The Blind Pony, Part Two

Vivian had just left to share her terrible news with her husband Ed, leaving Leta alone for the first time since the doctor told them that the pregnancy had been a false one. The knowledge had been devastating to both daughter and mother, and while Vivian was responsible for sharing the news and making recompense to herself, Leta had never felt more alone in her life. After her daughter left, she didn’t go back into the house. Instead, she headed down the street in the late afternoon.

The farm at the end of her street had been in the area a long time, long before the encroaching neighborhood grew beside it. With the War and its aftermath finally over, the automobile industry was booming in Toledo, and manufacturing was becoming a primary form of business in the area. Veterans like her son and son-in-law were finally marrying, settling down and producing families. While they may have worked on farms as young children, they were not farmers at heart any longer. And all the new technology that had grown out of the War required different forms of expertise. Returning soldiers needed jobs and houses.

Certainly during the war, the number of factories grew tremendously, especially in railroad and shipping areas like Toledo on Lake Erie. And quiet neighborhoods like Leta and her husband’s were growing. An entirely new street had been added parallel to theirs in only a month and another had just been plotted. The small farm at the end of the street didn’t have a chance.

The property consisted of a large old farmhouse, several acres of wheat, strawberry patch, vegetable garden, twenty apple and cherry trees, chicken coop, equipment barn and animal barn, which primarily housed retired workhorses. The barn had a large paddock nearest the end of the street.

As usual, the horses were standing at the far end of the paddock in the shade, but Leta walked past them. She had no interest. Instead, she walked around the barn to where Charley was in his own paddock in his own reverie.

Earlier in the summer, her grandson Don had come barreling into the kitchen one afternoon, his face flushed and his voice loud with excitement. Although he had visited the horses several times that spring and summer already, this was the first time he had learned that just on the other side of the barn was a smaller, private paddock for a blind pony. His enthusiasm and description had piqued his grandmother’s interest, so she followed him. While she knew about the horses and other animals, she had not considered that a second, smaller paddock was just on the other side of the barn, beyond her sight, a small enclosure that provided a small exercise area for a single, blind miniature horse.

That first time, the blind pony seemed to be waiting for them, sniffed Don quickly, but then turned its attention to her, and she simply wanted to hug it.

“His name is Charley,” Don told her.