The Blessings of the Animals_A Novel

CHAPTER Forty-Four

GABRIELLA AND I HELD HANDS AS I LED HER BACK TO THE barn.
We peered through the stall slats. “How you doing there, lady?” I whispered. Luna rolled her eyes toward me and snorted once, her breathing pronounced but not labored.
I thought about calling Dr. Coatney, but I’d been dragged out of bed unnecessarily by clients enough times to have a little restraint. She was near enough to get here fast should we need her.
Luna lay quietly for several minutes and at some natural cue gave a mighty heave. The foal’s nose, resting on two front hooves—“diving” position, just what we wanted—came another inch into view.
Gabriella started to undo the latch, but I put my hand on hers and shook my head. I gathered up the cushions Mom and Dad had left, and we stayed in the aisle where we could watch through the slats in the boards. “Let’s leave her alone,” I whispered. “She’s doing great.”
Gabby gripped my hand, her face bright, eager. “You know who would love to see this?”
Together we said, “Tyler.”
“You can call him,” I said, “but he better hurry.”
She went outside to make the call, then came back in grinning. “He’s coming!” We knelt shoulder to shoulder. For nearly ten minutes we were silent, watching Luna’s progress.
“Is it scary?” Gabby asked.
“Look at Luna’s face. Does she look scared?”
The donkey’s face was regal, her white muzzle closed, her velvety black nostrils flaring.
“She looks . . . focused,” Gabriella whispered.
I nodded. “That’s it. Our bodies take over. You’re just along for the ride.”
Another heave, and a whole foal’s face, almost to the ears, became visible, still wrapped in the silver-blue, shiny membrane, the front legs now extending to mid-shin.
I feared Tyler might not make it in time, but after another ten minutes or so, I heard Max’s greeting bark just as Luna gave another push, her legs momentarily extended straight out to the side with her effort. Most of the foal’s neck slid into slippery view, its seemingly endless legs in their elegant dive.
Tyler rushed into the barn. He made no noise and knelt beside us, saying only, “Thank you.”
“I think you just made it,” I whispered. “Once we get to the shoulders, the show’s nearly over.”
After moments filled only with Luna’s deep breaths, Gabriella asked, “Does it . . . hurt?”
“Are you f*cking kidding me?” flew out of my mouth before I could help it.
She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh. Tyler’s shoulders shook.
“Yes, it hurts,” I said. “A lot.” I didn’t tell her that her arrival had felt like a freight train grinding on my spine. I didn’t tell her that part of the awe was the realization we could take such pain. Or that pain could come in white-hot waves in levels I’d never imagined. How it wasn’t even the pain itself but the stamina required that had over and over again stunned me with there’s more.
I simply said, “But it’s worth it.”
“I read somewhere,” Tyler whispered, “that we can’t recall pain. Humans can’t re-create pain the way they can other emotions.”
I nodded. “It’s a handy survival skill. That’s the only reason people have second children.”
Or ever risk loving a second time.
It made sense that labor hurt so much: it was the only preparation for how much it would hurt to love your child so completely.
Love wasn’t even a word that came close.
I looked at Gabriella peering through the slats, her head almost touching Tyler’s sleep-rumpled hair.
A groan from Luna turned my eyes back to the slat in time to see the foal’s shoulders emerge.
The front hooves pierced the membrane and it peeled back, revealing the foal’s face and open eyes. Its little nostrils fluttered in surprise.
Just as the book and Dr. Coatney had said, thank God, the rest of the foal slid out of Luna’s body with a wet whoosh, and there it lay, perfect, whole, and in the world.
We all gasped aloud. “Good girl,” I said. “Good job, Luna.”
Luna tucked her front legs under her and curled her neck around to meet this miniature version of herself. The foal’s rabbit ears unfolded toward its mother, and we laughed. I was crying, with happiness, relief, emotion. Just plain old emotion—any of them, all of them, you name it—coursing through me. Gabby held my hand. I saw that Tyler held her other.
As I quietly predicted each action for Tyler, Luna did all the right things: she tore off the rest of the membrane and licked the foal dry, so that its wet black coat turned gray, like her own. She climbed to her feet, her own sides slick with sweat, her back legs shiny with blood, and nudged the foal to stand. The foal pinned back its ears, closed its Cleopatra eyes, and turned its head away in a comical impersonation of the mother it had just met.
“Wow,” Gabby said. “It’s its own little creature already.”
You have no idea. I only nodded, my professional side taking over, watching the foal breathe, watching for the afterbirth, watching Luna’s bleeding. Check, check, check. Textbook.
Luna nudged her nose under the foal’s belly and prodded it to unfold those impossibly long legs. It looked, for all the world, like some giant, fuzzy spider—bent black legs all around it.
It rose to standing. We cheered.
It toppled over in a nosedive.
It stood again. Wobbled. Sat down.
Luna let it rest a few moments, then helped it as it rose again. This time it stood long enough for me to say, “We have a baby girl.”
She began to nurse. For a moment the only sound was strong, greedy suckling, then my phone vibrated in my pocket. I read the text from the Davids: “Jess in labor! Here we go!”
I thought, There’s more. Love so sharp and clear it hurts.
“Something must be in the air this morning,” I joked as I told the kids the news.
Biscuit whinnied from his stall, and Luna brayed in answer.
The foal pulled away from the teats, white milk dribbling from her gums as she raised a high-pitched, ridiculous bray of her own. Like someone hiccuping on helium.