Ozzy: Prologue

 On an unseasonably warm April day, a bay colt with a Roman nose made his entrance into the world. He did it all wrong; in the middle of the afternoon, in broad daylight, with a red bag delivery. The foal fought to break through the placenta with his dam nickering frantically on the ground beside him, but it was no use. By the time the dark red GMC Sierra rolled up the gravel driveway, spitting dust and gravel, it was almost too late. 

Leaving the cab ajar, the harness trainer leaped from the truck and over the fence, his shadow of a German shepherd close at his side.

"Sheba, stay," he commanded, and the dog planted herself under the lowest rung of the split rail fence.

The mare, a plain bay standardbred simply named Great, rose to her feet and huffed uneasily as the man knelt on the ground and used a pocket knife to cut through the bag, then his bare hands to pull the foal free. The colt's gums were blue, his eyes already glazed with the pale sheen of death.

Mike cursed, threw his battered baseball cap in the dirt, and gave the frail newborn horse a shake, wiping fluid from his nostrils with a shirt sleeve. Draping the limp foal over his lap, he thumped its chest, certain the efforts were in vain. 

The damp colt moved feebly and gave a weak gasp. His lungs rattled and he gave a wet cough. He wheezed around the fluid in his chest and Mike knew there was no time to waste. Great paced and nickered encouragement at her newborn foal while Mike hastily hooked up the horse trailer and pulled it around. He lifted the colt, who had made no effort to stand, and carried him into the passenger side of the trailer. The mare loaded with little encouragement, her nostrils vibrating as she called to her third foal who lay silent on the other side of the floor length divider.