Not Part of the Plan

Twice, my plans for one horse were interrupted.

The first time, she was beginning her training.

The second time, she was supposed to be retired.

Both times, I thought the interruption had changed the story for the worse.

Both times, a year later, a black foal stood beside her.

The mare’s name was Domyno.

She was jet-black with a bold white star on her forehead. While she was still young, I had already planned the years we would spend together—riding, chasing cows, and exploring the river hills.

Then one night, the neighbour’s stallion got out.

In the morning, we discovered which mare he had chosen.

Domyno.

I was devastated.

Three years of planning. Dreaming.

Gone.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

For a few minutes, my emotions churned, and I couldn’t approach Domyno. I didn't want to take my frustration out on her; it wasn't her fault. I eventually picked up a brush and started to groom her. The rhythmic brushing helped me come to terms with what occurred. We would face whatever came next together.

Still, I hoped there would be no baby.

As the months passed, her belly grew larger and rounder. By spring, there would be a foal.

Domyno gave birth to a black colt with a bold white blaze and white socks.

We named him Indee.

I waited impatiently for Domyno to raise her colt so that we could wean him, and she and I could get back to the business of riding. At the time, Indee seemed more like an interruption than a gift.

I had no idea what he would become.

He grew into one of our family’s main riding horses, excelling especially at cattle work. He could stop a cow in its tracks with a flick of his tail while quietly guiding another toward a different gate with the angle of his neck.

Even now, Indee loves to play tag before he is caught. Bring out a cookie, though, and the game quickly becomes “Feed me another one.”

Eighteen years after Indee was born, Domyno was retired. I had decided to let her spend the rest of her days peacefully on the ranch.

Then our stallion got out, and a small group of horses escaped with him.

Including Domyno.

Once again, I was concerned.

By then, Domyno was twenty-one. She had proven herself to be an exceptional mother. My concern wasn’t that she couldn’t raise another foal.

It was that she had already done enough.

After years of riding and raising foals, she had earned a quiet retirement.

Now, once again, my plans changed.

Over the next year, I watched her closely, giving her extra oats and hoping she wouldn’t foal again.

But once again, her belly grew round.

Spring would bring another baby.

Exactly one year after the horses got out, Domyno gave birth to a jet-black filly.

We named her Esperanza, the Spanish word for hope.

Now, five years after Esperanza’s birth, Domyno is twenty-seven, with grey flecks in her hair. She is doing well.

Indee is semi-retired.

They spend their days resting and grazing together. If we take Indee out for a ride, Domyno waits at the gate for him. When he returns, her whinny is the first thing to greet him.

These days, when I go looking for Domyno, I almost always find Indee nearby, grazing quietly beside her.

Esperanza isn’t far away, growing into the next chapter of the story.

Neither of them was supposed to be part of this story.

I can’t imagine it without them now.