Cochrane’s Farm
Chapter Fourteen
“Wet Smawty gu, dummeh hooman! Nu wan dummeh sowwy bawks! Gon’ gif ‘oo wowsest huwties!”
Steve ignored the smarty’s imprecations and walked towards his back porch with a fluffy carrier in each hand. The little fuckers weren’t that heavy, but each of the carriers was huge. It turned out to be a good thing, too—he would have had a hard time stuffing twenty-three fully grown fluffies and their foals into four carriers any smaller. Besides, he wanted the smarty to have a carrier all by himself. He had left the immobile “soon-mummahs” behind the barn—they sure as hell weren’t going anywhere on their own.
“Tell me something, smarty: are all of these foals yours? Or do you let any of the other stallions have special huggies?”
“Aww hewd babbehs am smawty babbehs! Nu wet dummeh tuffehs ow odda stawwyuns make babbehs.”
It didn’t really change the end result in Steve’s mind, since they were all going to die anyway. But it did mean a change of strategy. He set the smarty’s carrier on the ground next to his uncomfortable, wailing herd, and a memory came to him as he walked back to the barn.
“Mr. Cochrane, would you please step into my office for a moment?”
Sixteen year old Stephen Cochrane followed the counselor into her tiny broom closet of an office. Mrs. Metzger was always kind to him—in fact, she was one of the few people in the school who was. The grandmotherly figure sat down behind her desk and offered a seat (and a pink peppermint) to the sophomore.
“How are your classes going, Stephen?”
“Going pretty well. Not sure I studied enough for my last chemistry test, but I think it’ll turn out ok.”
The old lady smiled. “I’m sure you did fine. You’re an excellent student, Stephen. If you want to go the Ivy League route after graduation, your grades and test scores won’t hold you back.”
The teenager cringed. “I take it you think there’s something else that might?”
“Now, don’t take this the wrong way. I know that it’s not a behavioral pattern for you, but you took a swing at one of your classmates in Phys. Ed. This morning, didn’t you?”
There was no use trying to throw a smokescreen. Mrs. Metzger may be a sweet little old lady, but she was sharp as a tack. He had tried to punch Richie Evans this morning while the class played flag football. Stupid bastard had thrown him down three different times after plays had already ended. “Yes, ma’am.”
“That seems really out of character for you, but I’m glad that you have the decency and the good sense not to deny it. Look: I don’t know what he did to you, and I’m sure you were provoked, but you know you can’t retaliate every time someone hurts you, kid.”
“Yes, Mrs. Metzger, I know that. But no one ever does anything about the wrongdoing in the first place!”
The elderly school counselor silently raised her hand. “You don’t have to tell me that people seem to get away with lots of things they shouldn’t. That goes double for when you’re in school. But I know you, Stephen. You’re better than that. Besides, remember what the Bible says: ‘Revenge is mine, and I will repay them in due time’.”
Stephen nodded. He then looked up at the crucifix on the wall.
“Remember, kid. God created man, and that makes man’s judgment His purview. And He’ll set man’s wrongs right in the end.”
“God created man, and that makes man’s judgment His purview,” Steve repeated out loud. So, what does that say about fluffies, since they were created by man?
He entered the barn to check on his herd. Many of them were still teary-eyed and “huu huuing”, but none of them seemed particularly affected at the moment. Seraph was still clutching his pink pegasus foal, not wanting to let him go.
He picked Candy’s body up and wrapped it in a blanket, setting her down next to her old bed. Digging Chocolate out of the pile of shit was an onerous task, but he couldn’t bear to let the loyal earthie’s body continue to lie in its desecrated state. Once he had wrapped the gelding in a blanket, he lay the body down next to his pink mother. They would both get a proper burial. The cleansing of the barn floor could wait.
Stepping over the partition that blocked the barn’s back door, he pushed the door open and stepped outside. Three bloated “soon-mummahs” sat in the grass and sang to their unborn foals. Hmmm…wonder if any of them are worth keeping as breeders.
His mind wandered again to the first time a feral mare had given birth on his farm. It had been an unusual experience, for sure. He remembered holding a newborn white foal in his hands and trying to reason with the troubled dam.
“So, Candy. You have pointy-friends. You have wingie-friends. And now, your baby can be your brand-new pointy-wingie friend.”
