THE BLIND HORSE

By Lydia M.

Chanca swished through the tall, dry grass on the Australian foothills.

She dropped her nose to the ground, moving slowly and carefully in search of a drink.

Not far away she could hear the small stream, the thin sheet of water chattering over the rocks. Chatter-chuckle-splash, chatter-chuckle-splash.

Chanca lifted her head high and sensed the breeze, delicately trembling her nostrils.

As she walked, she felt the dry grass brush over her body. Swish, swish.

Thump, Chanca’s hoof hit a hard mound of dirt and she stumbled, her stride broken.

She picked herself up and continued to the stream.

She dipped her head, to take a long gulp of the fresh, cool smelling water.

If a bird were to fly close to the lone horse, it would have puzzled over its strange behavior. The horse looked as if it could not see.

And the bird would have guessed right, Chanca was blind.

Poor Chanca was in search of a home. More than anything she wanted a herd she could run with, over the plains and the mountains.

She had been searching, but her blindness stopped her from traveling very fast.

She was sick of stumbling over dirt mounds, rocks and roots. She wanted to see the morning dew settle over the grass in Winter and the flowers blossom and grow in Spring.

A sigh rattled through her body and she turned to find a grazing spot.

Chanca heard the twitter-twitter of the birds, smelt the gum trees and tasted the heat on the breeze but without her sight, she couldn’t do many things others could.

She had grazed for an hour, when she felt the ground beginning to tremble under her hooves.

She raised her head and sniffed the air.

Chanca let out a whinny of delight as she sensed horses around her.

The herd settled down and grazed. 

Chanca couldn’t conceal the amazement at having this herd beside her. She already felt she belonged.

She felt the breeze ripple over her body and smelt the horses around her. 

Chanca was happy. She finally had a home.