I remember sound before shape. The hollow knock of hooves on wood, the way air pressed tight against my ribs, the restless shifting of bodies that did not know where they were going. My stomach spoke louder than anything else, an empty, searching ache that never quite slept. Even then, my blue eye kept moving, cataloging edges and shadows, looking for the next thing that might matter.

Before that, my days were measured by usefulness. Summers blurred together. Small hands, big hands, nervous legs, confident ones. I carried them all. I learned to stand when they climbed crookedly, to wait while they found their balance, to walk when they were afraid to ask for more. Over time, the feed thinned. The care stretched longer between visits. Worms took what little I had left. Shoes stayed on long after my feet begged for relief. I grew narrow. Still, I searched pockets. Still, I nosed sleeves. Hunger never erased my curiosity, or my belief that kindness might arrive unannounced.

Change came without explanation. A trailer. New smells. Too many voices layered over one another. I stood as a number, not a name, my ribs speaking for me before I could. On that ride, pressed beside a small white horse I had never met, I felt something unexpected—company. We swayed together, shared warmth, traded quiet breaths. Whatever stories he carried, he listened to mine. By the time the doors opened again, we were no longer alone.

Here, time loosened its grip. Meals came when my body expected them, and sometimes before. Hands returned, steady and unhurried. My feet felt the ground change beneath them, lighter, kinder. My mouth learned relief. I learned the sound of a grain bucket that meant abundance, not competition. I worried when my white friend was gone for a while; I watched the path until he returned. This place noticed that. No one rushed me through my days. Choice crept back in.

Now, I am unmistakably myself. I am Coconut. I am the one with the blue eye and the pink nose who is always checking—hay, carrots, sleeves, pockets—just in case something wonderful is hiding there. I like children best. I like walking slowly while they laugh. I like standing guard near my friend. I am still hungry, but no longer afraid. I have opinions. I have time. I have a future that arrives one calm, ordinary day at a time.