“Otay, daddeh. Daddeh nu wan huwt fwuffies. Daddeh nu wet nuffin huwt fwuffies. If daddeh say babbeh nu am munstah, an dat babbeh am pointy-wingie fwend, den babbeh am pointy-wingie fwend.”
“Daddeh nu wet nuffin huwt fwuffies.”
“…nu wet nuffin huwt fwuffies…”
The decision was made. Fuck that. It’s Judgment Day.
“Hello, soon-mummahs!” Steve said with as much saccharine in his voice as he could muster. “Are you all excited about having your babies?”
“Hewwo, nice mistah! Yus, soon-mummah am su ‘cited! Nu can wait fo babbehs tu come!”
The man clapped his hands together. “Well, ok then. How about I take you to your herd? They’re all waiting for you!”
“Fankoo, nice mistah! Soon-mummahs nu can moof by sewf. Am tu big wif babbehs!”
He picked two of the bloated dams up and promised to come back for the third. He was extra careful to speak gently to them. Stressing them too much could cause them to miscarry, which he didn’t want to happen.
Yet.
He set them down next to the dog run, and did the same for the final one. He released the rest of the herd—except for the smarty, of course—into the dog run and locked them in. That smarty’s still full of piss and vinegar, he thought. Better get this show on the road.
Ideas sprung to his mind as unbridled rage continued to simmer. Steve had matured over the past twenty years. He wasn’t a naturally violent man, but he had a strong sense of justice. If time had done anything, it had made him more patient.
He found most of the supplies he wanted in the house, but had to check the garage and garden shed for a few select items. Everything he wheeled out to the dog run started a new chorus of confusion, with many of the ferals asking him “whuh dat?” every time there was a new addition.
His mother, as much of a bitch as she was, always bought him something nice for Christmas. A couple of years ago she bought him an expensive gas grill. But, of course, Steve never entertained, and so he’d not had a chance to use it. He set the blue “soon-mummah” on the grill’s top rack.
“Whachu doin’, mistah. Nu put fwuffy hewe! Cowd metaw fing am bad fow soon-mummah!”
He ignored the dam’s protests and dug a small hole with his shovel. He dragged the smarty out of the last carrier and stuffed a cork in his ass. Then, he tied the smarty’s legs and stuck him in the hole, face first. The smarty tried to yell at Steve, but got a mouthful of red clay every time he opened his mouth. Finally, he tightly wrapped several rubber bands around the unicorn’s scrotum, making it look like a deformed golf ball.
Steve’s father died of a heart attack when he was a little boy, but he remembered how much his dad liked to play golf. One of the things he remembered overhearing his dad say was how many of his best business deals were made on the golf course. Steve had never learned to play, but he cherished his dad’s the golf club set nonetheless.
Hmmm…first shot on a par four…gotta go with the driver. He pulled out the Titleist driver with the huge titanium head and took a few practice swings. The blue dam on the grill continued to “huu huu”, and many of the ferals were pressed up against the metal fence that enclosed the dog run in silent anticipation.
He walked back over to the smarty and lined up his shot. Let’s see…feet lined up with shoulders…knees bent.
WHACK
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
The smarty rolled out of the hole, clutching the place where his cock and balls used to be.
Steve shrugged. Meh. Not the best follow through.
“Huu huu…speshuw wumps an nu-nu stick…whewe am gon?”
Leaning the golf club on his shoulder, Steve knelt down next to the now-gelded unicorn. “Aww…guess that means no more special huggies.”
Then, he bent down and whispered in the smarty’s ear. “And you just watch—I’m going to kill every. single. member of your herd. Including the babies. Then you’ll be all alone for the rest of your sorry, miserable life.” He stood up and turned to the grill.
clickclickclickclickclickFOOMP The gas grill came to life, and Steve cranked it as high as it would go.
“SCREEEEEE!”
And three…two…one…
“BIGGEST POOPIES!”
The rest of the herd started to panic. Shit covered the floor of the dog run. The ferals all scrambled around, looking for a way out.
Steve picked up the bloated gray dam and set her down facing the smarty.
ding
That must be Katie. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked. Surely enough, his girlfriend had texted him to say that she was leaving the wedding reception and would be home in about three hours.
I’ve got to call her. Can’t have her just walking in on this. Steve walked over to the garage so the screaming ferals wouldn’t be a distraction.
brrrrrrr…brrrrrr…
“Hello?”
