Chapter 6
The calf stumbled toward his dead mother, bleating like a lost lamb. His eyes glazed over as he touched her hindquarters with his nose. He didn’t even seem to see us watching him. Finally, he folded his thin front legs and lowered himself to the ground, rested his too-big, graceless head across her back, and closed his eyes. It was the saddest thing I’d ever seen. He was waiting for her to wake up.
We had to get him away from her body and back to the barn. But how were we going to do that? By putting a rope around his thin, fragile neck and pulling him along? Taking him home on Rusty’s back was impossible. I wasn’t strong enough to lift him into the saddle and then get aboard myself and hold him there. But dragging him along on the end of Twilight’s rope seemed harsh, especially since he was so obviously confused and overwhelmed and miserable. But what other choice did I have? I unclipped Twilight’s lead rope.
The second she was free, the filly walked toward the calf. She sniffed at his back, then his head, and finally butted his side with her nose. He looked up at her, surprised. She butted him again, harder, and he scrambled to his cloven hooves and stepped toward her. She backed away and he followed, making sucking motions with his mouth. Maybe, since his mother wasn’t moving, he knew enough to ask for help from another creature. Maybe he even thought Twilight was another moose, though she was brighter and smaller.
I reined Rusty forward to meet the moose calf, and while he sniffed the top of the calf’s back, the calf sniffed Rusty’s front legs. Then the lonely little creature pressed close to Rusty’s chest. Though the gelding was gray instead of brown, he was also bigger than Twilight and maybe that made the calf think even more of his mother.
I asked Rusty to take a step back and the calf followed. So I backed him another step and another, then turned Rusty toward the forest. We walked slowly into the forest, and to my incredible relief, the baby moose tottered after us. We passed a few trees before the moose calf stopped. He looked back at his mother’s headless body, bleated, and then tried to run back to her. But Twilight would have none of that. She jumped into his path.
Talk to him, she said to me. Make him come with us.
Moose don’t understand me.
Try.
So I tried. The calf showed no outward sign of any sort that he’d heard, let alone understood. He just stared past Twilight with longing.
We have to get him to want to come with us, I told Twilight.
Twilight did the equivalent of a horsey harrumph and stamped a hoof. Then, with incredible gentleness, she bumped the calf toward Rusty with her nose. I asked Rusty to walk again and the calf reluctantly followed for a few more yards before trying to turn again.
Repeat this about a hundred times and we finally reached the road. After that it was easier. The calf was getting used to following us, and now that his mother’s body was far away, he felt more dependent on Rusty and Twilight. An agonizing hour later we straggled into view of our cabin. I led our pokey group to the porch steps.
“Mom!”
No answer. She must be out in the woods.
“Loonie!”
I scanned the forests that rimmed the meadow around the house. Loonie’s sharp dog ears would hear me.
“Loonie!”
The dark German Shepherd emerged from the forest, her big ears pointing toward the house. So that’s where Mom was working now. Loonie loped toward us and I asked Rusty to canter across the meadow. We’d only gone a few strides when desperate bawling erupted from behind us. Rusty stopped. The moose calf was struggling after us, not wanting to let us out of his sight. I sighed and called again at the top of my overused yelling voice. “Mom!”
Loonie reached us just as Mom strode out from the shelter of the trees. I waved to her to come, then turned my attention to Loonie and the moose calf. The calf didn’t seem any more disturbed by the dog than he had been by the horses, which meant he was too young to have learned about the danger of predators. If we hadn’t decided to investigate, he may not have died of cold or starvation. He may have ended up being some carnivore’s dinner.
Mom held her axe in front of her as she approached the young moose, almost like she wanted to protect herself. She doesn’t trust moose much, apparently not even cute helpless ones. “So this is why you’re late,” she said. “Tell me what happened. Where’d you find it?”
I shook my head in disgust. “You won’t believe it. Some creeps wanted a trophy moose head for their wall, but didn’t know enough to not shoot a cow moose in the springtime.” I couldn’t keep the outrage from my voice. “It was the sickest thing I’ve ever seen!”
“The poor little thing.” She slowly laid the axe on the ground and advanced on the calf. He accepted her presence as easily as he had the horses’ and Loonie’s. “They shot her right beside the road?”
“Well, no.”
“So how did you know to go rescue him?” She scratched the calf on his shoulders and looked up at me.
