Loved

Despite the rapid flashing of red to blue and the blaring ambulance sirens, there she stood in the middle of the waterlogged pavement, a pink stuffed rabbit hanging limply from her mouth; eyes round with curiosity as she stares almost straight into my soul. Humans rush by her, paying her no aid as they make way for several stretchers to pass behind her. She remains motionless, her head tilted ever so slightly, her knobbly, long legs peeking out from under the drenched and muddy coat draped across her back. My rider dismounts to weave his way through the fray, and as per my profession I approach the young filly and bend my neck down until I am level with her brown doe eyes.

"Hey, kid, what are you doing out here- it's cold," I question, the young foal stiffening slightly upon my approach. She gives me a faint shrug, the coat on her back making the gesture more visible, "Where's your mother, little one, you need to run along home to her."

"My mother is in the sky," the filly pipes up, almost cheerily at the prospect of speaking of her late parent, "She wasn't in the sky this morning, but after the big boom she was."

"She's in the sky...?" I ask, the question dying on my lips and my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach. The filly hums in agreement, the response slowly turning into a song only she knows the notes to. I look over my damp shoulders at the scene- the barn was irreparable, the remnants of soot and faint embers still visible from the street. Firefighters hobble over the wreckage, attempting to salvage anything from the dilapidated building. The yips and whines of canine officers echo over the loud hum of the confused onlookers posted on the roadside, police officers calling out for them to stay back. I look back down at the young filly, who seems to be quite occupied with a giant puddle farther down the pavement. I rush after her, offering her my side for warmth, in which she gladly accepts.

"Mr., will someone want me?" She murmurs into my saddlebag, and my heart lurches in my chest. Looking at her now, her form seems smaller- weaker, her eyes filled with a certain breed of worry no individual her age should ever have to experience. A feeling of uncertainty wells up inside me as my eyes scan her for any external injuries for the hundredth time, guilty that I cannot heal those that now lie beneath the rough waters threatening to spill down her soot-stained cheeks. I nuzzle through her matted hair, fixing it as best as I possibly can and she giggles at the sensation, the tears in my eyes slowly trailing down my cheeks.

"Yeah kid. Of course someone will want you, I promise."

Someone will want you. They will run toward us both and grab onto my halter, wrap you in a warm comforter and set you down on the back of the extra volunteer ambulance parked in the lawn. They will check you for wounds as I have done countless times and argue with the other officers on who gets to keep you. You'll be placed in the backseat of his rusty old '98 Chevrolet and ride home listening to "Sweet Child of Mine", watching as the sky shifts from black to blue and notice the tree line becoming more dense as the ride persists. You'll get startled by the sharp turn into the gravel driveway, but will be grateful to know there's a warm stall to call your own, and a grumpy old stallion right on the other side.

Someone will want you. And you will be loved.