“Hey, Katie.”
“Hey, sweetie. You seem down. Anything wrong?”
“Yeah…Candy and Chocolate are dead.”
“What?!? Oh my god, Steve, I’m so sorry! What happened?”
He told her everything. About how he’d gone off to the store. About the faulty latch. About the dickbag ferals. And how he had them all trapped now. When he was done, the phone remained completely silent.
“Uh, are you still there?”
“Make them suffer. All of them. And do it slowly.”
“That’s the plan. Be safe driving home.”
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Steve walked out of the house, wondering which step of the plan he should implement next. Remembering that he had left the gray dam sitting with the smarty, he decided that was first priority.
The blue dam pushed out her first foal as Steve got back to the herd. He had positioned her just so—that way the foals would roll off onto the bottom rack.
“SCREEEEEEE!” chirp chirp
“Babbeh! Nuuuuuuuu!”
The previous homeowners had left behind a shitty Yard Machines push mower that must have been twenty years old. Ah, well. The more rust, the better.
He pushed the old lawnmower over to the bloated dam and rolled the front right wheel over her back. The side discharge cover rested directly over her mane.
“Huu huu…smawty, pwease sabe soon-mummah! Metaw fing am bad fo tummeh-babbehs!”
The white unicorn didn’t reply. Tears ran down his cheeks—probably as much for his lost hardware as for the impending death of his herd.
bbbbbbrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
“SCREEEEEEEEEEE! HEWP, SMAWTY! HEWP SOON-MUMMAH! SCREEEEEEEEE!”
Gore shot out of the mower’s side discharge all over the mare’s mane and head, and the smarty’s face. Steve noticed foal parts mired with the dying mare’s blood, shit, and flesh. The smarty had closed his eyes, but not before watching several of his babies die at the hands of the metal monster.
“SCREEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEEEE!”
“Nuuuu, babbeh! Nu come owt nao! Mummah nu wan babbehs tu get buwnie-huwties!”
Maybe it was a disobedient brat (or more likely because nature took its course) the next foal plopped out onto the grill rack. The blue mare screamed and cried as her second foal burned next to its sister, whose back was nearly charred black.
The gray mare had expired, but Steve wanted to save the last dam for later. He walked over to the dog run and grabbed a purple earthie out of the pen. This one deserved special treatment—he was the one raping Candy as he had walked into the barn. He carried the dirty feral stallion over to the smarty.
“You little shit. Did you think I would forget what I saw you do? Hey, that reminds me—what was it you yelled out when you raped my pink pegasus? I can’t quite remember.”
He threw the stallion in front of his white leader, pointing his round purple ass at the smarty’s face. He forced the unicorn’s mouth open, pulled the earthie’s tail back so his balls rested on the smarty’s tongue, and then slammed the smarty’s jaws shut.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
He left the screaming purple sta—well, not a stallion anymore—and walked back over to the golf clubs.
Putter, nine iron, one iron—nah, not even God could hit a one iron—pitching wedge…ah, fuck it. The driver it is.
“Hey, I remember what it was you said as you came in my fluffy!” He turned the purple earthie on his head and shoved the head of the driver into its ass.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
“Good feels—that was it, right? GOOOOOD FEEEEEELS!”
The violated fluffy scrabbled his hooves, but couldn’t escape as the man lifted him up into the air and shook him up and down on the golf club. “SCREEEEEEEEEE!”
“GOOOOOOD FEEEEEEEEEELS!”
He dropped the fluffy to the ground, put his foot on its back, and removed the club head. Liquid shit and a bit of colon poured out as the earthie’s rectum prolapsed.
Steve knelt down next to the broken gelding. “How good are those ‘good feels’ now?”
The mare on the grill squeezed out two more foals, each of which burned to a crisp on the bottom tray. Steve turned to the smarty and said, “Guess I should have greased the tray, huh?” before checking on the mare. Most of her belly fluff had burned off, and she kept mumbling “wan die…wan die…wan die…”, so he decided she should keep the smarty company.
“Who’s next, smarty-friend? Should it be the last soon-mummah, another stallion, or one of the mares with foals?”
The white unicorn stared straight ahead. Clearly he didn’t want any more to do with the consequences of his actions. Too damn bad. We’re not done yet. Since the smarty didn’t want to decide, Steve chose a yellow mare who had five chirping foals on her back.
