The Longest Road.

More bad luck. More worry. More fear.

My horse is ill. Very.

I was supposed to work today, but by a strange coincidence and convenience my boss had forgotten to put me in for my usual Monday night shift. I was about to go home, silently relieved that I didn’t have to work, when Sumi called, her voice tight.

“I’m sorry to tell you this,” she had said. “But, Basjan is ill. My father just called. I’m still at work but I’m finishing up and will go to the farm. You have to phone the vet, get him to come out…”

I had listened to her words, but didn’t hear them immediately, the pain of panic that had flared up in my chest overwhelming. God help me, I thought quietly. Help him. I can’t loose him, not now. Not now. “I’ll go,” I said. “Immediately, but…” Afternoon traffic. Money. I didn’t have anything with me and going home would take time that I didn’t have… I didn’t say anything else, unable to work the words into existence. Instead, I leapt into my father’s pick up, because my car was still being repaired after last week’s mishap, and drove the agonizingly slow route to the farm. I hate traffic, hate driving and in those few moments, hated the world and everything in it that seemed to have turned against me.

10 miles had never felt so long.

We reached the farm together, Sumi and I, and found my horse standing in the shade, his flanks dark with sweat and his head low. He had a headache and hardly moved when we approached him. For once, I’d have given anything to see him run away from me as was his occasional habit or flinch at my touch, but he did nothing, his eyes closed to the world as he seemed to sway on his feet. But, he wasn’t down, not yet.

We gave him what we could, injected him with medication a vet had provided to us. Tomorrow morning early, before my next shift, I’ll go back and see if he’s alright. See if he’s still standing. Darkly, fearfully, see if he’s still alive.

If I loose him, I don’t know what will become of me.