A Horse Named Viking

CHAPTER ONE

Viking was an unforgettable horse, proud, powerful and vitally alive. He had a way of humbling you, making you feel earthbound and insignificant in comparison. There were other times when he took a rider with him; when he elevated a person to the sublime plane where only a truly great horse can take a rider. In his glory days, his fans regarded him as a mystical beast that had been tamed. They didn’t know a teddy bear’s heart beat inside his muscular body. He was one of those animals that touched your life, and left it permanently altered. This is his story.

The possibility that this foal could be the once-in-a-lifetime chance every horse lover dreams of drove Kurt Pritzl, a Danish horse breeder, from his warm bed in the middle of the night when the foaling monitor went off.

What is it? his wife, Lena, mumbled.

Carpia’s foaling. He threw on clothing.

Do you need me to call the vet?

No, I’ll do it. You go back to sleep.

He made the necessary phone call then stumbled out into the cold miserably damp March night. At times like this, he wondered at his own sanity in running a horse farm. In his sleepy state, he didn’t derive his usual satisfaction from viewing the tidy barn and well fenced pastures that he’d built himself. Kurt and his wife were computer programmers, but this farm and the six mares that he kept and bred each year were his passion. As he slid the aluminum barn door wide and stepped into the aisle, the sweet, organic heat of the animals embraced him while his eyes watered from the powerful ammonia smell of mare urine.

As he proceeded down the aisle, he peered into the stalls, checking on each mare and her foal, as was his usual custom. His broodmares were fat and shiny, with well-groomed coats that reflected a golden sheen below the stall night-lights. Just looking at them gave him joy. His love for them and the hope of one day producing an approved breeding stallion drove him. Every day he was up before dawn watering, haying, graining, turning out, and mucking stalls. His evening chores included grooming and handling the new foals so that they trusted people. It was difficult for him to get away even for a single day, but the early mornings, hard work, and limits on his freedom were well worth the pleasure he derived from caring for his animals.

In the evenings, his twelve-year old daughter assisted him. Charlotte was a born horsewoman with a gift for handling horses. A hard worker, Charlotte was eager for his praise and proved to be an asset to the farm. They enjoyed the camaraderie of their evenings together in the barn. Most nights, Lena repeatedly called them in for dinner because they would be so caught up in working with the mares, in talking about them. Kurt was also proud of what a talented young rider Charlotte was proving to be. He firmly believed the old saying that the outside of a horse is good for the inside of a person. As he often told his wife when defending their long hours in the barn: Caring for the animals teaches Charlotte compassion and discipline, and keeps her out of trouble. There’s a method to my madness. Lena would just shake her head and roll her eyes. She didn’t share her daughter and husband’s passion for horses, but she accepted it and supported them. She was proud of their accomplishments.

He heard a deep equine groan as he came to the foaling stall. The almost black mare named Carpia lay on her side, well advanced with labor, her great mountain of a stomach rising up and down like a bellows with her efforts. White lather formed on her sides and flanks. Her neck and head were black with sweat. He inhaled the warm, salty scent of straining horse.

He tried to enter the stall, to help her, but she struggled awkwardly to her feet and lunged for him with teeth bared. A few moments later, he tried again. She responded in the same way. Then he gave up, having decided his interference was distracting her from the work of pushing her foal out.

Has she foaled yet?

Kurt spun about to see Charlotte walking towards him. She wore a heavy coat over her pajamas and clogs over her stocking feet.

What are you doing up at this hour? Does your mother know you’re out here? He pressed his lips firmly together to keep from grinning.

Mom said as long as I’m with you, it’s okay I’m out here.

What about school tomorrow, young lady?

Dad, it’s Friday night. She gazed at him with the impatience that all soon-to-be teenagers exhibit when confronting their parents’ obtuseness. Please, let me stay... I want to see Carpia’s colt born.

Sweetheart, you’ll be exhausted tomorrow. It’s the middle of the night. You can see the foal in the morning. You’ve seen other mares foal before.

But not Carpia. Please, Dad. I’m the only person that she likes.

It was true; the foul tempered mare who had come to his farm heavily pregnant only a month before had managed to leave scars on everyone who handled her with the exception of Charlotte. Carpia even behaved herself when the young girl groomed her. Kurt had tried forbidding his daughter to go near the mare, but he was well aware that Charlotte ignored his orders. He turned a blind eye because he was justifiably proud of her ability with horses and because he had confidence in her judgment. She had grown up around horses and knew her way around them.

All right, Charlotte. He squeezed her shoulder. You can stay up.

Thanks, Dad. Impulsively, she hugged him.

Kurt held her close. She was growing up so quickly. Hugs like this one were becoming more uncommon. Now run back to the house and tell your mother you’ll be staying out here. There’s still plenty of time.

She already knows. Mom said she’ll see the new little guy tomorrow.

Kurt nodded his head. He was used to the two women in his life making decisions and only filling him in afterwards. Charlotte, what makes you so sure that Carpia will have a colt?