“You know, smarty, I’m guessing that little purple fucker wasn’t the only one who violated my Candy. Knowing you, I’ll bet you got the whole thing started, didn’t you?”
He slammed the mare to the ground in front of the smarty. She “huu huued” and begged the smarty to save her, but he still didn’t respond.
“Hell, I don’t even need to cork this one. She made her own!” He picked up a green foal and shoved it headfirst into its mother’s anus.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEE! Pwease, munstah hooman…nu huwt babbehs an gif mummah poopie-pwace owwies! Babbehs am fo huggies an wuv!”
“I dunno, sweetie. That little shit never asked if I loved Candy before he killed her. And he sure as shit didn’t care that Chocolate gave everyone lots of huggies from the time he was a baby.” He picked up another foal and shoved it into the mare’s womb.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEE! Nu touch speshuw pwace! Babbeh, nu gu back in dewe!”
She screamed and tried to get away as Steve shoved her last three foals back into the darkness from whence they came. The foal he used as a cork had stopped flailing its legs, so he assumed it must be dead. Steve broke the mare’s front legs to add to her distress, and then jumped into the air, landing squarely on the mare’s back.
SPLORT
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!”
“BIGGEST POOPIES!”
All five foals were quickly expelled from the now-dead dam, including the cork. The white unicorn, now covered in blood, shit, and more of his own dead foals, started to cry again.
sniff**sniff “Huu huu…babbehs am foweva sweepies…pwease, mistah, wet hewd gu…”
Steve looked at the smarty, who gazed up at him with sad blue eyes. His tears mingled with the blood and—everything else that now covered his face. If not contrition, this was certainly at least regret.
“No.”
With a little persuasion, Steve managed to work out of the herd that the green earthie mare had helped kill Candy and Chocolate. Disgusted that one of the females had joined in the fight that ended in his pink pegasus’ rape and death, he grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and chucked her out of the dog run, breaking her legs.
The red imported fire ant (more often just called a “fire ant”) first came to the United States in the 1930s, likely aboard ships that used soil as ballast. Costing billions of dollars in medical bills and agricultural losses each year, they are a scourge in the southeastern US.
Steve had noticed the little fuckers building a hill next to the garage a week before, but had been busy with other things. Today’s events meant that extermination—of the fire ants, anyway—would be put off yet again.
He popped open a jar of molasses (from a local farmer, not any of that “blackstrap” shit they try to pass for molasses at the grocery store) and poured some on the green mare’s nose and rump. Not wanting to waste too much, he set the rest of the jar on his porch table, and then went to get his shovel.
Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit! Steve hurried back to the mare with his shovel full of dirt. He didn’t get to enjoy her initial reaction, as he was busy beating the shovel against the ground to get the last of the fire ants off. But, sure enough, there was a payoff.
“SCREEEEEEE! Smawty, hewp fwuffy! Nu can get buggie-munstahs off! SCREEEEEEEE! Fwuffy haf wowsest owwies!”
Those little bastards do hurt. I’d feel sorry for the bitch if she hadn’t been a part of all of this.
The smarty couldn’t move, but he “huu huued” as the mare screamed and the “meanie-buggies” injected their venom into her flesh. She started choking, and eventually couldn’t breathe anymore. The fire ants didn’t seem to mind.
“Well, that was fun! Up for a round of foal golf, smarty?”
The white unicorn probably would have passed on “foal golf”, had Steve given him the choice. About six or seven foals in, and he felt like he was finally getting the hang of following through. Might be a little easier if I didn’t nail them into the ground with the tee, too, he thought.
He found that setting the foal on its back had the desired effect. The chirpy-babies were too small and weak to roll off of the tee.
“Pwease nu pway gowf wif wastest babbeh, munstah hooman. Dat am onwy babbeh dat Smawty haf weft.”
WHACK
“Nuuuuu huu huu…”
The last foal disappeared in a bloody mist. Steve couldn’t see where it landed.
“Smarty, maybe you know golf better than I do—is this the part where I yell ‘fore’?”
With the smarty watching, Steve went back to the dog run and threatened to start killing ferals if they didn’t give up whoever else took part in killing his fluffies. He killed four before a red earthie mare spoke up.
