"Goodbye, Wendell" by Emily Sherman

Photo by Doug Kelley on Unsplash

I trekked down the lane between the mare’s paddock and the woods. Tree branches dangled over, casting shadows along the worn dirt path. The electric fence hung limp on its posts; it was tired of horses trying to escape. The mares stood relaxed, nibbling on the hay strewn through their paddock. I slipped under the rope that was sectioning off the lane from the barn and stood up in an attempt not to stumble on the green apples scattered across the lane. I kicked a few of the apples into the woods; they were rotten, with brown slowly creeping over them. The trees had dropped the apples once the heat began. Soon summer camp would be starting at the barn. This was the way it always was. The barn was predictable; every year the same cycle took place. 

"Hey, Wendell." The boney, flea-bitten gray gelding pricked his ears and slowly raised his neck. Little brown flecks of hair covered his almost white coat. His bones stuck out from his hips and legs. His neck was sunken and his jaw looked uncomfortably offset due to his tumors—the basis of his problems. Yet, his eyes shone brightly like the sun. A sorrow-filled smile slowly spread across my face. I couldn’t help it. I revealed the banana I had in my hand. It was bright yellow with brown spots like paint splatters. There was a satisfying snap of the stem as I started to peel it. The little stringy bits stuck to the peel, hesitant to let go. 

Over in the cross-country field, turkeys moseyed around, enjoying the apples. Everything seemed to soak up the sun and glow. Golden light settled softly on the mossy log jumps. The long grass waved gently in the breeze. Everything was so beautiful and calm. I ran my hand along Wendell’s back. Dust and excess hair floated into the air. He rhythmically chewed his banana. I looked around at the farm—my second home. The riding arena would be dusty, I thought. No one else was there, just me and the horses.

I had started leasing Wendell a short year ago. I leased him even though he was old and unhealthy. Wendell's owner was in college, so he was left without someone to ride him. The mother of Wendell’s owner was the one taking care of him now since her daughter was gone. Over the year of our lease, Wendell’s health rapidly declined. Eventually, I chose to stop riding him, but we kept leasing him anyway. A large portion of Wendell's care was put on the shoulders of my mother and me even though he wasn’t ours. Essentially, we were paying to take care of someone else's horse. 

Even though we took care of Wendell, he wasn't ours, so we couldn’t make any decisions about him. Everything was still up to Wendell’s owner, even though I doubted how much she liked him.

Wendell put his head back down to continue grazing. His fur tickled my face when I wrapped my arms around his neck. After pulling back, I scanned my eyes over him. My eyes took in every part of him: his sweet gray nose, soft brown eyes, gorgeous coat, and luxurious long tail. I had gotten so used to him being the horse I leased. Now, things are changing. I turned around and started my trip back to the barn. It was time I got back to cleaning stalls. My feet led me on, but my heart was still hugging Wendell. 

The next day it was similar weather. There was a soft breeze blowing wisps of my hair into my face. The lane, which had been covered with apples yesterday, was now covered with tire tracks. The tires had dug deep into the dirt, leaving their mark. My eyes traced the pattern left behind.

This time the rope wasn’t there; no one was in the lane today. The mares stood separately around the paddock. In the middle, a green shed stood alone. The paint was peeled off in some places, and a piece of wood hung out of place. Rocks were scattered around the gently sloping hill. The wood fence on the other side bordered the arena. Milkweed grew up next to the fence. Monarch butterflies could be spotted fluttering around near the plants. It wasn’t the fanciest barn, but it was home. The calm feeling was just a mask—so much had changed since yesterday. Everything felt out of my control. 

I stepped down the steep hill in the lane, turning the corner. A white PVC pipe sat in the mud, protecting the hose from being stepped on by horses. I started walking down the now thinner path. To the right stood four paddocks. Long and skinny, they were lined by electric fencing, which ticked in the background. Each paddock had a metal gate. Blue water troughs, really just buckets cut in half, stood in the middle of muddy spots. Most likely, someone overflowed them that morning. Horses lazily wandered around, bored. A small rock wall was to my left, with little trees sprouting out of it. Tons of daisies grew along the path, and I bent down and picked one. After standing up, I brushed my long brown hair back behind my shoulders. The sun stood in the corner of the sky, burning down on me. 

"Hi, Dallas." My horse looked up, his golden coat sparkling. I kept walking. I wasn’t here for him today. I strode over the green hose that lay crisscrossing the path. I made my way along to the last paddock, which stood empty. A green metal fence separated the back paddock from the field. The gate hung sagging on its hinges. I stepped up onto the rocks by the fence and looked in. Tire tracks circled around one upturned spot. The dirt was slightly discolored, and there was a noticeable bump. Everything was the same except the mound and the heavy feel of the day.

Next to me, a blue barrel rested on the rock wall. On the top of the barrel, there was a small opening. I set the daisy down in the hole, it rested delicately on the rim of the barrel. I returned my gaze to the mound in the paddock. I wouldn’t have put him down if it was my choice, but it wasn’t my choice. It was too late; I couldn’t do anything. Just yesterday I saw him alive. He was so oblivious to his fate. I pushed the swirling thoughts out of my mind. It was too late. 

"Goodbye, Wendell. Goodbye forever."

Emily Sherman is thirteen years old; she lives in Orono, Maine, and attends Orono Middle School. Emily is at the barn every day. She loves horseback riding and owns a horse named Dallas. Emily loves to read and enjoys writing. Emily wrote “Goodbye Wendell” to highlight the relationship between a horse and their rider, and the grief of losing a beloved animal.