Where The Blacktop Began

It was the Christmas holiday, 1978, & I had just landed at the Atlanta GA airport with a friend.  We were on our way to N Carolina, where she & her husband lived.  Both were in the Marine Corp & stationed at Camp Lejune.  After running across the airport to catch our "prop job" flight, we made our way, via a stop in S Carolina, to N Carolina.  The weather was gorgeous & the scenery matched.  When her husband picked us up & asked what we wanted to do first, we both said "go to the stable!" 

As we walked around the very nicely kept stable, a loose white horse went running down the dirt road.  The horse belonged to a teacher who owned the property & barn next door.  She was nowhere in sight.  My friend & I took off running after the horse, who by the way, was actually named Whitey.

We had run for about 2 miles (I was much younger in 1978 & still able to run, unlike today) when we heard screeching tires & a "thud".  About 200 yards & a bend in the road later we came to Highway 258, & there stood a dazed, bleeding Whitey.  He'd been hit by a small gas/tankerHmmmm, is any tanker truck really small?  The driver was out pacing in the road, not believing what had just happened, & surely in some state of shock.  Whitey never moved, head hanging, his entire body trembling.  Tire marks were clearly visible across his hip, where the truck had actually run OVER him.  It was hard to see what damage there was because his hindend was covered in blood.  Somehow my friend had had the foresight to grab a halter before we ran, so we caught Whitey & moved him just off the roadway.  A state trooper arrived & called for a vet.

truck. 

It seemed like forever before the vet arrived.  Cleaning Whitey as best he could, he began his assessment of injuries.  I don't know how many stitches it took to put Whitey back together that day.  We stood beside the road for a very long time.  Fortunately there didn't appear to be any internal injuries or broken bones.  The vet gave us pain meds & antibiotics, wished us luck, & off he went.  There my friend & I stood, along the highway, with a very sedated & bloody Whitey.  

With no other options available, we started walking Whitey back to his home.  My friend lead him while I walked behind to keep encouraging him to move.  He staggered along, needing to often stop & rest.  It was a slow, tedious journey & the sun was setting as we arrived at the stable.  His owner had been located & she was there waiting for us.  We helped her get Whitey into her barn & bedded down.  We stayed for quite some time, wanting to be sure he was alright before leaving him for the night.  

Whitey was a lucky horse.  He healed with little more than scars as mementos of his ill fated romp to where the blacktop began.