“Dat bwue uwfie stawwyun am hewd tuffie! Fwuffy see dat fwuff gif huwties tu da poopie fwuff.”
“Nuuuuuuuu!”
Of course. He’s been in a fight. Look at those teeth. “Alright, you little blue faggot. Come on.” He dragged the blue stallion towards the door.
“No—wait. I’ve got a better idea.”
He stopped and stomped both of the blue fluffy’s front legs.
“Did you see what your herd did to my brown fluffy after he died?”
With a touch of defiance, the stallion looked up at him and replied. “Yus, meanie munstah. Smawty teww aww fwuffs tu make poopies on big dummeh poopie-fwuffy.”
Steve nodded his head. He drew a bubbly cork from his pocket and shoved it in the fluffy’s ass.
“SCREEEEEEE! Poopie-pwace owwies!”
The man turned and looked at the stunned ferals. “Ok, here’s how this is going to work: every one of you is going to line up. When you get to the front of the line, you are going to do ‘sorry-poopies’ right into this piece of shit’s mouth. Any fluffy who refuses gets his head bashed in. Understand?”
The ferals all looked around at each other in silence. Steve brought his foot down on a black mare, crushing her skull. “I said, GET IN LINE!”
Every fluffy in the cage shat into the toughie’s mouth, as Steve demanded. He had to squeeze some of them out like a tube of brown toothpaste, but eventually there was enough to fill the blue earthie’s stomach. When he started retching, Steve backed away and let him vomit himself to death.
He beat a few of their brains out against the ground, and stomped some others to death—all in the smarty’s full view, of course. Eventually, all that was left was the smarty himself and the fat yellow dam—the last of the soon-mummahs. Steve picked up the pregnant mare, soothing her. She had seen hellish things that day—not that he felt any sympathy, of course. But he wanted her to be ready for the final insult.
“Hey, smarty—you were holding out on me. Look! Here’s the last soon-mummah!”
Dejected, the smarty looked up from the ground to see Steve holding a bloated yellow dam. His eyes widened in horror.
“NUUUUUUUUU! SPESHUW FWEND! NUUUUU!”
What luck! Saved the best for last. “Look, uh…smarty…I’m starting to feel kinda bad about how things went down today. I mean, your herd is all dead, your babies are all gone, and you don’t have your ‘special lumps’ anymore, so there’s no chance of that happening again. Why don’t we call it even? I’ll make it so you and your ‘special friend’ can be together forever?”
The white unicorn stopped screaming and crying. Choking back sobs, he looked up at Steve. “Weawwy? Meanie munstah hooman wiww wet Smawty wive, and Smawty wiww be wif speshuw fwend fowevah?”
The man nodded. “Sure thing, smarty. Do we have a deal?”
“Otay, mistah.”
Steve nodded again, and turned to his garden cart. He picked up a pair of old garden shears and released the safety latch. These things are looking rough. I’d better exchange them this spring on the Lifetime Warranty—hey, I wonder if fluffy abuse voids the warranty? Eh, I’d just buy a new pair. With one quick motion, he sliced the mare’s belly from top to bottom. Her unborn foals spilled out onto the grass.
“SCREEEEEEEE! Nu feew tummeh-babbehs! NU FEEW TUMMEH-BABBEHS!”
“Damn. Cut a little too deep.”
“WHY, MISTAH! MISTAH PWOMISED! MISTAH PWOMISED NU HUWT SPESHUW FWEND!”
“Hang on there, genius. I never said that she got to live. I just said that you two could be together forever. And I’m about to make good on that promise.” He proceeded to skin the screaming mare, not cutting her as deeply as he had the first time. Within minutes, he had removed her bright yellow pelt.
“SCREEEEEEEE! Whewe pwetty fwuff gu? Am cowd! Speshuw fwend sabe mummah an babbehs! Hewp!” The skinned mare, delirious from pain, could do nothing but scream as she writhed in the grass.
“Here you go, buddy. Together forever!” He wrapped the smarty in his special friend’s fur, causing him to sob uncontrollably.
“Huu huu huu…am sowwy speshuw fwend…fwuffy am su sowwy…”
The mare quickly went catatonic from the shock. The only living things in the backyard were Steve and the dispirited white unicorn.
