So it was near to May by the time we turned in the gate of Opa’s farm in the Milk Valley south of Medicine Hat that year. As it turned out, Oma and Opa had been over at the spring foal sale trying to raise a bit of cash and had been delayed by high water, unable to cross the river for days. Worried about the rest of the stock, they finally drove in in a fury later that same afternoon as if by coincidence, having nearly set the road afire the last fifty miles.
      But not knowing they were still away, I got the nod from my father, and I myself rode in at full gallop atop Sky to sound the alarm at our returning. Joyfully the horse and I thundered the mile from the road down the track to the poplar copse that rings our meager buildings: farmhouse, shed and barn, fence. Sky nearly arrived ahead of me, he was so eager; I thought he’d jump the fence. But when he pulled up at it so smartly I rolled off him like an otter, landing on the seat of my pants; I’m glad my mother didn’t see that.
      Nobody saw, nobody came running; it was quiet, and dusty, and mournful. I got a chill up my back. We’d been gone a long time. The porch door was locked when I tried it. No smell of cooking wafted under, no shirts hung drying on the line. The odor of desertion lay over our farm. I walked the horse around by the rein because he was hot, waiting. He was anxious, too, to get to food and water; he wouldn’t settle for me but whinnied, eyeing the barn. “Wait,” I said, “we’ll walk.” I was only ten years old that summer, just big enough to slip his saddle off if I climbed up on the mounting block to do it, and then heave it onto the fence rail all in the same swing. I did that, and then, sweating, we walked. I remember I was somehow unable to let go of his reins until I could lay eyes on a human.
      Soon enough my parents did drive down in the wagon, my mother’s eyes searching for a sight of my little sister. I could tell from her eyes back up at the gate when they’d let me ride ahead that it was she who would rather have been on Sky, flying like the wind down to Melinda. “Guess they’ve gone off somewhere,” I called, hoping to ease her worried frown.
      But my father knew where the key was hid, and once inside he found a note.
      “Gone to the sales, back Wednesday.”
      Which Wednesday? We’d passed up Wednesday a while back.
     While they puzzled this over I turned the horses out, as the two animals were stomping about and raising dust where I was trying to contemplate. Swatting their behinds, I sent them into the pasture, then carried my armload of harness into the barn to hang. They trotted back to the fence and watched me. It was hot in the barn, being afternoon by then, and smelled funny, I guessed from being shut up for however long it had, and not mucked out lately. God knows Opa was a meticulous barnkeeper, as a rule. I hooked the door open, hung up my load and came back out again. Sky was eyeing me. “All right! All right!” I called. “Just let me get a drink myself and I’ll find you some oats!” I pulled their feedbags off the wagon and stopped by the pump, drenching my head, letting the cold water run down my throat. When you’ve been away a long while, nothing is so sweet as your own home water out of your own ground, tasting just as right and familiar as the beans from your garden dirt, or the blood from your finger.
      Back in the barn I scooped them each a measure of oats for their welcome home treat, but as I straightened up from the grain bin, for no reason at all, all the hairs on my neck marched straight up to the top of my head just as if someone had taken a breath in my ear. I slammed down the lid and bolted out the door. Sky and Choker were staring at me and snorting around a little wildly. Then I turned in my tracks and walked back in. Bars of sunlight danced above the floor in the puffs of haydust from my feet. I stood stock still and watched them settle out. My eyes sought what was familiar, crawling into the darkest place to wait until they could see it all. And then, not even breathing, I walked back the length of the barn, stealthily, peering left and right as I went, not knowing why, but knowing I was drawn. Was it a rustle? I can’t say. But finally above the last stall I saw a twitching. As many times as I’ve gone over it, I can’t say what made me so certain, why I didn’t run, what made me go ahead and stick my ten-year-old neck around that board wall. Because what I saw was not to be believable, was not anything that I yet knew. When I turned that corner I was staring into big black horse eyes, and black horse nose, but all around it was white, and black, dancing in stripes, I thought my eyes were ruined, sun dazzled in bars of light, but no, the rest was just the same, all over. It backed up from me in fear, and I did the same, running straight out from the barn before I knew what I was doing; I shut the door fast and walked calmly to my father. “Dad,” I whispered, “we’ve got something.”