He’s still a newborn.

He’s only been here ten days so far.

I happened by within minutes of his birth.

I was impressed with where his Mama had him, tucked in the leeside of a dirt embankment.

He was still wet, and shaky, and as I came by, he tried to get to his feet, but he fell down, like they always do.

His Mama was a first timer.  But in spite of that, she did very well.  She stayed right by him, and, when after two days, she needed a drink, she hid him well, and knew right where to find him when she came back.

The way this was going, I figured I wouldn’t need to be around much longer.  Things seemed to be taking care of themselves.

But then it rained.

Bucketfulls at first, then creekfulls, and, finally, gullywashers. 

Something must have happened during that time.

I wonder if the little fella got dismayed, a little, with the challenge of life.

He’d follow his Mom, for a way, and then it was like he gave out, found a little place to curl up in and that was that.

And, then, somewhere during that time, something vicious found him, all curled up, and at least a half mile away from his Mama.

The next time I saw him, he was a sad, wet little ball of black, lying in the fence row, with just a stub where his tail had been.

I picked him up, soon after, he didn’t run or panic.  He seemed to know I was there to help.

I draped him across the four-wheeler seat in front of me, and we found his Mom. 

And I almost got frustrated with him, then, in the days since.  Because he hardly ever is with his mom, and her milk is drying up. 

By this time, all his cronies were stuck to their Mama’s sides, no matter how far they walked in a day.

I got weary of lifting him up, dangling across the ditches or up the hill to the four-wheeler.

I thought bad thoughts about him, as he lay draped across in front of me.  Thoughts of, Pull yourself up and be a man, o,r do you expect me to be your conveyance for the rest of your life?

Until today.

I picked him up again. 

I draped him across the seat in front of me again.

We drove to find his Mama again.

And then I felt something.

On his neck.

Fang marks. 

On both sides and down by his throat.

And I slowed to a stop.

And we sat there.

Quietly.

And I realized, again, that the story isn’t always how it seems like it will be at the start.