Just then, he heard a car door slam. In a moment, a small raven-haired woman wearing a poofy, peach-colored dress ran around the side of the garage. She stopped and stared. For the first time in hours, Steve’s rage started to ebb.
I must look like hell. He looked down at his clothes. His shirt and jeans were both covered with blood, shit, and only God knows what else. He blanched in horror at the woman he loved seeing him this way.
Katie ran to him. When she got to Steve, she threw her arms around him. He had never known her to burst into tears, but she did at that moment.
“Oh my god…poor Candy! Poor Chocolate!” Then their eyes met. “Were you with them when they died?”
“I was with Candy. Chocolate was…was gone by the time I made it to the barn.”
“I’m so sorry, Steve. That must have been…so, so hard…”
“Yeah.”
The couple both broke down crying: Katie, because she hadn’t been there when Steve needed her, and Steve, because of the constant horror the day had borne.
“Come on, we’d better get you cleaned up. Your fluffies aren’t going to want anything to do with you if you come in covered in…whatever the hell all that is.”
“Probably the same with you and that dress. Seriously, what the hell was your cousin thinking?”
Katie laughed. “Simple: she’s a vain bitch, and none too pretty to look at. Even an average bridesmaid’s dress would have taken away the shine of her day.”
Steve chuckled. It was good to talk about something other than fluffy ponies for once. The more he thought about it, fluffies had been the reason they met—but the more they got to know each other, the more they realized they had in common.
Once they had both gotten a good scrubbing, they walked out to the field. Katie looked down at the white fluffy, who was still draped in a yellow pelt.
“Come on, Steve! You weren’t just going to let him sit out here!”
“Well…I kinda ran out of good ideas. Besides, it seemed sufficiently cruel to let the stupid bastard starve to death—don’t you think?”
“Oh, sweetie…get creative! Come on, you still got that enema tube from the surgical kit I sold you?”
“Hi fluffies! Mummah’s home!”
The dour mood in the barn brightened immediately. There were still more than enough heart-hurties to go around, but every fluffy in the herd loved Katie and had missed her while she was gone.
One pen remained silent. A pink pegasus colt lay curled up on the bed asleep, and a fully grown black pegasus stallion lay awake on the hard concrete floor with tears rolling down his cheeks. Katie opened the pen and kneeled down to his level. She began to scratch behind his ears and stroke his jet-black fluff.
“Poor Seraph. Daddy told me what happened. I’m so sorry. You know we love you very much.”
The stallion said nothing, but nodded his head in the affirmative.
“I’m also sorry I was gone for so long. But guess what? I brought you a special surprise!”
Seraph lifted his head off of the cold ground. “Mummah gif pwesent…fo Sewaf?”
“Uh huh. You wanna see?”
“Yus, mummah. Sewaf wan see pwesent.”
Katie reached around to the outside of the pen. What she revealed was a box with a long, clear tube sticking out of one end and a round, white, fluffy bottom on the other. There was even a stumpy green tail.
Seraph sniffed the box. “What am dat, mummah?”
“This, sweetie, is a special toy for good stallions. Are you a good stallion, Seraph?”
The black pegasus got up on his hind legs and did a little dance. “Yus, mummah! Sewaf am gud stawwion fo mummah!”
Katie giggled. “Ok, buddy. Let’s get your toy all set up!” She set the box in the corner with the green tail sticking out, and hooked a funnel attached to the tube to the side of the pen. “Now, you can have special huggies any time you want!”
Seraph sniffed the fluffy behind. “Am mummah suwe? Stawwion toy nu smeww wike pwetty mawe…”
“Steve, would you please grab that yellow spray bottle out of the utility closet?”
“Yeah, sure.” He fumbled around for a minute, but soon found a bottle that Katie had special-ordered from a breeder catalog. The label said PWETTY MAWE: Specially Formulated Artificial Mare Estrus Scent.
Katie gave the white rump a couple of sprays and called Seraph back over. Without hesitation, he quickly mounted the “enfie bawks”.
They buried Chocolate next to his brother and sister. Steve made a makeshift cross, to which Katie tied the brown gelding’s red bandanna. She cried, remembering how proud the loyal fluffy had been when she first tied it around his neck.
Candy took her place beside her three foals. They had no marker to place beside her grave, save for a large piece of quartz they found next to the barn. Steve did inter her with the first three blocks he gave her on the day she came to the farm. Then, it was his turn to cry.