My Renaissance
“Finally, a break in the weather.” I spoke out loud, but only our two dogs were listening. “Come on, guys, let’s go for a walk.” An anemic sun was shining. It was only March, though and the trails would be soggy from weeks of rain. I pulled on my hiking boots. Nothing like a Pacific Northwest winter to give someone a serious case of cabin fever.
It wasn’t just the weather that had made me restless. My mare, Rubi, was overdue to give birth. For the past few weeks I’d been checking her methodically, day and night. I’d calculated her due date as the end of February. I had already spent more than one night in the barn watching her lie on her side, groaning in discomfort, and feeling sure she would foal by the morning. Typically, horses are pregnant for 11 months, but Rubi was decidedly giving birth and had been pregnant nearly a year. Why wasn’t the baby coming?
