Ned waited patiently for Mr. Richardson to open his pasture gate.  Ben Cartner, sitting next to Ned in the cluttered compartment of the truck spoke first.  “I hate doing this in the dark.”

“Yeah, I know” replied Ned, relieving his stretched lower lip of the spit that had accumulated.  “And there’s nothing I can do but leave it in the back until Friday.  They’re closed tomorrow.  Hope it doesn’t rain.”

Mr. Richardson waved the truck in, guiding their path with a small flashlight.  The house to the right of the pasture was completely dark except for a light over the front porch.  There was no evidence of the holiday spirit which would fill the home as the sun rose.  This Christmas, however, would have a more somber note in the Richardson house.

Ned maneuvered the truck around the lifeless obstacle situated close to a water trough.  “Mr. Richardson?  I’m Ned Lockenberry and this is my partner Ben Cartner.”  “Thank you for coming out Ned…Ben,” Donald Richardson said.  “I appreciate your willingness to help me out on this.  My daughter will be devastated enough when she finds out Shadow has died, but I just can’t have her seeing her horse lying out here.  And, with the holiday and all, well, I just appreciate it, that’s all.”

“We’ll be out of here as quick as we can sir” Ned said.  “But our winch makes some noise.”

“They’re all sound sleepers” Donald responded.  “We were up late baking and thankfully she’s beyond the age where she wakes up at the crack of dawn to run downstairs and see what Santa brought.  You know how teenagers are.”

“Yes sir, I do.  Have a 15 year old myself” said Ned.  “Me too” added Ben.  “But sometimes on Christmas, their clocks change!”

“Here’s your check, Ned.  You did say $300.00, didn’t you?  I’ve added a bit more because I know this was a real inconvenience, being a holiday.  Don’t know too many haulers that would come out at 4:00 a.m.  I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome sir.  You go on inside now.  Ben and I will lock up the gate.  Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas gentlemen” said Donald, reaching down to stroke the head of his daughter’s pony.  “Thank you girl for never hurting her.”

Ned Lockenberry had been hauling dead animals for thirty seven years.  It was not a career that ever had him speaking in classrooms or joining a Chamber of Commerce, but it was a job that needed to be done and he prided himself on his ability to handle folks at a time of high emotion.  Ned loved animals and had a real compassion for others’ loss.  The hardest part of his job was this very thing…the beloved pet of a young girl.  Thankfully, Mr. Richardson was going to have to handle all the tears on his own.  Ned had been on jobs where the family was clinging on to the dead animal until the moment he secured the last strap of his tarp.  Those were the rough ones.  Or waiting at a red light next to a school bus…now that was really bad.  Ned would often make a series of left turns taking him quite a distance out of his way to avoid a red light next to a school bus.  Children in this part of the country knew his truck and knew what the tarp covered lump meant.

As Donald Richardson walked slowly out of the pasture, closing the small gate and walking up the path to his two-story home, Ned and Ben waited.  “Do you celebrate in the morning or afternoon?” Ben asked Ned.  “Morning,” Ned answered.  “Might be a bit later today.  What about you?”  “Morning.”  Ben answered. “We’d better get started.  At least she’s little.  Remember last Spring…that Clydesdale?”  Ned laughed and spit again.  “Thought the winch strap might give on that one.”

Both of the men knew their jobs.  They’d been working together for more than seventeen years.  Ned took the lead on the winch and Ben removed the tarps from the rear of the truck cab.  As Ben was unwrapping the tarps, Ned’s thoughts were with his own daughter, safely asleep at home, and her healthy quarter horse in his pasture.  He knew this day would come for him again.  It always does.  Maybe this time it would be easier since Daphne was older now.  Yeah, keep holding on to that thought, Ned, he mused.  It’s never easier.

“What did you get Gayle for Christmas?” Ben asked Ned, moving him away from his private thoughts about the demise of his daughter’s horse.  “What I always get her” Ned responded.  “A gift certificate to Tractor Supply.  She loves that.”  As they spoke and spit, the straps were placed and pulled under Shadow’s lifeless body.  The small mare had simply dropped right near the water trough, a victim of a full and purposeful life.  She was about thirty two years old, Mr. Richardson had told Ned earlier in the evening when he called.  Wonderful life, but it was done.