Racehorse by Bonnie Bryant Page B

the beautiful white-faced bay who rested her head so peacefully on Carole’s lap. When the next tear landed on the rich brown fur of the horse’s cheek, Prancer blinked, then nodded calmly, as if she were trying to reassure Carole and tell her it was all right.
    “Let’s see if she can stand now,” Mr. McLeod said to Carole. “Want to help her up?”
    Carole realized he was speaking to her. Very gently she stood up herself. Then she took Prancer’s reins and began to encourge the horse to rise. The act of rising from a lying position could be awkward for even the most agile and healthy horse. Horses had very long and slender legs compared to the heavy weight they were each expected to carry. When one of those legs didn’t work properly, the procedure was agonizing—at least it was for Carole.
    She helped Prancer balance, encouraging her to put weight on her left foreleg, rather than on the damaged right. There was not a sound from the spectators. They all knew, just as Carole did, that the next few seconds were going to be critical to Prancer’s life. If she couldn’t even stand, they might decide to put her out of her pain right then and there. Carole didn’t want that to happen. She couldn’t let that happen. No way!
    “Come on, girl,” Carole said. “First this one. That’s the way.”
    She talked, she coaxed, she soothed. She even sang. It didn’t seem odd to her that she was surrounded by adults, all horse professionals, each of whom had many times the experience with horses that she did, and each of whom was waiting for her, Carole Hanson, to perform the miracle they hoped for.
    Prancer shifted her weight and brought her hind legs directly under her. That was what she had to do first. Now she had to get the left foreleg where it could carry the necessary weight.
    “I don’t know about this.…” the track vet began.
    Mr. McLeod shushed him. “This horse loves this girl. That can be a powerful medicine,” he said.
    Carole concentrated on what she was doing and how Prancer was doing. Prancer’s hind legs lifted her flanks. Then she stretched her left foreleg and braced it against the soft earth of the track. Slowly, awkwardly, the horse rose and was, at the end, standing on her three good legs.
    The grandstand erupted in a wild ovation.
    “They’re all cheering for Prancer!” Carole said elatedly.
    “No, Carole,” Judy corrected her. “They’re cheering for you.”
    Carole looked up at the people who waved and clapped for her. She saw Lisa and Stevie there, too, standing by the rail, crying just as she had been, but smiling and waving in spite of their tears. Mr. and Mrs. Lake beamed proudly and waved as well.
    “Let’s get Prancer back to the stable,” Carole said. “I don’t want her to be frightened by all this noise.”
    “I think she likes it,” Mr. McLeod said. “Look at her.”
    Carole turned and took a look at the horse she was leading so slowly. Prancer whimpered with pain at everystep she took, but her ears were perked straight up and twitching alertly. This was a horse who was driven by success, by winning, by the roar of a crowd. This was a horse who wanted to live. But, Carole wondered, what did she have to live for?

O NCE P RANCER WAS back in the stable, Judy took charge, calling for the portable X-ray machine. Dozens of people hovered, watching and asking questions. Stewards and judges watched every move that Judy made. The track veterinarian assisted Judy. Nobody needed Carole anymore.
    She drew back from the crowd. She was frightened when she realized that most of the people were there to see if it would be necessary to put Prancer to sleep. Mr. McLeod watched silently. Carole could tell from the look on his face that the same thing was on his mind. He excused himself for a moment then, saying something about having to call his insurance company.
    Carole fled. She couldn’t take any more. She loved horses so much, and she thought Prancer was such awonderful horse,