Mom has a habit of asking the most irritating questions. There was nothing else I could do with such a direct question but confess. At least Rusty wouldn’t be mad at me this time. “I heard the rifle shots and went to investigate.” Might as well keep it simple and to the point.
She turned to me, incredulous. “You followed the sound of gunfire? Are you crazy?” That’s the question always lurking in the back of her mind – is my daughter insane? It’s a great confidence booster. Suddenly, she seemed to realize what she’d said. “I mean, what were you thinking, Evy? You could have been shot.”
“I thought they were target practicing, and wanted them to know that we lived around here. I didn’t want you or the horses to get hit.”
Mom bit her lip, no doubt to stop the flow of words that were trying to shove their way out of her mouth. She took a deep breath. “Evy,” she finally said, in her ultra-calm voice, “You never ride toward gunfire. Always come home and get me. Do you understand?” When I didn’t answer right away, she asked again, just a bit sharper, “Do you understand?”
I nodded. I had to. Nothing could be gained by arguing with her, and besides, I would never be in this exact same situation again, right?
“We should get this little guy inside the barn. Good thing Kestrel came to visit yesterday.” Kestrel brings a gallon of milk and a couple dozen eggs with her every week when she comes.
“I can get him inside, if you want to get some milk,” I said, already thinking ahead to where the little calf would live. He’d have to take Twilight’s stall. It was the smallest, and since Twilight and Rusty got along so well, they could share Rusty’s bigger stall. Rusty’s stall had a door that opened to their outside pasture too and I knew Twilight would like that. In fact, she’d probably like sharing a stall better than living alone, though I’d probably have to remind them to not fight over the oats.
After riding Rusty into the barn, with the calf, Twilight, and Loonie following behind in that order, I slid from his back and opened Twilight’s stall door. Twilight walked inside and rattled her grain bucket. I explained to her that she’d be staying with Rusty for a while and she almost skipped out of her stall. I hoped Rusty would be half as thrilled about sharing as she was.
Together, we directed the calf into the stall, then I put Twilight and Rusty in theirs, making sure the door to the outside was open. I gave them some oats, and the squabbling began.
I told them to share and they ignored me, both trying to eat from both buckets at the same time. I chided and reminded them to act like grown up horses, as they rushed back and forth between grain buckets, desperate to not let the other get a bigger share. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so irritating to be totally and completely ignored. Finally, I let Twilight out of the stall and carried her oats toward the barn door. She stepped on my heels all the way, and the second I put the bucket down, she attacked her snack with gusto. I stroked her golden coat as she chewed rapturously and gazed out at the greening meadow.
Mom came out of the house with a deep
pan of warm milk in her hands and we walked back to the calf’s stall together.
“I hope he can drink it like that,” I said, then opened the stall door and closed it behind us. The moose calf staggered toward us, shoved his nose into the pan and almost knocked it from Mom’s hands, then choked and blew milk out of his nostrils, covering both of us with snotty milk flecks.
“Gross.” I jumped back. So did Mom.
The calf advanced, licking his lips.
“Grab him!” yelled Mom. She was already pressing against the closed stall door. The calf was eagerly reaching for the milk again when I flung my arms around his neck, barely restraining him before he re-attacked the pan.
“Think he’s hungry?” Mom asked, sounding amused as she put the pan on the ground at his hooves.
“Just a little.” Slowly, I allowed him to lower his head. His nose touched the warm liquid and I let go. Instantly, he shoved his nose beneath the surface again. He came up snorting and choking, then in frustration, struck out with a tiny front hoof. The pan went flying and milk sprayed across the calf, us, and the walls.
“We need a bottle,” said Mom, putting her hands on her hips and frowning down at our gangly charge. “And more milk. That was a quarter of our weekly supply.”
“We can get more at Kestrel’s house, and they’ll have bottles for their orphaned calves too. We can borrow one.”
Mom picked up the pan. “I’ll ask to buy one from them. I want to tell them about the poachers anyway.”
“And on the way, I can show you—”
“You’ll stay here. I don’t want you anywhere near where people were shooting.” She opened the stall door and we both stepped into the barn aisle. The moose calf tried to crowd out with us, but we shut the door in his face.
“But, Mom,” I whined, hating that I sounded like a four-year-old but unable to stop myself. “You don’t know where to find the dead moose.” The baby moose wailed, sounding eerily like me, only louder.
“I don’t need to find it,” she said, her voice firm. “If anyone needs to know where the carcass is, they can come here and talk to you.”
