Droplets on the barn roof play harmony as I stretch stethoscope to ears.
I reach to her belly and whisper softly to quell her fears.
She shifts uncomfortably. The strain on her shows.
“Not yet Girl.” No relief. “Might soon, I suppose.”
The rhythm of heart beats drowns out digestive groans.
Happy to hear melodic, two-stepping, twin-fiddle, mare and baby tones.
Overdue by a week accordin’ to Doc.
But nature has a way of ignoring the clock.
Night barn full of mares and their expected brood.
Keepin’ an eye an’ an ear, make sure for water n food.
Every three hours notate their vitals.
Many their youngin’s could brag of racing titles.
Tack room of pics and trophies, ribbons and such,
Bed-roll on cot, the accommodation as much.
Off with the light, digital alarm clock glow.
Sleep, wake, sleep, wake is this gig’s flow.
Awakened by dog and sounds from the aisle.
Check of dilation gets a four in the mornin’ smile.
She’ pacing her stall and the other mares know
She’ll be the first to drop and let her baby go.
I keep the lights low and give a call to the vet.
Second call to the owner, she’ll get her first I’d bet.
Pacing interrupted by trucks coming to stop.
Owner and Doc flyin’ in on the hop.
Supplies are prepped, Doc takes a glance.
The mare assumes a delivery stance.
Here comes the feet and then a cute head.
Baby born healthy. I’m too excited for bed.
Mark Munzert has been branded ‘the Cowboy Poet of the Northeast’ as his present home is in upstate New York’s Mountains region. The ranch-hand, descendant of horse-folk, cow-losopher performs regularly at Western events, dude ranches, and many Cowboy Gatherings. Contact him at 315-480-7586 or firstname.lastname@example.org.