The Mighty Finn (The End)

Slipping on a pair of gloves, I stepped into the stall anticipating that Amber was just behind me. We had delivered so many foals together previously, that we eased back into an unspoken pattern of communication. She snapped a brown checkered nylon lead rope onto the halter just beneath ZigZag's jaw and steadied her as I slid to the mare's hip. I pushed her tail sideways and carefully reached inside. I felt one slippery hoof immediately and traced its shape. It was still covered with the unbroken placenta. Reaching slightly further back I found the second tiny hoof followed by a tiny nose and breathed a sigh of relief that both were present. The head was turned on its side and I felt the small jaw but knew that I would correct that in a few more moments.

    Removing the gloves, I stepped outside the stall to allow her some space and time. Amber disappeared for a few moments and returned with the portable oxygen tank in tow. Again, in unspoken synchronicity, we stepped back into the stall as ZigZag lay down.  Amber squatted near her head and I took up position at her rear. This time, I did not need to reach inside the mare to check her laborious progress. I grasped the opaque placenta which held the precious package and gently tore the membrane. The first hoof had breached her pelvis and was protruding beneath her tail. Kneeling behind her, I found the second foot with one hand and cupped the tiny jaw still inside the mare with the other. With each heavy contraction, I swept the jaw into the correct position but it resisted my attempts to straighten it.

    As ZigZag's body played the dance it learned before time, she instinctively knew when the foals shoulders hit her pelvis. There was suddenly no more room and her pushes became ineffective. Her mind said to push more but there was no more. Instead, she twisted and her legs moved toward the ceiling. As I stooped in the corner, I realized if she rotated further or succeeded in rolling, I would be trapped. Reacting rather than thinking, I hopped over her hip. Amber helped ZigZag to stand in hopes that she would reposition herself. And she did not.

    Amber called out the time. She was keeping the minutes as they passed. We both knew that the foal needed to be out and gasping for breath in less than twenty minutes from the onset of ZigZag's labor.

    "Fourteen," she announced. There was no more time for waiting. Although  instinct told her to lie down, the shoulders of the foal were locked against the mare's pelvis. With legs out to just the ankles and the foal's head still rotated, the shoulders were creating their own roadblock. Like a childs finger puzzle which requires finesse rather than brute force, I began the tenuous task of shifting the shoulders until they were slightly offset to remove the lock they formed. Once the head, then neck were turned, the shoulders followed.

    "Sixteen," Amber called calmly. Waiting for the invitation she knew was about to come.

    "Ok, we're ready back here, can you help me pull?" I asked. On cue, ZigZag gently lowered her body to the soft thick straw which was waiting for her foal's arrival. Mary Ann entered the stable and rushed to gently stroke the mare's face. Amber grasped the leading leg and waited. I grasped the second leg and reached down to pull the amniotic veil away from the foal's face as it appeared from inside the heaving red mare. Working in unison but careful to keep the puzzle pieces in place, we waited for the next contraction. As it came, we pulled strong and steadily- feeling the shoulders once again wedge against the pelvis.

    Then, just as the contraction peaked and before it ceased, the resistance was gone. We paused for just that moment, the mare bore down in a final effort, and the living ball of horse rushed out onto the straw behind the mare. ZigZag closed her eyes for a moment and breathed a deep long breath.

    "Eighteen minutes," Amber called in the background as she scribed the number onto the detailed chart hanging outside the stall door.

    And the mighty Finn opened her eyes. They were the same deep brown color of her mother. She blinked once, slowly and gasped. I carefully untangled her hind limbs from the umbilical cord which was still pulsing from inside her mother. It was more alive than the foal at that moment. With each pulse, her tongue turned from purple to blue to red and eventually pink.

    I reached down and moved the wisp of hair which would be her tail aside and determined that she was indeed a she. The insult of birth and sensation of life overwhelmed the foal and she shook with the newness of this world. As life continued to pulse from her mother, she flailed her long legs and pulled herself upright until she was resting on her chest.

    The small red replica of the large red mare blinked again and then in a mighty effort, she pulled herself forward while lying on the straw. In that instant, the cord snapped and her mother sprung upwards. Where moments before they were lying connected now they were touching noses as mother greeted offspring.

    We stepped outside the stall and stood, a small group of outsiders, watching as they recognized one another. In the way that we cannot comprehend, the bond was forged there before us in the straw. And in that moment, ZigZag loved Finn.




The End.