I just know it, and he’s going to be good enough to be approved by both the Danish Warmblood Association and the Holsteiner Verband. And when he’s grown up, I’ll show him. I’m not sure if he’ll be a jumper or a dressage horse, but he’s going to be a champion.

Kurt draped his arm about his daughter’s narrow shoulders. That would be fine.

Father and daughter stood there companionably, brimming with anticipation.

Shouldn’t the vet be here? Charlotte had witnessed a birth before, but the mare’s obvious distress disturbed her.

Dr. Olson is on his way, but Carpia’s doing fine. The labor is progressing normally. She’s a good-sized mare—I don’t see her having any problems delivering this foal. Besides, she’s a fighter. Don’t worry.

The mare groaned and a great shudder seemed to pass through her.

Look, Daddy, Look!

Moments later, the wet, dark shape of Carpia’s foal lay on the ground. He was moving almost immediately, breaking through the slick birth sack. Carpia raised her head out of the straw and turned to nuzzle her baby affectionately. Her ears tipped forward curiously, her dark eyes were velvet soft.

Kurt squeezed Charlotte’s shoulder. He ran a breeding farm, witnessed many births each year, but the experience remained miraculous and overwhelming to him.

She’s going to be a fine mother. With a temperament like hers, you can never be sure. I was worried we’d have to foster her foal out. But it looks like I was wrong. She’s going to be just fine.

Look at them. She keeps nuzzling him. She loves him.

The new little one raised his head at the sound of their voices, his eyes bright in the darkness.

Hello, hello. How’s the patient? The stocky, dark shape of Dr. Olson appeared in the opened doorway.

Kurt immediately went to greet the other man.

Quick as a wink, before anyone could stop her, Charlotte slid the bolt back, and opened the stall door, stepping into the stall. Carpia lunged to her feet and thrust her body between Charlotte and her foal.

Easy, Mommy. I won’t hurt him. I just want to see him. Fearlessly, Charlotte held her hand outstretched with her palm up, fingers close together, so the mare could sniff her.

Charlotte! What are you doing? Get out of there! Kurt hurried to the stall door, but Carpia blocked him with her teeth bared and her ears pinned back. He couldn’t see his daughter. Charlotte? Charlotte, are you all right?

Yes, Dad. He’s beautiful! A colt, just like I said. And he’s not afraid of me at all. He looks black.

Honey, I want you to move slowly. Back away from that colt. Olson, do you have that tranquilizer shot ready? He sought to peer around the black mare.

In a minute. You know I don’t like giving a mare something right after delivering but, the vet was on his knees by his medical kit, preparing the shot, when Charlotte reappeared at the mare’s shoulder. Carpia relaxed her ears as the girl stood stroking her neck.

You have to see him!

Charlotte, get out of there!

Daddy, relax, she’s fine. Nevertheless, Charlotte obediently stepped through the opened stall door. As soon as she was within reach, her father grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close then slammed the door shut.

Promise me you’ll never do that again. That mare is dangerous. You have to stay away from her. I’ve been wrong to let you work with her. But after a mare foals, they can become very protective of their babies. You have to respect that and keep away from her. It’s not fair to her.

Charlotte tugged herself free. I’m sorry, Dad. I wanted to get close to him. I won’t bother her anymore... The little guy... He’s awesome.

What am I going to do with you? You get to bed now. I don’t want to hear any arguments. You've seen the new foal. Tell your mother I’ll be in in a little while. Dr. Olson has to get in there and check him out.

You won’t hurt Carpia, will you?

Of course not. But we can’t let her hurt Dr. Olson either.

Hear, hear, Kurt. Dr. Olson agreed. Don’t worry, Charlotte, you know I have a way with the new mothers. Carpia and I will get on famously.

Good night, Dad, Dr. Olson.

Good night, Charlotte.

That daughter of yours would make a fine vet, Olson commented.

She about gives Lena and me heart failure sometimes. I just wish she had a little healthy fear.

You’re lucky. I can’t even get my girls near horses. All they’re interested in is movies and boys.

Moving cautiously, the two men set to work. Though Carpia was grudging, she did permit them to perform the necessary tasks.

Just look at him, Olson observed, standing already. He’s a strong one, and well built.

Sure enough, the black colt was upright on his spindly legs. He trembled, but held his head high. Then, he collapsed back into the straw where he snorted in chagrin.

He’s dark, like Carpia, Olson related. Not much white, just a tiny star and that one white ankle. But he’s a good-looking little guy, and tough. He’s going to try it again.

This time the colt stayed up, and even managed a few halting steps to his mother’s side, where he quickly got the hang of nursing.

You don’t need to worry about this one, Kurt. He’s got everything under control. Sweaty and well pleased, the vet held out his hand to offer a congratulatory handshake.

