The first
evening was something of a scary start. The very moment I opened the van
doors she was pining for more porridge. Whining and mewing and begging
for more. She would not stay in her stable. The unicorn kept constantly
on my heels, rubbing her face against my calves or making pathetic noises to
let me know she was there and that she wanted more. She just followed me
until I started to brew up some more. Only then did she give me space.
I gave
her another three bowls and she seemed happy, got very excited and bouncy,
wanting to play. I tried telling her it was getting late. Tried
calming her down with the ball which she energetically smacked over the garden
fence. Eventually she peaked and went to sleep in her new bed.
I myself
went to bed tired and paranoid. I lay awake for what seemed like an
eternity worrying about how this was going. What if I was creating an
addict, a live-in horror, a slave to the drug I had forced into her system,
myself the slave called upon to make more, to keep dishing it out, keeping her
up. I virtually made myself sick from worrying about it all. It was
surely all going to go horribly fucking wrong. I loomed on the edge of a
great abyss created by me waiting to fall and fall and fall wondering what it
would sound like when I hit something. Or she did.
Eventually
I was waking up with the sun bright in my face. I got up, dressed and
went into the garden to find the unicorn of old happy and ready to greet me as
she had been during the taming period I had spent in the forest. I went
inside. Obediently she stayed outside.
The night
before I had gone inside to make her porridge only after a ten minute
shouting-versus-neighing match about her not coming into the house: I had had
to push the unicorn out of the kitchen door at least three times before she let
me be and left of her own accord. And that was only after I had given up
and started to get the pans and the oats out whilst simultaneously letting
forth a torrent of abuse (I was fortunate not to have any neighbours at that
time).
It would
seem she had remembered something of the previous evening.
I was
much calmer as I made the porridge that morning. My only outburst was one
of laughter as I came to realise the porridge had acted as a spell rather than
a drug. Like a magical potion. I giggled a lot at that
thought. It held me in good stead for several days.
***
And so
the unicorn began to live contentedly in my back garden. We began our new
life together by playing ball again. Whacking it back and forth up and
down the garden. And we went back to our Othello battles. Which
soon vied for place among other games once I taught her draughts and then chess
(the pieces had wheels and a horn divot in the back to help them move).
Otherwise we would spend evenings and weekends just arsing around, blowing the
seeds off dandelions and the like. I left her to her own devices during
the day. In those first weeks I have next to no idea what she got up
to. Probably slept and munched on the oats I filled her trough up with
each morning.
Everything
was calm and bliss until the new neighbours and their dog arrived. That
was when she started to become a little antsy and curious as to what was beyond
the garden. The new smells and sounds woke up something inside her and I
began to see evidence of her daytime activities.
She would
pull at anything that grew over or under the fence to start with.
Grapevines and creepers, ivy and whatever else I would find mangled and
stripped naked on the lawn, leaves everywhere. One day I came home to
find her trying to get her front hooves onto the fence to help her peer
over. As I opened the back door she stopped suddenly and tried to look
innocent.
That was
all as the bits and pieces were moved in and the fella next door sorted out the
garden. Probably he was grateful of the unicorn's help. If he even
noticed it. They are quite insular next door. We have never spoken
since the apologies.
Once they
were settled, their dog was brought from a friends or a home, I don't know, and
released into the garden. This sent the unicorn completely mad with
curiosity. She was positively bursting to see what had appeared to be her
own special neighbour. I should have told her or shown her in some way.
Not just left her to it. Anything but left her bloody to it.
The first
day I left them alone she began to ram the fence. Repeatedly by all
accounts. Eventually, inevitably, it smashed and the unicorn was brought
face to face with the rottweiler. It snarled and it seethed and it
charged toward her.
Up until
then I guessed the unicorn had been happy to not use magic. Or had
forgotten it so completely that it didn't matter. Suddenly, though, she
needed it. And couldn't use it. Instead she could only spring up
and out of the way of this vicious creature, too scared to fight against its
teeth and claws.
That was
how I found her. Only I was too late to save her from harm. The
unicorn had run out of energy and been bitten quite horribly on the leg and was
lamely cowering as the rottweiler stood growling threateningly to finish her
off if she tried anything else.
I rushed
out quickly and quietly grabbing the mutt's collar and dragging it back
home. I received quite something of an apology. I think the couple
next door still believe their sweet-but-bad-tempered pooch broke down the
fence. They never seemed to notice how flustered I was nor the
stable. As I said, insular.
Then I
ran back to my garden and began nursing procedures.
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