Leta knew that although her special friend couldn't see her, it could hear her as she approached his paddock. The pony shook off some flies from his head, or shuddered, or even stretched and then walked over to meet her at their usual place. He sniffed her eagerly, hoping perhaps for the usual treat she brought him. Even though she realized that her regular visits could result in overfeeding him, she always brought one sugar cube. Of course, not this time. When she didn’t offer her open hand, Charley jerked his head curiously a couple of times to assess the situation and then settled his head and neck against her in a loving gesture she had not previously experienced.
While the animal’s owner Mr. Crocker had told her during one of their several conversations that horses were not the brightest of animals, at least in this moment, she felt a great empathy from the blind pony and leaned against him. She suddenly felt too exhausted to bear her own weight.
“Oh, Charley,” she said softly, “it has been a hard day.”
She didn’t need to tell him anything, that she had only a few hours ago been full of hope at the prospect of another grandchild, that her heart burned with joy and excitement for her daughter Vivian who, after so many unsuccessful attempts, had made it into her third month and was also so happy. She didn’t need to tell him of her anxiety at the doctor’s office during Vivian’s examination, sitting in a room full of expectant mothers and their mothers. She didn’t need to tell him that the doctor with almost no feeling at all had informed them that Vivian had suffered a false pregnancy, or as he put it “hysterical pregnancy,” that her daughter had wanted a second child so badly she had used her powerful mind to convince herself she was. The doctor further told the thirty-seven-year-old woman it was time for her to stop trying. She never told him that for several hours mother and daughter, stunned and weakened had simply sat next to each other in her living room before Vivian cast off the temporary paralysis and went home to share the information with her husband. She didn’t need to tell the attentive animal that after Vivian drove off, instead of returning to her empty house, she walked down the street to this place, to spend the rest of the afternoon with her dear friend.
They just stood there for a while, woman and pony, just the two of them, Leta’s head as empty of thought as the horse’s and her body weakened by the ordeal, the heat of the summer day and dehydration.
While they stood, the sun continued to move across the sky, straining toward the western horizon while being held back by the strength of summer’s pull. It was only when she heard the activity in the barn for feeding time that she was stirred. She was grateful that Charley ignored the familiar sounds that usually had him charging toward the door in anticipation of his evening meal.
“You’re a good friend, Charley,” she said, after raising her head from the pony’s neck. “Thank you. Now, go eat your supper.”
Even as she uttered the words, she remembered her own responsibility. She had neglected to telephone Vivian’s mother-in-law, who was babysitting their grandson. Almost instantaneously Leta was walking as swiftly as she could back to her own house, chastising herself for her selfishness all the way.
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