Kurt took the other man’s hand as he eyed the colt contemplatively. For a newborn, he was robust and feisty. Maybe Charlotte was right. Maybe this colt would be the breeding stallion and performance horse that would make their fortunes. For a moment, he indulged himself in the kind of daydreams that afflict all horse lovers—he imagined his daughter, dressed in the black and white formal attire of the international levels of dressage, mounted on a magnificent black stallion leading a victory gallop at the Olympic Games. The odds against this little colt achieving such success were immeasurable. And yet, perhaps...

CHAPTER TWO

On an unusually sunny Saturday afternoon, Charlotte and her father stood watching Carpia and her new son out in the paddock by the barn. The mare and foal were alone. Kurt usually waited a week or two before turning a new foal out with his herd of broodmares and colts. Though less than a week old, the colt frolicked in the grassy area.

Charlotte stood with her feet on the bottom fence rail and her elbows resting on the top. She sighed audibly. Isn’t he beautiful, Dad? Do you think that he’ll be brown or black?

He’ll be nearly black, like his dam, once he loses the baby fuzz. I wish he was a little flashier, had more white on him, Kurt commented critically. It’s always easier to sell a flashy horse.

But you’re not going to sell him anyway. And you know what they say about one white leg: ‘One white leg, buy a horse, two white legs, try a horse, three white legs, look well about him, four white legs, go without him.’ He’s a keeper.

We’ll see, honey. Kurt chewed on a blade of hay thoughtfully, and then dropped it into the mud at his feet. Though he didn’t want to get his hopes up, there was something special about Carpia’s foal, beautifully proportioned from the tips of his black ears to his bushy tail. He moved lightly and effortlessly on his feet, and was as agile as a cat. He’s an athletic little guy, and the mare has turned out to be a fine mother, he commented as Carpia whinnied, calling her son back to her when he strayed too far from her side. She nuzzled him when he charged up.

What are you two up to? Lena asked as she carefully maneuvered her way towards them. Her eyes were on the ground, seeking to find the most solid and dry spots for her high-heeled shoes. She was a petite, soft woman with a kind face, but clearly not dressed for the barn in a formal coat and skirt, and scarf ensemble.

Just watching them, Kurt answered. Why are you all dressed up?

Lena rolled her eyes in exasperation. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten today is Karen Thompson’s birthday. I told you we were going weeks ago. It’s on the calendar.

You didn’t say anything to me about it this morning.

I didn’t think I had to remind you. She glanced at her watch. We’re still fine for time. Charlotte, I was going to ask you to come with me to get the present, but you still have to finish up in the barn then shower and change. I’ll go pick something up by myself. Can I count on you both to be ready to go in an hour and a half?

Yes. Sorry, it slipped my mind. Kurt pecked his wife on the cheek.

An hour and a half, young lady. Do you understand me? She wagged her finger at her daughter in a mock serious fashion.

Yes, Mom. That’s plenty of time.

Not if you stand around mooning over those two horses all afternoon... That’s Carpia, isn’t it? Her foal is darling.

Mom, her daughter groaned. He’s not ‘darling.’ He’s impressive.

Charlotte, you know that for me most foals look pretty much the same, but that one is especially cute.

Looks like the gamble of buying Carpia might pay off, Kurt said. For him, this was high praise.

Lena stared for another long moment at the black colt. He does have a way about him, doesn’t he? An hour and a half. I’m counting on you. With that, she turned and began to make her way back to the house.

Charlotte glanced up at her father. What do you mean it was a gamble to buy Carpia? I heard you tell Dr. Olson she was a steal with her show record and her bloodlines.

Yes, she was a really good show jumper. She won at some big competitions then she got hurt. She had the reputation of being hard to handle, witchy, and she only got worse once she was laid up. She went after a groom who was cleaning her stall at her last owners. She banged the guy up pretty badly, broke his leg and some ribs.

Carpia’s not like that anymore. I’m sure that guy did something to her first.

He tapped her on the nose with his index finger. It doesn’t matter if he did, Charlotte. You know that. Even though Carpia seems to like you, she’s a dangerous and unpredictable animal. You have to be on your toes around any horse, but especially that one. She has a history of being tough, and not just at her last home. That mare has changed hands often because she is difficult with a capital D. The last guy who owned her didn’t know what to do with her. Her competitive career was finished, so he bred her. I made him a ridiculously low offer and he took it, glad to be rid of her.

If she’s so bad, why did you buy her?

She’s one of the last of a really special Holsteiner bloodline. I talked it over with your mother, and we agreed that it was worth giving Carpia a chance. She’s taken to motherhood like a duck to water.

I knew she’d be a fine. The girl fell silent for a moment as she studied the pair. What are we going to name him?

Kurt glanced over at his daughter. For a horse breeder, the study of bloodlines was both a favorite and necessary activity. Charlotte had just started taking an interest and he enjoyed sharing his knowledge with her. She was learning more with the birth of each new foal on their farm. His grandfather was a great stallion named 'Canute the Viking.' I think this colt is going to be a top stallion in his own right. He glanced at his daughter expectantly. I want a name that will recall his grandfather, but will also be uniquely his. I was thinking of something like Olav.

No, Dad, that’s too...I don’t know.

"Olav Haraldsson was a