Left Behind Read Free

walk down the length of stalls to check out the other horses. Some stalls are empty; probably some of the horses are being ridden or are out in pasture. The remaining horses each look at me as I pass. They look enormous. The last stall at the end looks to be an empty one, so I start to turn back. That’s when I hear a banging on the stall door. Maybe there’s a baby horse in there? A colt? I think they’re usually kept alongside their mothers, so this is odd. I follow the noise back to the last stall, peek in, and look down. It’s a little darker down here, but it’s still easy enough to see fresh straw on the floor, plenty of hay in the hayrack, and something that is not a colt right beside the stall door. It’s a lamb. Or maybe a youngish sheep? I’m not sure when they’re not called lambs anymore. This one is fairly small but not exactly a baby. It’s as tall as a golden retriever, but there’s something about the face that tells me it’s still pretty young. So they have sheep here, too?
    â€œAh, I see you’ve found my mistake,” Mrs. Van Hoven says, coming up behind me.
    â€œYour mistake?” I ask.
    â€œSylvester. One of my young riders left her 4-H lamb with me when she and her family moved away. It was a donation in exchange for a couple of months’ overdue boarding fees. I thought my grandchildren would enjoy him. But with their school schedules they hardly have time to come over. Frankly, they’re more interested in riding when they are here.” Mrs. Van Hoven shook her head. She seemed sad. The lamb seemed sad, too.
    â€œSo you don’t have any other sheep?” I ask.
    â€œJust the one,” Mrs. Van Hoven replies.
    Dr. Gabe and Maggie join us. “How old is she? Or he?” Maggie asks.
    â€œHe. Sylvester. Nearly a year old,” Mrs. Van Hoven answers.
    â€œDoes he get lonely?” I ask. Dr. Gabe is frowning.
    Mrs. Van Hoven’s face reddens. “I imagine he does,” she says. “Most of my riders stop by and chat with him—he’s such a friendly boy. And twice a day we turn him loose in the riding ring, so he gets his exercise. Still, I know this can’t be a good life for him. But with everything I have to do to run this place, I haven’t found the time to figure out what’s best for him.”
    I remember something I learned from a school trip to a farm back in fourth grade. “Sheep are flock animals,” I say. “I think he needs other sheep.”
    â€œI’m sure you’re right, Sunita,” Mrs. Van Hoven says. “I never should have accepted him. Maybe I’ll get another so he has company. I have plenty of room. In fact, my most eastern pasture would be perfect for sheep.” She turns to Dr. Gabe and asks, “Do you know anyone who might have a lamb or two to sell?”
    Dr. Gabe nods. “I call on a few farmers who raise sheep. I can get you some names.”
    â€œI’d really appreciate it, Dr. Gabe. I wish I hadn’t gotten myself into this.” Mrs. Van Hoven walks us out to Dr. Gabe’s truck.
    Maggie is quiet as we load the truck and wave good-bye. She doesn’t say anything until we leave the long driveway and pull out onto the road.
    â€œI can’t believe she would neglect a poor animal like that,” she finally says over the pop song playing on the radio.
    â€œHold on there, Maggie,” Dr. Gabe says, turning the radio down. “She hasn’t been neglecting Sylvester. That is a healthy looking yearling lamb.” He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel and glances at us.
    â€œBut how can any animal person think that keeping a lamb alone is a good thing? Sunita and I don’t know much about sheep, but at least we know that they belong in a flock.” Maggie’s face isred as she gestures with her hands and stares out the windshield.
    There probably isn’t anyone in the world who cares for