CHAPTER 5 WOLVES?
We had a secret that we never did tell Mom and Dad. They gave us an afternoon off, and we went out hunting for excitement on the other side of the ridge where we found three wild ponies. They had probably escaped the flood farther upriver and had scavenged their way into our area. They were thin and mangy, but lots of fun to catch and to try to ride.
"Let‘s herd them up and take them home," said Scopi.
"Do you want Dad to kill them?" barked JohnB. "You know what he always does with unwanted strays."
"But we do want them," chimed in Rooster.
"Yes, and what will we feed them in the winter?" JohnB sneered.
"Oh . . ."
"They are surviving over here on their own. Let‘s just keep it our secret and try to help them make it," JohnB proposed.
And so we agreed.
I caught a black mare and tamed it enough so Rooster could get up on a stump and throw his leg over her back. We older boys watched in wonder as he gripped his toes under that filly's belly, dug his fists into her mane, and raced around the woods like a banshee. As he headed our way, he would leap off while the pony was going full tilt. He did this several times, getting jolted and bruised.
"Why do you keep doing that, Rooster?" we asked. "We'll catch her for you so you can get off."
"No, no, no." He shook his stubborn head. "That's how the boys did it in the Pony Express"
Rooster was just the right nickname for him. Years ago my little, green Easter chick grew up to be a big, mean, white rooster. One day it pranced up to my baby brother, who was crawling in the grass. It hopped on his head and sunk its claws into the baby's scalp, leaving a crown of bloody puncture wounds. That day the bird went into the pot, and the baby became "Rooster" to dignity the event. But, I was mad about losing my pet.
It was nearly impossible to keep our secret the day that we found the black mare's half-eaten carcass. The other two ponies were not telling. How we wished they could talk! The unknown murderer haunted our waking thoughts as well as our dreams. What we wanted to know was: would it get us next?
Several nights later we heard a big racket. Part of it was Dad‘s trying to find his shoes in the dark, and part was Narnia's bleating, and part was wild barking and thrashing around in the woods. I hid in my sleeping bag, but JohnB and Dad went out.
We heard the most awful whacking and yelling. I was sure that it must be wolves. We could hear Mom in her corner making her emergency "Help!" prayer.
The noise went on for a few minutes, then something happened that we never would have dreamed; Dad opened the door and shoved Narnia into the cabin. She was bleeding on the underside of her belly, which was all spread out for the time of her delivery. She was stiff with fright.
Dad wrestled her to the floor and tied her tight to the table legs, spread-eagle style. He began to rub her underside with clean rags dipped in bleach,
"It was dogs," he announced. "It was hungry dogs that have gone into wild packs since the flood."
I whispered in Rooster‘s ear since it was nearest to my mouth, "I guess that‘s what happened to Black Beauty."
Aloud, I asked, "What will we do, Dad? How will we be safe?"
"Robinson Crusoe made a fence of poles, but that would take us all winter," muttered Scopi.
"Do they just come at night?" asked Mom. "Do they always attack under the belly?"
"Do they eat people?" asked Sol, in a trembly voice.
We all laughed, but nobody looked happy in the flickering light of the fireplace.
"JG, you've always had a strong stomach, I’m going to need you to help me save Namia's life. Her womb is punctured and the fluid is running out. If her baby dies inside of her, we'll lose them both. She‘s looking weak already. Get the paring knife sharpened up, and then wash your hands super clean."
The other guys pulled the covers over their heads, glad to be out of the action, but I was feeling pretty important.
I had to root around in the shadows for the whetstone, but I got the knife to a fine hone while Dad pried open Narnia's mouth and poured in a little cold coffee.
"Here," he whispered, "you hold the light while I make an incision." Then he called, "Mom, if you can do it, please find us some white thread and a needle. We're going to need the antibiotic salve, too."
Actually, the surgery in the half-dark was fascinating. After Dad made a neat cut right down the middle of the pregnant belly, the skin peeled back on both sides, showing the seeping uterus wall. I could see wiggling going on inside the womb.
Dad took a deep breath, held the knife close to the blade tip and made another long slice. Out came a slimy glob, with little hooves kicking off its covering. Dad helped with the knife, but, by then, here came another, and then one more!
"Work on them, JG, while I work on Narnia," he ordered.
I did what he had done, letting the babies loose from their sacks. One of them was not moving, it looked blue. I grabbed up a dishtowel and started to rub them as we had seen wild animal mothers do in the TV nature shows.
"Dad," I asked, "should I cut their cords?"
"No, let them alone. Maybe Namia will be able to do her part when I get her sewed up."
By now, several sets of eyes came out from under the covers to stare. "Triplets, boys. Triplets! We‘re rich!" It was Rooster, the optimist.
Mom offered to get some warm water and a pan, but Dad still hoped that Narnia could lick the babies and get them going in the natural way; and maybe she could, for she was struggling to get up.
Dad did his best to sew up long cuts. He laced the womb first, trying hard not to contaminate her insides, and then he pulled her soft stomach hide together. Before he let her stand up, he took a long, clean rag from Mom and wrapped it around the goat‘s middle like a binding, hoping it would hold her like a girdle.
Namia wouldn't accept any water. She went right into the job of licking each tiny body, even the dead one. Dad finally had to help her get the placentas loose. I bundled all the mess into a plastic garbage bag. Mom brought some warm water, and I was more than glad to wash up.
It took us a long time to relax, the drone of Dad's voice was the best sedative.
"Now, boys, we‘ve done all we can. We’ll let God take care of things while we rest. Don't get your hopes up too much. Try not to be disappointed if nothing works. We've done our best. And thanks a lot, JG, you were as steady as a rock."
"But, Dad, we‘ve got to find some way to get rid of those dogs, “called Sol, the thinker.
Lying there in the dark, we could hear the sounds of tiny sucking, and we gradually fell asleep.