Page 138 of Tasty Cherry

I crawl to Tinsel’s head. “You’re a good girl,” I tell her. “You’re doing so great.”

She rolls back and forth, tossing her head.

“I’m going to pull,” Owen says. “My gut is telling me to pull.”

When he grasps the foal’s hooves, Tinsel lets out an unhappy squeal.

“Shh, girl,” I say. “We’re trying to help.”

Maverick arrives, not bothering with the gate, but vaulting over the pen wall. “She’s in distress. Did you call Jed?”

“He’s on the way,” Sebastian says. “He said to slowly pull the foal out if you need to. Not too fast.”

Owen and Maverick take positions on each side of the baby.

I put Tinsel’s head in my lap and stroke it. “You’re all right, girl.”

She seems spent and doesn’t fight or cry. Maverick and Owen pull on the foal with smooth, easy pressure until it flops into the hay.

Tinsel makes a long sigh.

I hug her neck. “You did it, girl. You did it!”

The foal wiggles and rolls as Maverick and Owen pull the sac away and use a towel to clear its nose and mouth.

Tinsel lies quietly for another moment, then seems to realize her foal is out and stands up to check on it.

“Let her do her job,” Maverick says, backing away. “It will be instinct for her.”

We retreat to the pen walls as Tinsel tends to her foal, nudging it to stand up.

The baby attempts to rise on wobbly legs, but falls on its snout.

I check on Sebastian. He and Brooklyn watch from the rail. She has a glow about her. I know all about that. It’s why she goes back. She doesn’t expect Maverick to be hers. But she does expect him to perform.

And apparently, he’s spectacular.

The side door opens and Jed runs in, his gray hair flapping with his jaunty steps. “How’s she doing?” He stops at the rail. “Ahh, there she goes. Our Christmas girl has a Christmas foal.”

“Is that why she’s called Tinsel?” Brooklyn asks.

“It is,” Jed says. “Three years ago this week.”

The foal makes another valiant attempt to stand, then collapses into a heap. It might take an hour for it to succeed. We’ve been through this before.

But now all the babies are born.

“I’ll stay with her,” Jed says. “You all have done your duty. Have your Christmas Eve.” He winks at us. “Only a short while until midnight. You don’t want Santa to see you all afoot while he’s doing his business.”

We laugh at that. Owen and I file out of the pen, but Maverick stays behind. “I think I’ll hang out,” he says. “Keep Jed company.”

We collect our blankets and Sebastian’s basket.

Brooklyn snags a cookie. “Where did these come from?”

“The party in the secret restaurant,” Sebastian says. “Just a few close friends of Havannah and Donovan.”

“I’ve still never seen it,” Brooklyn says.

---