nose. “Smoke’s gotta stay on his own for a while, you know that. He’s okay.”
Titan went exactly nowhere. He nickered at her more pointedly and gave her a ‘do not make me haul you in for questioning ’ glare as he put his head to her chest and shoved.
She laughed at him and turned away.
While Mickey went in to muck the stalls, Phoebe went to let the flocks out. The chicken coop was out back, beside the barn. Their coop had roosting and brooding space for a flock of four dozen, as well as a small walled yard space, so their seventeen hens and one snarky rooster had plenty of room to stay in from the cold and wander around. However, they would rather be cold then cooped, so she turned them out into their big yard, dropped the good kitchen leavings down with their feed, and went to gather eggs.
Next it was down to the pond. The ducks and geese had houses of their own, and they had predator-proof access so they could come and go as they wished. In warm months, these flocks were pretty self-sustaining, but they got feed in the winter, and she did a daily head count and checked for anybody looking like they didn’t feel well.
Though she intended her video for today to focus on Smoky, Phoebe took at least a few seconds of footage of everybody as she did her morning work. She got Amos having a zoomie, Titan being a cop, the alpacas looking typically loopy, chickens orgasming over their kitchen castoffs. Over it all was the soundtrack of one very lonely horse. She could probably cut it all in to tell the story of Smoky’s first day.
Suddenly, the morning was quiet. Standing near the pond, filming the ducks playing on the ice, Phoebe said, “Sounds like Smoky’s got some company again. Let’s go see how he’s doing.”
When Phoebe got back to the stable, she discovered most of the stalls weren’t yet mucked, but Mickey was with Smoky. He had the blanket off and draped over the door, and a grooming caddy in the shavings at his feet. Smoky was getting a curry-comb treatment and literally moaning with pleasure.
She got Vin’s phone out again. “Looks like you two are having a good time.”
Horse and hand looked at her, their expressions equally guilty. “I’m gonna finish the stalls, I promise. But I didn’t like him crying like that.”
It had been plucking her heartstrings, too. She stopped recording and smiled at Mickey. “Go right ahead. Weather’s good today, so nobody’ll need their stall until this evening. Once you get him all pretty, put that blanket back on and turn him out. I’m gonna head in for breakfast, and I’ll call the doc while I’m there. You want me to bring you something to eat?”
Mickey had a standing invitation to eat any meal with them, but he did not like to eat where people who weren’t his mother could see. Sometimes, though, he’d accept a to-go plate.