Leaving

The truck caught my attention as the engine sputtered to a stop.  After some slamming, thumping and other ruckus, Savannah sat on the tail gate rattling a bucket of something that sounded delicious.  Apples was already going to investigate, and I couldn't let her get more than me. 

The metal of the bed was hard and cold on my feet.  Head down, I plowed through the others and sunk my nose deep into the feed.  Chicken scratch.  But I’ll take it.

Even the tailgate slamming didn't deter me from my meal.  But the engine starting, that got my attention.  The ground shifted and rolled beneath me.  I stumbled into Daisy, who was still trying to gulp down the last of the feed in the bucket.  I braced, feeling queasy.  But it wasn't the moving truck that sent a shiver through my hide.  I knew this feeling: uncertainty with a hint of fear.  We were leaving.    

Apples, like me, stuck her nose in the air and peeped though the slats.  We were veterans of leaving.  We both arrived at the farm from different places.  I came from a small horse farm, and I don’t remember where before that.  Apples arrived shortly after me, but we bonded quickly, being of similar stature and the only two without ears.  The others just stood braced, confused, and looking ill. 

The air became foreign with the smells of neighboring fields and homes.  This changed into the scent of exhaust as the truck gained speed.  The wind and the earth roared.  Through the slats in the cattle rack I could see other vehicles moving slowly next to us. 

As I knew it would, the truck eventually slowed and became still and quiet.  I could smell Savannah before we saw her fumbling with the gate to open it.  There were other people, too.  Small ones with strange scents.  Savannah beckoned us to follow her through the human fence of children, giggling and shouting.  There was a gate opening into a fenced enclosure. 

The ground was covered in nasty wood chips, but I soon found rose bushes just within nose reach through the chain link.  There was also a corner of the lot covered in delicious pine needles and a forgotten flower bed with some quickly disappearing mums. 

It was a pleasant lunch after an unsettling trip.

Without notice, the empty lot quickly filled with children.  They were everywhere.  They petted and poked and fed me green stuff and pine needles.  Strange as they were, the children didn't seem to intend me any harm.  I accepted their attention with mild curiosity. 

One of the children tugged on my collar.  It was Timmy, the little boy from home.  He wanted me to go with him.  Normally I would ignore him and go my own way, but Timmy was the only familiar thing in this strange place, so I agreed to follow. 

He led me up and down and around through strange structures.  An entourage of laughing, grinning children surrounded and trailed us.  The adults followed at a distance, holding up and making noises with strange contraptions. 

Every once in a while I saw Apples, Daisy, or Buddy through the crowd of children.  Usually it was Daffodil calling and searching for Daisy, her mother. 

Our entourage gradually diminished in size until it was only Timmy and a little girl.  We had wandered under one of the play structures.  It was cool, relatively quiet, and calm.  Time to lay down.  So I did.  Timmy tugged on my collar, but I ignored him this time.  He shrugged and sat down next to me with his arms around my neck, head resting on my shoulder blade.  Feeling comfortable and secure, I couched up some partially digested grass and chicken scratch and started chewing.  Might as well get some work done while I wait.

As quickly as they came, the children disappeared back into the building.

Savannah came to load us all back into the vehicle.  The others fought her, trying to escape as she latched up the tail gate.  Next followed the usual rumbling chaos of the wind and road. 

When all grew quiet and the tail gate dropped, my muscles relaxed.  The odor of the old chicken coop, the hog pen, and the neighbor burning grass clippings across the road greeted me.  I could hear the screeching of the guinea hens, the annoyed honking of the ganders, and the rolling gobble of Tom.  We were home, and it was instantly as though we had never left.