They Called Him Bruiser 3
20250301
Bruiser gets excited when he sees the brush. I wasn’t expecting that. Does he have fond memories of being looked after? He can’t have spent his whole life in this dirt circle but I can’t imagine him a frolicking foal.
There’s a primal intimacy to giving and accepting physical care. We go slow. Tender. I learn all his spots and he learns I can be taught. Though I’d hope he knows that already.
By the time we finish he’s relaxed, proper relaxed, for the first time. Even lets me trim his hooves. I stay a while, giving him careful little pets and scratches, and he leans his head on me and sighs into my soul.
I don’t wanna say goodbye but I have to get to bed. “Good talk. See you tomorrow.”
Sam’s out of hospital, though he’ll be using a crutch for months. Keeps badgering me for my ‘secret’. How I’m doing this. I know what he’s playing at and tell him nothing.
He’s not the only one, either. Plenty of the others are pestering me. Before it was joking, now it’s serious. They’re not making jokes, they really wanna know. I tell ‘em what my momma taught me: “You need to gather your calm and give it to the animal.”
They don’t get it. I didn’t either for years. I don’t share what I’ve figured out and how.
By now it’s almost impossible to get to Bruiser without an audience, but at least they’re being quieter. Some of the hands even start enforcing hush - “Pipe down, you’re spooking the beast and I wanna see this.”
Sam is always there. Never says nothing, just sits on a stool and watches me like a cat on a mouse. I dodge talking to him.
Some folks try approaching Bruiser and learn he hasn’t softened towards the world. Just me. It’s trust rather’n healing. That will come later. I hope.
Once I get him out of this pen, get that raw-rubbing harness off him and show him a meadow.
I whisper my dreams for us into his ears. Too quiet for our audience to pick up on and laugh at.
Bruiser doesn’t understand what an alpine meadow is, but the way he rubs his nose on my neck I know he’ll follow me there.
We’ve been at this nearly four months when I decide it’s time. I’ve got my life wrapped up and packed up and ready to go on Bruiser’s back. Got supplies for the trek up northeast, where those four hundred crowns will get me a dozen acres. Yeah, it’ll be lean living, foraging and fishing and hunting and growing what I can in mountain soil. But it’ll be ours.
I’ve given up keeping my going hidden. Nosy jacks have been watching me, waiting for this. Everybody gathers soon as they see me packing my bags.
Jose waves to the selling block. “Leave ‘em here, we’ll watch them. You’ll want free moving.”
I wave him off. He shrugs.
Bruiser’s waiting.
Part 4 here.