“But how long do I have to hang around home? It’s not fair. What if they never catch the poachers?”
The calf bawled again, almost like it was copying me. Mom must have noticed the similarity too, because a tiny smile touched her face as she turned away. She strode toward the tack room. “You’ll stay home until it’s safe again.”
I was about to say that it was never safe in the wilderness but clamped my mouth shut in time. No need to get her concerned about the everyday dangers, like stumbling across wolves or bears, getting caught in freak snowstorms, falling off horses and breaking legs miles from anywhere, and all those lovely things.
“No arguing,” Mom added before disappearing into the tack room, as if she knew what I was thinking.
Grudgingly, I admitted to myself that she was right. Now wasn’t the time for lengthy discussions. We had the calf to care for, and besides, I needed time to prepare an invincible argument. “You’ll hurry, won’t you? He’s so young. He’ll weaken fast.”
She emerged from the tack room carrying Cocoa’s saddle with the bridle draped over the seat. “I’ll be back in two hours. I promise. While I’m gone, you can try the pan of milk again, just in case he figures out how to drink it without spilling. Just don’t fill it as full, okay?”
I nodded morosely and watched her saddle her chocolate coloured mare. This was totally unfair – why should I be housebound because of the stupid poachers?
A minute later, Mom and Cocoa were trotting away from the cabin. They didn’t look the least bit guilty as they left me behind. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth as they vanished around the corner.
I stomped back toward the barn. Rusty raised his head from where he grazed in the pasture.
You okay? he asked.
Yes.
Rusty’s head dropped again. He flicked his tail at mosquitoes as he munched, thoroughly enjoying the new spring grass. I looked around for Twilight but she was nowhere in sight. Had she cut through the forest and joined Mom and Cocoa? I kicked the dirt. It wasn’t fair. Twilight could go but I couldn’t. Even Loonie could go. The dog had disappeared, so she must have followed Mom too. They’d both abandoned me. Deserters.
For a second, I thought of mind-calling Twilight before she got out of range and asking her to come home, but then I changed my mind. She’d probably refuse to come anyway, realizing it wasn’t an emergency, and then I’d really be mad.
I sent a rock spinning away and trudged inside the barn. The moose calf was curled up in the straw, breathing so softly that at first I wondered if he was still alive. He looked so frail and melancholy that it hurt to watch him. He’d lost so much, the poor little guy – and here I was, being completely pathetic: complaining and whining to Mom about having my freedom restricted. The poor calf had lost everything, escaping with only his life. And he still might die, if we couldn’t get food into him.
I meandered outside and toward the cabin, not in a hurry. The calf was resting peacefully, feeling safe and protected for the first time since his ordeal. A bit of sleep was probably good for him, as long as I didn’t let him rest too long. A half hour would probably be the longest I’d want to wait before trying to feed him again – which would give me just enough time to thoroughly check out the birthday present waiting for me beneath Mom’s bed. Maybe a little bit of snooping would make me feel better.
I put one foot on the bottom porch step and…
There’s a whistling sound in the air and suddenly I can’t breathe. There’s something – a rope? A rope! – around my neck, tightening, tightening. I try to scream for help, but my wind is choked off. I run and hit the end of the rope – flip upside down. I hit the ground, hard. Still breathless. Can’t get air. My body is shaking, quivering –
And then shoved Twilight’s terror through the back door of my mind and firmly slammed the door.
I came to, thrashing and convulsing on the wooden porch steps. My cheekbone felt like it had exploded, and I couldn’t help but cry out with the intensity of the pain. Then I panted, groaned, and sat upright. Gingerly, I touched my swelling face, right below my eye. I’d knocked my face on the edge of the step when I lost control.
But I couldn’t worry about that now. Twilight was in trouble; I had to save her. Someone had a rope around her neck and was dragging her away from home. Was Mom in danger too? I reached out with my mind and touched Cocoa’s. She was still within feeling distance, thank goodness. And all I felt was boredom as she trotted along. Major relief!
But Twilight was not safe. Cautiously, I listened to a whisper of her terror. I couldn’t risk being carried away again. No, she wasn’t with Mom. She was being dragged in the opposite direction. Which meant no one but me knew she was in trouble. No one but me could help her.
I wasn’t allowed to leave the cabin and yard, but right then, rules didn’t matter. Twilight needed help and I was the only one who could save her. I’d deal with the consequences of breaking Mom’s rules later, when my filly was safe.